Red Confession: Ravished in the Rusty Mercedes Wreck

Cold autumn night bites the urban wasteland. Broken factories loom, graffiti scars their faces. I slip into the back seat of the rotting turquoise Mercedes 350. Leather torn but soft under me. Rust flakes scent the air, mixed with old chrome ghosts. My sanctuary. Then a sob rips the silence. Massive silhouette at the wheel. Red hair wild. Shoulders shake like earthquakes.

‘Ça ne va pas, Monsieur?’ My voice cuts the dark. He turns. Bill Ballantine. Eyes wet, giant frame crammed in. ‘The commandant… Bob… Miss Ylang-Ylang killed him.’ Sobs wrench him. He pulls a plaid handkerchief, blows hard. Whisky flasque emerges. ‘À votre santé, capitaine.’ Three stripes on my coat fool him. I sip Zat 77. Fire scorches throat. Heart quickens.

The Fever Ignites

My absinthe from the bag. Green venom. He refuses. Each our poison. Tight space shrinks. His bulk radiates heat. Massive chest strains shirt. Red stubble glows faint moonlight. Alcohol burns deeper. Skin prickles. Cold outside forgotten. His gaze lingers. ‘Capitaine Calpurnia.’ Voice gravel. Hand brushes mine passing bottle. Spark. Pulse races. Thighs clench. Air thickens. Sweat beads despite chill. Urgency swells. Possession calls.

Breath short. Fingers itch. He shifts. Door creaks shut. Confined. His scent: whisky, man, grief turned hunger. I lean. Lips part. Heart hammers ribs. Hand on his neck. Red hair coarse. Pulls me. Mouth crashes. Tongue invades. Raw. Desperate. Hands roam. Tear buttons. Chest bare. Furred muscle. Heat sears palms. He growls. Grabs hips. Crushes.

Blaze of Savage Possession

Skirt hikes. Panties rip. Back seat devours us. Leather sticks skin. His weight pins. Cock hard, massive. Thrusts in. Savage. No mercy. Walls shake. Rust rains. I claw back. Nails rake. Blood scent mixes sweat. Heart explodes. Each pound deeper. Possessed. Devoured. Legs wrap. Heels dig. Grunts echo. Body quakes. Fire consumes. Climax rips. Screams lost in night. Dogs howl sympathy.

He roars. Fills. Collapses. Bodies slick. Breath ragged. Skin burns still. Pulse slows. Eyes lock. Smile ghosts. Whisky breath mingles absinthe. Unique. Total. Dangerous bliss. Emptied. World fades. Black wings take me. Later, ambulance sirens. Woke on stretcher. Coma éthylique they say. But skin remembers. Heat lingers. Wreck held truth. My red confession.