Seven Little Stories of Vice

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a collection of essays that are themed around the seven deadly sins with a open minded definition at the end of each. They have no names with them, but I can assure you I've been working on them long enough to know that they are true in content. New essays will be added from time to time. Don't read if it offends you! That's my friendly warning. Lust is a tiny bit vulgar, as well as wrath. Keep in mind the rating.

Submitted: October 22, 2013

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Submitted: October 22, 2013




I don’t do this. This is not me, but oh my god her skin is so soft. Those locks of hair cascading down her shoulders tickle the top of my hands. She usually has them tied up. They sit in a bun on the top of her head in day to day life as she works diligently on the work she’s assigned. Even when she leans over the desk and still they remain restrained, though the collar of her shirt falls out of place. What a nice black lace bra with a pretty little white bow.

When you ask me if your work is to my liking I have to pull my eyes to your face. It’s a cute face. Your eyes are so deep it’s sickening. You wear natural makeup that compliments your natural features. There’s something so inviting about you. “Yes, well done.”

Yes, run your nimble fingers along the trim of my slacks. We are alone in this closet, and it’s nice to be alone with you. I’m in my dazed state. I honestly haven’t been this way in years. You make me feel young, and uncontrollable. I don’t need my degree, I don’t need my lesson plan, and you don’t need your uniform. Let me put my mouth to your shoulders. Let me put my tongue to your neck. All the buttons of your blouse are obstructing my demonstration. Why don’t you pop them out for me?

Those moments when you’d ask my opinion, why yes I did notice the way your thigh high tights fell slightly.  They slowly slid down and the floral patterned top peeked out from under your skirt. It was just enough to entice the imagination. I often left when I almost felt like it was too much. It’s bad for business to let your imagination show.

Its dark in here so who’s to stop imagination now? I can feel it, so filled up and stiff. You make my heart race. The tips of my fingers are tingling. I feel hot. Do you mind if I take off my shirt? I could throw it down beside yours. Let me see your legs. It’s time to let those tights fall all the way down. You are quite the little thing. You’re perched so perfectly on all of those boxes. It’s good, because of our height difference. Up on here I can wrap your legs about my waste while your arms hang about my shoulders. Let’s kiss. What a brilliant taste you have. More of a green apple, and that makes cherry seem so over rated. When we pull away I have to wipe the saliva from your gorgeous mouth. I just want to trace my fingers about it.

When you would talk in class your voice would follow me. I can’t tell you why. How wonderful it would sound if it had a hint of ecstasy in it. All of those answers you had. Even when you talked to your friends it was so smooth.  You sound like an angel, and now I’m going to make you beg for your creator.

You can whine if it makes you feel good. No one will hear. This is my domain. No need to bite those pretty lips. My hands can follow the curves of your cleavage down. You lock your knees tighter around me and lean back. You are quite the sight. You know just how to make me ache for you.

The intensity of yearning is close to being too much. I can’t help but hold you tight. I love the way your skin feels. You have goose bumps on your thighs. I have to slide your underwear off. I cannot wait anymore, over your heels and onto the floor.

It has been quite a while. Even in my everyday life I’m devote to work. I’ve had no time for a commitment. That’s what is so good about you. We both know that you never wanted my hand. Not saying committing to you hasn’t passed through my mind, but now it is an obstacle far off in the distance.

 I want to do bad things to you. I want to push so deep inside you. I know you are dripping simply because of the grinding we’ve been doing. You’re begging. I love the way you beg for me, like I’m the only one who could do this for you. You make me feel special. Say my name once more and I will give you what you want.

Thank god for you. This feeling, the warmth, a textured pressure all around me in the best possible of ways is all-consuming. Every time I thrust I hear you gasp, and that alone would get me off in normal circumstances.

I can feel every move you make. I feel the way you tighten and loosen. You tell me not to stop. You say that I can hit it right, right there, there we go, go don’t stop, oh baby. You called me baby? I kind of like that. When I go hard you say it more. I will go as long as it takes to please you. I’m trying so hard to concentrate on anything else. I want to go so long your legs give out.

