Honey Trap

Story by ciaracol

So, I've had the barebones concept for this story in my head for several months, but never really felt the impulse strongly enough to actually sit down and write it. Dragging the Halloween decorations out of my closet the other day, though, apparently lit a fire under my ass to pick up this story and put it to virtual paper.

In keeping with personal tradition re: writing, it rapidly expanded from what I'd imagined as a rather brief little flavor piece into a possibly clumsy attempt at something approaching erotic psychological-supernatural horror-suspense.

Uh... that's not exactly a ringing self-endorsement there. Here’s a small clarification that I feel the writing is up to par with my personal standards, but horror/suspense/whatever this should be called is something I've never before done, and I think some of those elements might be lacking in the subtlety I wanted.

It would probably work a little better in a visual medium - while I was writing, I imagined most of this in comic format - but I believe I did a decent job, and I didn't feel it would be kind to subject anyone to pages of stick figures with text bubbles. I am seriously one of the worst drawers EVER.

Jeez. Rambling again - kind of my trademark, that. Anyway, if you've read either of the two things I've posted here in the (distant) past then you have an idea of what to expect in a general sense - rather verbose writing and I like to think a pretty good knack for descriptive writing. This time around, though, you can expect a raunchier tone to the sexytime stuff, and a bit less smartassery.

I'm serious about the raunchier thing. I will tell you right away that if you're not fond of messy, aggressive, and far-from-loving sex acts, you probably won't be thrilled by the fuckery contained herein. I mean, it's not brutalizing rape or anything, but this isn't two lovers trying out some rough sex with safe words in the safety of their bedroom. It's animalistic rutting.

Sonya caught the barbed tails high on the handle of her maul, wrenching the whip from the creature’s outstretched hand. Tossing aside the heavy hammer wrapped in the whip, she lunged across the room and caught the blue-skinned humanoid by the throat, quickly twisting sideways to slam it to the stone floor. Wasting no time she planted a knee on the thing’s chest and in one smooth, practiced motion drew her short sword and plunged it into the creature’s throat, feeling the tip of her blade bite into the stone beneath.

Keeping the demonic thing pinned for a long moment, waiting for it to cease its thrashing to ensure it wasn’t going to get back up, Sonya eventually stood up and drew her short sword out of its neck. The metal was sizzling where blood bathed the blade. She went to one of the many nearby dead goblins, this one flopped back against a stalagmite, and ripped a strip of cloth from its tattered clothing, using the ragged cloth to clean her blade of the caustic blood.

“Demon for sure,” she mumbled, sheathing the sword and making her way to her discarded maul, disentangling the wickedly split whip from its haft. “It’s just some goblins, Madam Sonya, you’ll clear out Pagdya Meliou easily,” she said shaking her head, voice dropped an octave or so from its native register to mimic the mayor who’d contracted her for this job. “You look so much more capable than that young “adventurer” we paid to check on it last month,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “Smart money says that last hire just took their money and went to the next town, like I should have done. I’m going to have to pay to have all my gear cleansed,” she groused, already imagining the gallingly serene expression on the priest’s face as he demanded a “donation” to remove the fel taint from her weapons and armor.

Peering around the open space, Sonya took a moment to stretch and check her equipment. In the flickering light of a few planted torches her prematurely silvered hair shimmered, a long but simple braid fallen down her back nearly to her waist, frayed and loose in places after spilling free when one of the child-sized goblins had leapt on her back during the hectic early stages of the melee and torn off her helmet. Her skin was a deep tan, what little of it was visible between the expanses of leather, padded cloth, and hammered metal covering much of her tall, robust frame. She looked every inch the warrior she was; several fresh cuts on her broad-featured face would likely add to her helter-skelter collection of scars and her moulded breastplate was dented in a few spots, but in the end she was still standing, still breathing, and her foes littered the cavern floor. A soft sound brought her instantly out of her reverie, braid whipping around her front as she snapped to face the shadows at a back corner of the cave.

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