#builtforsin

Prompt Requested By Uri Kane (SoulCry)

“It is said, when one person saves the life of another, that person becomes responsible for the life that has been saved.  It is also said that a deep and strong bond is often formed between those involved in such near-death experiences and more often than not said bond is both life-changing and lasting.”  --Excerpt From A Reply Written By Kimber To Uri

Location: Honolulu, Hawaii

There is much to be said for the light in which a child shines, pure and radiant, and as natural as the sun tacked to a clear blue sky.  It’s both invigorating and refreshing to be around a child, especially one full with an ardor for life. It’s a shame how the world can be so callous and cruel thus forcing the harsh realities of life upon those chaste and innocent.  The corruption, whether slow or swift, a vile and wretched offense. No doubt, it’s an atrocity when one thinks on it. For Kimber, due to the circumstances of her birth and subsequent abandonment by her mother, having been thrown into the foster care system right from the start surely made for a rough and tough beginning in which she was forced to grow up fast.  Even after being adopted by her parents, a couple no less than loving and righteous, the damage had been done and there was no turning back for her.

The maturity acquired at such an early age didn’t hinder her as much as the fears and insecurities she garnered so early on, and even with this having an impact on her overall childhood, she honestly couldn’t complain about her life in the slightest.  Kimber had it better than most. Despite the impediments and lack of relatability to others her age whilst growing up, she managed to adjust and fit in well enough, but always felt like an outcast simply skirting the edge. It wasn’t until she got older and started babysitting for her neighbors that she realized she had a special affinity for children in general and the older she got, the stronger the affinity.  The energy and purity in which they radiate fed into the little bit of virtue she has managed to hold onto all her life--no matter hardship or tragedy. It also tapped into a side of her she was surprised to discover existed, the side gifted by God or whatever other higher power simply for being born a woman--her maternal instinct.

Truth? Kimber was just 21 when she realized one day she would love to be a mother, but with that self-awareness came a great deal of fear and trepidation.  How could she be a mother when her own biological mother was so quick to abandon her at birth? In her mind, for a woman to do that, she surely had to be damaged right down to her core.  What if she passed that onto Kimber? With all the other factors working against, one’s revolving around her origin and WHAT she is exactly, Kimber resolved herself to the opinion and thought that it would be for the best she not ever have children of her own.  Needless to say, this decision settled heavy upon her heart providing a constant pang and fear of a life unfulfilled. By the time she received her doctorate and started working at Horizon’s clinic and freelancing as a Psychologist, she had done well to bury these feelings deep and move on with her life with her career as her primary focus.

It’s odd just how things can change for a person.  How one thing can lead to another then another and another.  It’s like a domino effect. Unfortunate circumstance would lead her to this very point in time in her life--on a private beach in Honolulu in the presence of a little girl named Aniya Kane.  It’s in the presence of this child in particular that her heartstrings are plucked and the remnants of her buried maternal feelings and inclinations resurface. Who knew? Upon arrival Kimber was quick to settle in and take in the island city, basking in all it had to offer.  Life, it was improving for her during this much-needed vacation. However, after nearly a week spent Honolulu, things would certainly take a dramatic turn when a fun and relaxing day at the beach would give way to a near tragedy. As Kimber waded in the warm, frothy ocean, she caught sight of a little girl having been swept up by the current flailing to keep her head above the surface.  Quick to act, Kimber swam to help the child, but by the time she reached her, the ocean had swallowed her whole.

Kimber managed to get her out of the water and with instinct taking over, once on the beach gave the little girl CPR thus saving her life.  After her father Uri arrived, though the girl was then safe, sound and most importantly breathing, Kimber couldn’t bear to leave her side--at least not until a pediatrician checked her out, specifically for any remaining water left in her lungs.  All Kimber could think of was her welfare and the possibility of Secondary Drowning. Who knew it would lead to something so much more? Who knew it would be the one thing she needed in her life at this point in time? WHO KNEW? As Kimber walks along the sandy beach, the sun setting off in the horizon with glowing rays breaking across the cyan surface of the ocean and white-capped waves, she fondly watches as Aniya skips ahead, searching eagerly for seashells for Kimber to take back on her return to New York.  An inevitable outcome and end to this unexpected and eventful trip, and certainly one she isn’t quite ready to accept.

