Flowers of EvIl – FemDom horror story

Amazon Description:

A dark and disturbing tale of interracial eroticism, domination and…unspeakable evil…A classic Female Domination story,

Everyone wanted to find out about Earl. He wasn’t like the rest, he was reclusive withdrawn, somehow different. He seemed set himself apart. But the crew wanted to know more, to find out what lay beneath the surface of the self-effacing Third Officer…So they took him to downtown New Orleans; they found him a woman; they paid to find out, to satisfy their curiosity.

But in the most notorious voodoo club in New Orleans, Les Fleurs du Mal – everything was to change.The crew never did find out. Earl was strange when he came back, somehow altered. Different. Tainted. And it frightened them. Something fundamental had been done to him. It had started as a joke, but now nobody was laughing.And not a single one among them ever suspected the truth.

Extract:

“The taxi picked up the English crew at Westwego, on the south bank of the Mississippi. They were full of the prospect spending some time ashore in New Orleans. As the car rolled away from the Grain Terminal and left the ship behind, the taxi driver gave them some ideas in the sleepy, dangerous local drawl, though they hardly needed the pointers. The captain, particularly, had been running into New Orleans and enjoying the famous nightlife for years. There was only one among them who could really be described as a complete greenhorn; the reclusive third officer, Earl. 

Earl contributed nothing to the excited discussion about what might lay in store that night. He sat in determined silence behind the driver, watching the light of the bungalows flash by along the main road. His face was not handsome, but there was an engaging honesty in his delicate features as the light washed over them, and it was all too plain that he was very ill-at-ease. 

It was Earl’s birthday, his twenty-fifth, and his shipmates had made him come. He never took the opportunity to go ashore with the crew and they all felt that it was high time he did. The captain particularly wanted to ‘blood’ him, as he called it, and took it upon himself as a duty to bring the young man out of his shell. He did not much like Earl, actually, and they all took the captain’s lead in the car when he began to make lewd suggestions and bait him with questions about his virility. Underneath all the laughter was a hard edge and Earl felt it keenly. They were not sure about his sexual credentials, and he knew that they were resolved to find out. 

As they went up onto the three-lane, elevated section through Marrero and Harvey he found that he was beginning to sweat, even in the air conditioned cab. He knew in his bones that he would not be able to satisfy the macho requirements of his shipmates, nor perform adequately for the paid girl that they would no doubt be setting him up with. He kept his face turned to the streetlights leading away south over the bungalows, out to the far darkness of the bayous and the Gulf of Mexico beyond, and tried to think of a way out. 

By the time they reached the twin bridges and sped across the great, languid stream of the Mississippi, Earl had thought of nothing more subtle and effective but trying to get drunk as quickly as possible and getting out of it as being obviously inebriated beyond the point of being capable of sex. 

What made it more galling for Earl was the fact that it had been touch and go whether they would be obliged to put to sea early to avoid the very high tides that were predicted for that evening. If there had been the merest sniff of a hurricane, they would have gone. The storm surge together with the tidal rise would have made the river too hazardous to stay alongside. As it was, the weather was settled and calm, and everyone was convinced that the levees would hold. The captain had not even put off his run ashore, although there were many in his place that would have stayed on board their ship just in case. 

Even though Earl was nervous, he appreciated the scene on the north bank as they traversed the graceful span of the bridge and went up into the French Quarter among the colours and noise and elegant houses. It was the first time he had seen it at night. They parked in Bourbon Street and got out, laughing with the driver. 

Earl wrinkled his nose at the smell as he walked along with the others, picking their way down the crowded, noisy street. He had been warned of the distinctive odour of that part of the city, but he had been too preoccupied to give it much thought. It smelled like a rich combination of lots of things, including the broiled oysters that spat and smoked at several outlets nearby, and the wafting, bitter tones of liquor, among other unmentionable possibilities. 

Earl glanced at a shop that offered voodoo fetishes and cures, and fortune telling. There was a Creole lady in front, with earrings and fur and teeth and other strange accoutrements obviously designed to catch the eye. Earl looked at her as they passed by and she clutched at his shirt sleeve, arresting his progress with a dark look. 

‘Tonight is power,” she said, with a French accent. “Come inside.”

Earl’s smile was so insincere it was more of a grimace as he shook his head, mumbled an apology and hurried to keep up with the others. Although he feared what the crew had in store for him, he was intimidated also by the press of people and the garish colours, the brash, jazzy sounds that blared out of the bars to right and left. The captain led them down a dingy side street leading towards the river, past two-tiered, balconied houses with elegant pillars lining the sidewalk that had clearly seen better days. After a short walk they came to a wrought iron barrier that spanned right across a wide opening to the left. 

There were similar gated entrances further down the street, but this one was obviously the entrance to some sort of drinking house rather than just an alley between houses. There were two large Negroes standing to each side of a narrow open section, like the door to a jail. Somewhere beyond them were the distinctive strains of a Cajun tune, in that provoking, energetic rhythm that seemed to communicate directly with the feet. 

The captain said something to them and they motioned him inside without any expression, their eyes as hard as agates. Earl avoided their eyes as he slipped through with the rest, wondering where on earth they were going. He was liking it less and less, despite the bright, encouraging sounds of the music. To him it seemed to have an underlying, macabre quality. When they got to the entrance round a crooked alley, the bright neon letters over the doorway did nothing to comfort him. In lurid twisting red were “Les Fleurs Du Mal,” which he knew translated as ‘The Flowers of Evil’. 

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Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

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