You drive me so crazy. I close my eyes, often. I can’t go much longer. You plead for me to cum into you. That’s so dirty. I can almost feel myself blush over my body. You always know just when to say what to say. I want to give you everything you ask for. So I will.


~The sweet animalistic creator of all life



Today is night. I will shut out the light. I will become one with the quiet. My curtains will be closed, and I will feel the stillness manifest in my space. The world has already painted itself in a shade of gray. It has become steady; slowly dulled over time. Today I will let it consume me.

I will wrap myself in the soft satin sheets at the foot of my bed. I will close my eyes and imagine the essence of all life sleeping beside me, within me. Together the world and I will never be alone again. If someone knocks at my door I will reject them because I am busy with my soul. I am busy with the one lying beside me. I simply could not focus on anyone else.

I have never run so fast, yet sat so lifeless. I often chase imaginary creatures about my agenda, but to no avail. You cannot catch something that does not exist. I am great friends with my dreams. They welcome me with open arms. Dreams are just that though, dreams. I am incapable of calling them into reality. I am completely powerless to the failure. I am completely helpless in the grip of who I am. My racing mind makes my body tired. It needs to rest.

I have a million excuses. I have a billion stories. They are all beautifully constructed from insecurity, developed solely to appease that little part of me that misses the daylight. If a person were so kind as to ask I might present my favorite of the day to them. It is with their pleasure in mind, but functions simply to let them depart from me.

I will keep my breathing slow. I will count the number of breaths I take. Every rise and fall of my chest will be tallied, and sorted into detailed groups. I will feel myself sink deep into my pillows. I will allow all sensation to course along my nerves. Every little fiber is like a mountain. The texture is a guilty pleasure.

I will be catatonic, immovable and unreachable. I will close my eyes and listen around. It would be enough to make anyone think I was sleeping. What a lovely thespian I will be. I hope that this is enough to fool my issues. I want to forget them. I want them to leave me in my room.

Pain will be no longer the wicked child of the lot I endure, and silently glide over my body into the day-night. Hate and bad luck will call to me, but I will not answer. Guilt will take his playful games to my house. He will knock at the door, but I will not rise. They have had their time with my poor being. I will hide within myself. I will disappear into a place so dark and beautiful, a place behind the lids of my eyes.

Tears will not come. They will be locked tightly away along with hurt and happiness alike. All of my feelings are simply fuel for my overloaded mind. My mind has become like a cancer. It has begun to eat away at the components of me, a moth on my satin sheet. The fibers unwind and become nothing but a sea of gray that blends colorlessly in with the rest of the world. They are no longer the mountains I so adored. I am no longer the person I once loved.

The still is buzzing. The spinning turns my stomach. My teeth grit together. The room is empty, as I sit in it. The room will never be filled. I am inconsolable, but I will not move. I will not answer. I will not rise. I will not let the wondering concerned souls in. I have my own worry to worry about. I simply want the calm and peace of my own box.

Today is night. I will shut out the light. I will become one with the quiet. My curtains will be closed, and I will feel the stillness manifest in my space. The world has already painted itself in a shade of gray. It has become steady; slowly dulled over time. Today I will let it consume me.

~a prison for its poor innocent captor



This poison you emit in the form in love is sickening. I yearn for the acceptance that hangs above my head. I just want your hand I want you to know that I’m here. I watch the way you live your life. I know I can never reach the expectations that are set. I am simply not that great.

She can speak with elegance. She walks as if the earth is glass. Her footing is soft and posed. Her eyes sparkle bright, and her hair is flowing perfection.  She is tall, and slender. Those legs are worth dying for. Her hands are nimble, and fold delicately when she sits with her legs crossed. Venus would be ashamed to look upon her face. It shines so naturally.

Even in her bad days she enjoys life. She lives in a constant state of excelsior, and does many things because of it. She is athletic and enjoys sports. She loves games and challenges of all types. She is versed in many tongues. These languages allow her to sing the most beautiful lullabies. She cooks. She cleans. She does all of the things you enjoy.

