Friday, November 25, 2016

Sinful Press Flash Competition

Photograph courtesy of


‘I’m hungry.’
‘Well, there’s any number of wannabe victims out there lusting after your sensitive brand of murderousness.'
Two figures sat high on an office window ledge looking down on a concrete underpass. You could have seen them if you looked up, sitting side by side, in faded rock star denim and leather. No one ever looks up.
The first vampire sniffed in distain, tucking a strand of dirty blond hair behind his ear with delicate fingers.
‘I’ve had enough of swooning waifs flinging themselves at me. To be honest I could do with something meatier.’
His friend sniggered.
‘I’m sure all their mummies would be happy to oblige too.’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of a bit of a challenge. Someone with a little spirit. Maybe someone like her.’ He nodded towards a woman far below, dressed in scant summer clothing and Converse, busily graffitiing the underpass wall. Her adrenaline and excitement blew towards them on the summer air and both creatures shifted on their perch. She wasn’t young, this woman, not the average scruffy teen they were used to seeing spraying tags around like territorial cats. They watched the bulge of her muscles in her arm as it swept over the wall, the tiny clang as she dropped her cans in the backpack at her feet.
‘I don’t think you want any of that.’ He nodded towards a figure who stood watching her.’ C’mon.’
 They hadn’t seen the woman kiss her boyfriend as he left for work, and scamper inside to change her clothes and pack her bag before heading out purposefully, bare legs striding into the summer evening. She didn’t see him pull out of a side road and follow, keeping a careful distance so as to remain undiscovered. Now he watched from behind her, dark uniform blending with the shadows. She stood back to assess her artwork, stretching to rub her lower spine.
As she did so, he stepped up behind her, reaching through her arms to pin them behind her. One large hand closed on her throat.
‘You’re nicked, sweetheart.’
The woman froze, the started to struggle wildly. At the hint of movement, the policeman stepped forward, pushing her up against the wall with a thud. Wet paint smeared on her chest and cheek. He moved his hand around to tug at the choker she wore around her neck.
‘Really? You wear this to break a promise?’ She started to speak. ‘Shut up.’
He reached between her and the rough wall and jerked her stretchy white top down over her breasts, baring them to the cold, paint-dampened wall. He pulled his nightstick out and pressed it to the back of her neck, holding her in place with the cold metal while he drew her skimpy skirt up, trailing his fingers between her thighs and through the plump divide of her cunt and ass as he went.
‘Up against the wall. Spread,’ he leaned in and sneered in her ear. She complied. The watchers high above moved in the distance, one briefly placing a hand on the chest of his friend as the pump of the woman’s heart reached them, the sound entwining with the fresh musk of her cunt.

‘You think you’re so clever,’ bit out the policeman, as he ran the baton down her back and pushed its tip between her exposed cheeks. ‘You thought you wouldn’t get caught? Or you’d get what you wanted?’ He pressed harder and her breath poured out in a grunt. ‘Like being on your knees on the concrete with my cock down your throat isn’t your favourite thing. But it’s going to be a long night.’ He moved in closer and her cry carried to the two figures moving away at speed, moved to start their own hunt.