“KIMBER! KIMBER!” The five-year-old Aniya calls out whilst bouncing on the balls of her bare feet.  “LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND!!!” From a small distance, Kimber can see that in her tiny, frail hand she is holding up a large starfish and the smile curling along her pout widens as she picks up her pace, heading straight for her little friend.  

“I think we should call him… PATRICK!” Kimber states with confidence.

“PATRICK!” Aniya exclaims, face beaming as her attention turns back to the starfish and she promptly addresses it. “YOU are PATRICK.”

Chuckling softly, Kimber slips her arm around Aniya’s shoulders affectionately pulling her close as they make their way further down the beach, toward her home and back to her father Uri.  Along the way, Aniya makes up stories and grand tales of Patrick’s adventures at the bottom of the ocean and just how he found his way to the beach. Amusing and adorable, Kimber could listen to the child speak for hours on end, no matter how over the top her stories and fantastical her loosely woven tales.  It’s certainly better than a day spent with patients hearing their woes or sitting in a lecture on the new advancements in Psychological research. It’s odd though, especially when around Uri and Aniya both. From what little Uri has told Kimber about his daughter, more often than not, she is quiet and timid, embodied by her shy nature--a far cry from how she can be at times when with Kimber.  It’s NOT difficult to believe though in the contra, Kimber is well versed in such and it comes as NO surprise that Aniya has connected with her as much as Kimber has herself to the little the girl. Their recent experience demands it.

“Kiiiiiimber! Kiiiimber!” Aniya calls out whilst tugging at Kimber’s linen sundress.  Kimber, honestly caught up in the melody of Aniya’s voice and exuberance of her mood, didn’t quite catch the last thing she said oddly enough.

“Yes Aniya?”  She asks in a soft tone of voice.  

“Tell me a story about Patrick!” The child demands.  

Laughing she shakes her head.  “Right now, I want to HEAR your stories, luv.  They’re far better than mine.”

“WHYYYYY?” Aniya asks in an exaggerated manner.

“I just like listening to you talk.”  Kimber freely admits and with sincerity.  “YOU, lil’ one, tell the BEST stories.”  

“OOOOKAAAAY!” Aniya says, manner and tone once more exaggerated.  “But you gotta tell me a bedtime story tonight!”

Eyeing her with affectionate delight, Kimber nods. “Fair enough. You get one bedtime story.  Well, maybe two, but we will have to see.”  Reaching over, she playfully pinches Aniya’s button nose. The child squeaks and hands Kimber the starfish before hopping from her side in a mad dash toward her island home as it comes into view.  

Upon approach both Aniya and Kimber catch sight of a seemingly annoyed, possibly frustrated Uri standing at the grill on the deck, cooking whatever meat he has planned for their dinner.  It’s somewhat comical to Kimber that this brute, brooding and moody the majority of the time, is standing over a grill whilst wearing an apron and holding large tongs. His intense gaze peering down at the meat, just willing it to cook faster so he could be done with it.  Whatever the case, he is a sight for sore eyes and not simply because she is famished either. The bond she has formed with Aniya, in some ways bonded Kimber and Uri. She did save his daughter’s life and there is much to be said for that fact. Once near the deck and Uri sees them from his peripheral, Aniya picks up her pace and runs to greet her father, flinging herself against his bulky legs.  

“DADDY DADDY! We found a starfish and named it Patrick and I told Kimber stories and she is gonna tell me a bedtime story…and..” An excited Aniya can’t help ramble about their afternoon and all their adventures big and small.  “I just like listening to you talk.”  Kimber thinks silently to herself the words only spoken moments prior.  Once more, she finds herself laughing and as she climbs the stairs of the deck, she catches a glance from Uri.  The tortured soul within just melts away to one much more elated and hopeful in nature when in the presence of his daughter.  She is undoubtedly the light of his life and it’s one of the most precious things Kimber has witnessed. She can relate in some ways, being with Aniya has given her reason to re-evaluate certain things in her life, and truth be told, Kimber can’t recall a time she felt so content.  For a child to inspire such sentiment, a child not her own that she has only known for a short time, it’s miraculous. As Kimber and Uri exchange a glance, Kimber walks on over to father and daughter with starfish in hand. She holds it out to the man and smirks.