As a person she is adorable. Her voice is charming and pleasant to hear. She smiles often. Her plump lips part in just the right manner and to the most accurate degree so that her white teeth slightly appear. She is generous with much to give. She loves everyone she meets instantly. When she is wronged she forgives and truly forgets. She is honest, but tact. She is naturally intelligent as well. She is the single flawless being I have ever known.

Despite all of this, I hate her. I hate everything she is, and everything she does. Despite your happiness, I long for her demise. Everything she touches is dead to me. The charity in her heart sets fire to all. I know the hurt I bring. I simply cannot help myself. It is inherent, for when she touched you she took you. You are dead to me. Yet somehow you remain so deeply twisted through my being I cannot leave.

She is beautiful. I am not. I am an empty husk of a bride in a tore stained gown. My wiry hair tangles about my dirty face. My makeup runs. My eyes are empty voids, dark and untouchable. My skin crawls all white and scrawny. I am not elegant. I do not hold myself in such style. I am no more than a mangy animal in her shadow.

She is fun. I am not. She is full of energy, but I am slowly fading. She runs circles around me. I sit alone on the steps of my porch and watch you wave as disappearing into the distance. I am useless. I do not have a talent to face any she may have.

She is kind. I am not. My whole being is jaded. I covet secret hate against everything good and fair. I do not have enough to share with those less fortunate, but if I did I would not give my dues. My stupor blinds me. I forget all I knew. I am as sociable as an eel, and as loveable as an oozing wound. I fester inside myself, and for all its worth I want.

I want to be her in all respects. I wish to love and be loved, but I am incapable. Those expectations are just too high. I desire to be your favorite. Despite my stupidity I know that this is an empty hope. So I will watch the way she continues her wonderful existence from my uncomfortable bubble. You will never know my hate, my hurt, my anger.

~the toxic mix of ambition and love



Rose tint the world in a dark shade of red. Paint it deep and let it run like blood. Let it run like your blood, on my hands, on my mind, in my dreams. Bring out the torture and the pain that dances through my fantasies. Let it rain like my hate down upon the earth. Together we’ll learn the lessons of anguish.

I want no more then to let you know how much I loathe you. It is with a hate so pure and refined I think of you only. I need to hurt you. I need to transfer my aching desires through my arms and into your body.

Revenge and all other sweet flavors sit upon my tongue. They have a collective taste of metal. Yet, still they burn a fiery zest of hell and brimstone that travels up my chest and into my mouth. The seasoning is of acidic waste, a taste so vile every time I hear the mention of you.  I grit my teeth. I swallow it back in.

My muscles tense. The nails on my hands dig into my palms till my own life essence drips rhythmically on the floor. It hurts in the best possible of ways. I want to tear your flesh. I want to stomp out your life. I want to hurt you. My breathing becomes shallow with these wonderful thoughts.

Your air is of sickening uselessness. An aroma of bile and decay fellow your every whereabouts. You make my stomach turn. You make my bowels rumble in rebellion of my very own humanity. I have to fight myself to keep my head.

When I look at you I see your soul. It is that of an old haggish figure. The teeth in your mouth are blackened with uncaring. Your skin is unfeeling as it is unsightly. Patchy groups of grimy hair cover your mangy head and fall about your yellowed eyes. I know I cannot be the only one to see this vision of you, though you certainly have gone out of your way to hide your true intentions.

The trumpeting of damnations fills your voice. The crying children remind me directly of you. You are a thing of great evil. It is my vision that you will no longer exist in this world. I will be the destroyer of the core of you.

You will know my wrath. You will know the sight of your own excrement as I rip your inner workings apart and scatter them like the sprinkling of rain. Your influence is a passing thing, I can assure you.

You will never wrong another. I will not let you. You will never have the chance, because you will be mine. You will be mine to annihilate. I will put you in your place with shame. You will be alone and unloved, just as you were in life. When you are crying I will let my fancies fall on your fragile fame. Then I will consume you. None of you will remain. Only then will you know the extent of my fury.

~ an ancient impulse from the our most natural of self

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