Changed Flesh: Dark Erotic Tales of Bloodfetish & Body Modification

By Alex Severin

Dark erotica diva, Alex Severin, brings you 8 short stories and vignettes on Bloodfetish and Body Modification.

From the near religious ecstasy of self mutilation, to salvation via modification of the flesh, to an obsession with merging into one body with a lover, Severin delivers dark delights that are a must for all enthusiasts in the Body Mod / Bloodfetish sub-cultures.

A mixture of online old favorites, little seen micro press-published stories you won't have read, and never before seen material.

From 'The Modification of a Stupid Cunt'

I stroke my last scar and think of him. I remember what his own ruined flesh felt like on mine, the texture of his imperfections rubbing against my body, the taste of him. I remember the sensitivity of new scar tissue, like a fresh branding – burning hot pain as new, tight skin stretched almost to breaking point.

I remember the musk that rose from his skin and inflamed me. And the smell of his hair – like cars and apples – and the permanent line of black motor oil under his fingernails. I close my eyes and I think of those dirty hands as they pawed me, scratched my delicate skin. I can still feel each cut and nick and callus that graced his brutal hands, hands so dirty they made my skin smell like an engine...

From 'Changed Flesh : Violetta & the Magdalens'

She waited for him, dressed in shadows and blending in with the city night; only the alabaster glow of her skin in the darkness gave her away.

Each moment that passed felt like an eternity.
Patience is a virtue.

She waited.

Anticipatory adrenalin rushed through her; her entire body quivered and her breath quickened in her throat, came out in short bursts like fuck-gasps, visible in the freezing air.

Then she saw him, strutting past the open window, naked and proud. Even from this distance she could see his cock standing to attention.

Her heart lurched in her chest and her gut flipped over twice. She almost whimpered but dug her long black nails into the soft flesh of her palms diverting her concentration from her nervousness and excitement.

She'd been waiting here for hours and her feet and legs were numb, felt almost rooted to the dirty street beneath them. It felt like she had been waiting there forever. And she would have waited that long for him. She would have waited for an eternity. She would have waited until the end of time.

She listened to the sounds of sex that filtered down from the bedroom window, one floor up, across the narrow street. She listened to the words that spilled from his passion-filled mouth and out into the night.

She listened to all the noises of pleasure and pain and the cries of that which lay somewhere between the two. She watched violent silhouettes battle each other, throw themselves against the pallid walls in the candlelight.

From 'Surgical Messiah'

She stares at her own flawed perfection and smiles, like a mother's smile at her new born, a labor of love smile, a smile born of pain and suffering and endurance.

Her scars are beautiful, each as unique as a snowflake and just as pure. The raised patterns are often-traveled paths back to the memories which created them.

Their texture beneath her fingers makes her forget for a while why they came to be here, all over her, spanning most of the surface of her skin, and she sees them not for what they are, but what they represent to her now - a new life, new beginnings, new horizons.

New scars - pink and tight and shiny; she stretches the new skin between two fingers, pulling the newly-formed flesh in opposite directions. The exquisite raw sting makes her mouth water, sparkling saliva giving her lips a succulent sheen. Her naked skin feels alive and anticipation buzzes over her, around her, inside her, like electricity...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Severin
• Release date: Apr 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458148339

Alex Severin

Alex Severin was born in the Scottish Highlands, but was transplanted to the Wild, Wild West of the USA in 2005. She writes short stories, novels, screenplays, and loves to write about things that both repel and fascinate. She's tried her hand at custom written erotica - and quite successfully too (never had a complaint,) but decided she needed a career change after the clown porn story. Don't ask. 'Vampire Vintage Book One : Belladonna in Hollywood' is Alex's debut novel and the first installment of the 'Vampire Vintage Series.'

Book preview

Changed Flesh :

Dark Erotic Stories of Bloodfetish & Body Modification

by Alex Severin

Approximately 11,500 words.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1998 - 2011, Alex Severin - All Rights Reserved

* * *

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * *

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Modification of a Stupid Cunt

This Scarlet Bliss

Inside You

Surgical Messiah

Feeding Donovan

Cutting Angel

Drain the Blood

Changed Flesh : Violetta & the Magdalens

* * *

THE MODIFICATION OF A STUPID CUNT

Deep down, you always know wrong things. The soul never lies. The heart never lies. The intuition that sets off screaming alarm bells is never mistaken.

He is my wrong thing.

I ignored the blatant honesty of my heart and my soul, silenced my impeccable intuition about him. I dismissed every warning, every prickle of hair on the back of my neck, every Danger! sign that flashed in front of my eyes.

I took notice of nothing.

I decided to forget the impressive record of my own gut instinct.

I ignored it all. Everything.

Everything except the throb in my cunt.

But cunts are stupid. You cannot trust a stupid cunt. They cheat. They lie. They tell you to ignore the blinding white light of truth that shines down on you, blinds you with its vividity.

Toxic – that's what he is. He's a poison that courses through my veins and flows from inside me when he looks at me, kisses me, touches me, fucks me.

He is under my skin, makes me loathe the shallowness of my own flesh – flesh that bares the scars he made, flesh that always craves more of him. Always more.

But my scars were already there from the moment I laid eyes on him – they just weren't visible yet. But I know that he could see them, see them in all their glorious color and texture, taste their flavor. They were just waiting to be born.

I look down at my body; I am horrified by my own modification, the reconstructions he made me suffer, the foreign objects that lie partially beneath my skin. They glint in the flicker of a candle flame and cast a bizarre silhouette on the wall. It seems like the shadow of some fantastic Lovecraftian beast, not the shadow of a woman, not my shadow.

I stare at my dark reflection, at the scars where hissing branding irons once kissed, at the pieces of metal he raped my flesh with – coils of wire, steel plates, metal springs and spikes and studs – tiny pieces of pain scavenged from dead machines.

I cut away these scars now, cut them out with surgical steel that flashes in the half-light. There are more scars now, bigger, deeper, uglier. But they are my scars, scars that I have made. I chose to make these, not him. I have erased his signature from my skin – all except one. I always leave one. I cannot bare to remove every trace.

But the stupid cunt grows no