Emily had been gone for weeks, using her magic go hide her presence from anyone who might be looking for her. She had killed most of those who would come looking, but Eleanor had survived and with their bond...That familiar feeling of weakness shot through her veins and she dropped to her knees and let her tears run free. She hadn’t meant to do it, but the...the thing that she had made a deal with for more power had seduced her with the promise of even more power.

Be careful for what you wish for right?

The brunette witch had made a camp just fifteen minutes away but she couldn’t keep going, she had been getting weaker every day and she had no idea why. Maybe this is what she deserved, maybe this is what she got for doing what she did…

Emily had killed all of them, not just the coven but all of humanity...As far as she knew the only people left on the planet were her and Eleanor. Suddenly her strength returned to her and she looked around wildly, summoning a sword to her hand even if she was in no state to fight.

BABYLON

Date Night

Friday--10:37 PM

Kimber Monroe stands casually outside an ominous warehouse in the heart of the Meatpacking District in New York. The warehouse, now a nightclub called Babylon, is exactly what one would expect in this part of the city and certainly lives up to its name with the general themes appealing to an alternative and unconventional subculture. Subtle vibrations of the loud music beyond the walls filter into the streets only to mix with the cat calls, yells, squealing tires, honking horns, and police sirens that make for a gritty New York soundtrack. People, mainly New York's undesirables, consisting of club goers, punks, metal heads, goths, dealers, addicts, hookers, and kinksters are coming and going along the avenue. All on the prowl for anything or anyone to make the night eventful. Shockingly, the raven haired minx blends in quite well with these so called undesirables and yet from the crowd she stands out in all her harlot glory.

Playing the part of said harlot well, she dons a slinky, form-fitting black leather mini-dress with a plunging V-shaped neckline down the front to reveal the valley between her ample, perky breasts and an open back with fishnet stockings, and shiny black fuck me pumps. All complementary to the rest of her appearance. Baby blues, offset by heavily smeared charcoal eyeliner and eye shadow, and her plush pout stained crimson with her lush and tousled, onyx locks trailing freely down the of her spine, reaching the small of her back--she is a sight to behold. Brass knuckles decorate one delicate hand and bulky, sterling silver rings the other. Both of which showcase her perfectly manicured fingers with oval shaped nails in a shade of dark pewter. On her wrists she wears thick leather bondage bands accompanied by a few silver bangle bracelets. The edgy ensemble, just her normal attire for a night out on the wrong side of the tracks.

It’s rare she ever comes to Babylon alone, and usually Carver is her escort, especially with this particular club being one of their personal favorites. Their own den of debauchery. Typically, Carver picks her up for these excursions out, but tonight circumstance has dictated otherwise and it was more convenient to simply meet up at the club. Leaning against the wall just a few feet from the entrance and the long line of people waiting to get inside, she casually keeps on the lookout for him, knowing he will be driving the hearse. Kimber didn’t feel the need to wait in the line because the bouncers, knowing Carver and Kimber well as regulars, are always quick to wave them inside. The wait, having been less than ten minutes, is finally over as she catches sight of the hearse creeping down the street. Cool cerulean hues follow its path even as it rounds the corner to find a parking spot. Eager anticipation builds and her whole body tingles with electricity. It’s been a few weeks since the two of them were able to get away and have the night all to themselves. Moments like this are often what she lives for.

Audaciously painted in ink stain and heresy, he has the aura of a fallen deity that sprang from the cracks of city street asphalt and crafted himself in the image of weathered, graffiti covered brick. It never fails, the moment Kimber sets her eyes on Carver or is in his presence, she comes ALIVE. https://youtu.be/VpdHMaccjw4 It is as if his very essence sparks a voltaic flame within her heart and soul, and the longer she courts him, it’s like gasoline being constantly thrown into an already raging fire. It is all consuming and undoubtedly dangerous, especially with such potential for destruction, but one of the things she craves most in this life. Being the glutton that she is, Kimber has no apprehension feeding into said cravings and binging on the passion elicited. Always a Sinner’s Feast, both Kimber and Carver ritualistically dine on the debauchery and are devoted when it comes to paying proper reverence to this hedonistic God.

As the Reaper rounds the corner, dressed ominously in slick black and donning a HEAVY mood, she can’t resist the urge to move in his direction. Desire and passion, two components similar in nature and essential to the human design, one not truly having meaning without the other, but neither completely dependent on the others existence. Most people find themselves slaves to both, no matter what form they come in. Kimber is NO different. Like a Lioness honing in on and stalking her prey, she glides smoothly in a determined stride just ready to pounce when the perfect moment presents itself. Carver, undoubtedly aware of the regal feline and her carnal intent, is not easy game by any means and it is as much as evident by the expression etching his eerie features. He would never be a casualty of her elegant savagery and primitive nature. Carver is simply not of that ILK.

A predator in his own right, feral and ravenous but no less Machiavellian, like one possessed of the spirit of a Hyena, he brazenly creeps her way. The languid migration is MAGNETIC. Eyeing her lover upon approach, they meet in the middle and just as he takes an artful drag from his cigarette, a plume of smoke pushing past his wry pout to follow, his inked duke fearlessly takes hold of her and in a forcible, eager collision their lips meet and engage in fevered combat. Whimpering softly into the kiss, she savors his unique taste. It is one entirely innate to him and him alone. A POTENT and addictive flavor, she is taken hostage by the sudden impact of a high only he can provide. Just like a junkie always susceptible to chosen vice, she is quick to dose and lose herself to the euphoria. He IS her drug of choice. As a wave of ecstasy washes over her, ravaging her coast, she welcomes the impending delirium.

For Kimber, it is like a thousand dormant Roman Candles that have been secretly nestled within her are suddenly ignited by a powerful, metaphysical force. It’s enough to steal the very breath from her lungs and make her weak from the intensity of the heat. Her fierce, headstrong and liberated temperament is subdued, making her malleable to his masterful authority. She welcomes him like a mistress, genuine in her desire to submit and eager to both appease and please equally. Lithe and nubile form, stacked and molded to perfection with all the soft dips and curves in the appropriate places, Kimber ripples slowly, seductively against his crudely designed, hardened musculature. Leisurely basking in the kiss, she is NOT inclined to peel back her greedy lips, but manages to do so. If she had not, it’s likely they wouldn’t make it past the ‘gates’ and into Babylon.

“Daddy,” she murmurs in low, wanton tone of voice. “I missed you,” Kimber adds affectionately with her voice a little less wanton. Alert with her mind open and her guard down, the empath can sense more than just his desire and hunger for her and all the iniquity awaiting them in Babylon. He emanates residual frustration and malcontent. “One of those days?” She can’t help ask with curiously quirked brow and flash of concern. Without giving him much of a window to answer, not like she needs him to validate what she knows he feels, Kimber takes reluctant step back whilst reaching for him. She slips her delicate paw into his hand and with a slight nod of her dark crown tipping toward the entrance door of the nightclub, she leads the way. Turning away from him, she moves catlike and just enough ahead to give him a stellar view of her backside.

Indigo hues meet the imposing gaze of the burly bouncer and they exchange a conspicuous glance of recognition as he greets her with a nod. Aware of her escort for the evening and his reputation, the bouncer knows better than to let his eyes linger too long on her and drift in Carver’s direction. From her peripheral as she moves past the bouncer and Carver slides next to him, she catches another greet being exchanged, but is quick to find herself distracted upon entering the underground metropolis by a cacophony of sound and motley of imagery as well as the overwhelming feeling of depravity. It’s almost as intoxicating as Carver’s kiss and Kimber can’t help embrace the onslaught. https://youtu.be/YbeBLvMFAcs With cadence and ease, seduced by the abrasive beat and provocative melody, she guides her lover through the dim glow veil of red light and smoke known as the outer sanctum of Babylon.

The ambiance of the parlor, one just as alluring as it is prognostic, offers faint glimpse of the lecherous and infernal marvels to come. The bodies decorating the room, all morbidly ornate despite the minimal packaging of leather, spandex, velvet and mesh. Flesh inscribed with ink and pierced by industrial metal add a lurid flare to these corporeal specters. The lovers float on, making their way through a large archway painted in tribal design. It’s into the mouth of darkness they arrive, accosted by ominous shadows and flashes of sharp, bright silver light and they find themselves standing at the edge of a large platform aligned with a thick steel railing overlooking a massive, open pit where a twisting, coalesce mass appears--enticed by the loud, pulsating rhythm.

The scene playing out before their eyes, depicted by modern philistines, brutes and jezebels is deliberately crude and so immorally suggestive that for many, the vulgarity would inspire instant offense. Good thing both Carver and Kimber have strong constitutions with progressive attitudes and mindsets. Truth? Kimber sometimes can’t help wondering what her religiously devout, Evangelical parents would say if they could see her now. They’d be both appalled and horrified. Taking it ALL in, Kimber scans the ‘plutonic’ landscape. She likes what she sees and has a hunch Carver is just as pleased by SIN permeating. It invokes certain proclivities, ones that rouse a spirit of rebellion compelling enough for an individual, especially one often constrained by societies rigid expectations and mores, to indulge in the moment and whatever wicked delights it bestows. Kimber has been here many times before with Carver, this being the preferred devil’s playground, their own special den of degradation.

At the center of the pit is a large yet cramped dance floor that is surrounded by various tables and random semi-private areas constructed in the fashion of open, concrete cubicles for a more intimate setting. Erect platforms varying in height are strategically placed across the pit where Goth Go-Go dancers bounce their pale, ample tits and shake their tight, round apple shaped asses with two platforms, one at each end of the club are grease burnished Fire Breathers spitting flames high above the crowd. To the far right, located at the back of the club, is a stage meant for the occasional show/performance or DJ with a screen in the backdrop playing a fast-paced montage of questionable acts currently transpiring within the walls of this proverbial Babel. Tonight, a grandiose Beast takes the spotlight on stage as he hangs from industrial strength chains with hooks digging into his meaty flesh. Even from where Kimber stands, she can see the look of orgasmic pleasure on his brusque, rugged face.

3. How Do U Want It

(Requested By Alec)

About A Girl: “She comes to me, with all the caresses and in the softness I imagined, offering sweet promises and spice-kissed lips.  Like a stone, the ache settles in my chest and I crave just a taste--sweat and ink, sex and musk.  The epitome of beauty and unsound mind--she is the wilderness and I the bold adventurer.  The more I explore, the more  I learn the valleys that she harbors are deeply embedded with her secrets in the tapestry of her soul.  The dips of her body, hot breasts above a shuddering rib cage and shapely, caramel thighs quick to part, are a miraculous sight to behold, but her mind no less a descent straight into chaos--a lost paradise . Where The Wild Things Are.  All these territories of her blueprint remind me of charred ash and madness and the inability to say NO.  She renders me powerless.  And even though I know it’s only short-lived--the bliss between her thighs is worth a lifetime of lies.”  

9. Personal Jesus

(Requested By Sorrow)

“Years spent living in black & white and under bible belt circumscription, mapped out a world all too confining.  Child-like ardor and natural curiosity often denounced for the sake of a religious mob with puritanical mindsets was no less despairing and the spirit of innocence, playful possession trumped by ingrained doubt and fear, was entirely inspired by an omnipotent God eager to cast his judgment and execute punishment.  So, I read the good book like a fable, anything to keep my tenacious curiosities and free spirit from being snuffed out by another’s truth.  And so it was written, little girls should be seen and not heard.  With a voice silenced and will dictated by an organized religion, freedom was just a concept understood, but not truly lived. Survival became imminent.  

Little girls trapped by circumstance will breed tiny little monsters in the depths of their afflicted hearts.

Growing up in the Bible Belt and with a family of Evangelicals, everyday life gave way to nothing short of an illiberal upbringing.  The majority of the time, I had nothing but my own thoughts, curiosities, and the boundless depths of my imagination to get me through the monotony of ‘church’ days and events.  Maybe I was just born bad, like Eve in the Garden, succumbing to the want of all those earthly desires and sins my dear ole preacher would adamantly speak against.  Or maybe it was some sort of rebellion or even reverse mind control against the doctrine. Whatever the case, I certainly wasn’t the good little Christian my adoptive parents prayed for nightly.  I do remember the first time I realized just how wicked and far from grace I had fallen, and just how much I enjoyed my budding debauchery.

Church--being in The House of the Lord, it always did do funny things to me. Even when I was just a tiny, little thing, I found myself swept up in the spirit of it all.  It was as if I was excited and incited by the Holy Spirit himself!  He moved right through me.  As I got older though, that feeling began to change into something less pure and the more fire and brimstone damnation the preacher preached, the more my thoughts would become corrupt.  It might have been all of that poetry and scripture from the old testament about sinful women and the hazards of desire or the rants about some television broadcast depicting sado-masochistic perversions, and the burning of incense and the profanation of pagan altars, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the divine and Holy Spirit sweeping over the congregation, but less than Holy urges stirred within the apex of my sex and from the depths of loins I sang a praise chorus unlike any other.

I prayed, but not for forgiveness for my wickedness.  I prayed for release.  No scripture ever prepared me for such an experience--for this temptation.  Oh Holy Holy!  When it came time for communion, I walked the church floors, burdened by sinners before me and walls threaded by the grotesque images depicting a tortured and tormented Christ, his journey to the cross, the crucifixion, and lastly his resurrection and ascendancy.  I gritted my teeth and clenched my thighs along the way--gospel riding my filthy tongue.  HALLELUJAH! PRAISE BE HIS NAME!   By the time I reached the altar, I was the one that had ascended.  Down on my knees in reverence and quivering in bliss--my innocence lost between hymn and scripture.  My virtue just a puddle in the fabric of my white cotton panties.”

11. Crazy In Love

(Requested By War King)

“When you walk into the room, I’m tongue tied and twisted in knots. Breathless with a racing heart, I can’t even convey the simplest of thoughts. Cast a glance in my direction, looking me over with those wanton eyes and that signature smirk, and I forget myself. Just a touch of your hand and a kiss of your lips, I’m left quivering at the knees and with dripping hips. THERE IS NOTHING I WOULDN’T DO FOR YOUR LOVE.”

Love, when pertaining to the heart and romance is a mysterious, unpredictable beast with a wicked design and when not solidified by a profound bond is more often than not fickle.  For most people, they come up in life experiencing various degrees of heartfelt and romantic love.  Beliefs and notions formed on their ideals of it just as much as said experiences in its regard.  Some say that the need and want for companionship is intrinsic to the human condition therefore LOVE simply exists by default--a reason to explain away said needs and wants for companionship so people aren’t forced to confront the simple fact that loneliness breeds fear and most all are held hostage by carnal impulse.  

LOVE wraps the truth in a pretty package so people can feel better about themselves and the fact that the fear inspires neediness and the carnal impulse spurs a hunger relentless in its efforts to be sated.  LOVE paints the truth a pretty picture so people can feel better about the harsh reality just beneath the gossamer surface. Whatever the case, this isn’t meant to minimize love and the ideals and notions behind it nor is it meant to trivialize the belief in love, it is simply an honest opinion from the abstract mind of a young woman with the ability to see people and world logically, breaking it all down and compartmentalizing the bits and pieces of the construct whilst empathizing greatly to the plight of others.  It’s simply a belief from a young woman yet to experience the intensity and impact of romantic love.  

All her life, Kimber has been acutely aware of those around her, being both ridiculously perceptive and ‘unnaturally’ in tune with the energies catapulted into the proverbial ether.  If anything, it gives one damn good reason that she is so skilled at her job thus successful for one so early on in a career as a Psychologist.  However, surprisingly enough, it has not done her any favors when it comes to romance and love.  If anything, it works against her and she has yet to find herself in its warm embrace, drowning in the euphoria of a fairytale and happy ever after.  But it’s NOT a fairytale and a happy ending or even a Harlequin Romance that she desires much less needs.  No--not in the slightest.  

13. A Little Less Conversation

(Requested By Wayne)