Encouraged by the poll I ran on my IG stories, I’m going to run a small series of posts for the Mondays in May highlighting my erotic autofiction. Patrons have received shorter flash fictions in the past, and this is a longer piece I’ve been working on highlighting our established succubus antagonist.
As is a reflection of the times, I begin with a disclaimer: all writing is, for better or worse, my own work. If you find fault in it, that is only from human error, and ChatGPT et al. is not to blame.
Let me know your thoughts on this week’s instalment and any predictions for next week. I was encouraged recently to remind you that I have both Signal and WhatsApp for more private messaging if you prefer that to SMS/iMessage, just ask. My bookings for May are now open if you would rather discuss your literary theories in person— or if you’re interested in helping me rehearse scene ideas for future chapters.
Tips from reading enthusiasts are welcome via cashapp ($lavandes) or via purchasing music via my Bandcamp.
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The Sitting Room, Eve Sorcellerie
Part 1
What am I even doing here?
It was a clear echo from his mind to hers, she could hear it ringing in fading decibels between her ears. Both their backs were pin straight in their chairs, but their shoulders remained soft as they surveyed the other’s crescent profile. Two cups of tea sat on the table between them, hers had been tended to with lemon, his stayed untouched.
They were sat across each other in the sitting room, each chair a leg’s stretch apart. The intentionally forgettable background aesthetic blurred the edges of his senses, though he was otherwise already appropriately starched for the occasion. His indigo blue suit was suited to match the fashion of the city rather than his own tastes, but it brought the light to his face where normally shadow lingered. He made plans for his time here when he had thought himself to be someone who rose to these sorts of opportunities. At present, he was less sure of himself, but he couldn’t resist the teases he had already been promised.
Her lips tightened in a smirk, as the top of her sclera flashed, and she brushed her hair back behind her shoulders. Her legs were crossed, a nyloned foot making small circles in the air while the seams of her stockings climbed up to hide between the folds of her satin skirt. Briefly, his eyes followed the lower curve of her thigh before that too disappeared behind the black sheen. She folded her hands in her lap and turned her chin, but still perceptively barely more of her attention, in his direction.
What is she waiting for? Is there a clandestine password for entry, or is she just trying to be difficult?
A gentle air seemed to stir the room for a second, and he could have imagined it, but the disturbance was enough for his expression to soften for a moment. At the unfurrowing of his brow— could it have possibly been the half second before?— she leaned her body across her knees enough for him to receive the floral sillage of roses’ invitation to follow to where it bloomed in between her breasts. Still, he otherwise found himself unchanged in posture even as he simultaneously eased into the stillness of his own uncertainty with what he was about to attempt.
She remained in the intentionally teasing pose, her breath in even rise and fall, her cleavage full above a tight waist, though most of the rest of her seemed to be under one layer of thin fabric or another.
How shall I unwrap this delight?
She just tipped her head?— now looking intentionally at him, as if he spoke his thought out loud to her. Was it that she could she hear his heart beating? Or was it from a change in his breathing, as he was more acutely aware of the deepening of his breath as the smell of roses grew around him. But more than perfume, it was a fragrance so intense now he could even smell the sunlight warming the petals as a gentle breeze again stirred him. It was impossible for there to be real roses blooming from where she was perched across from him— he shook his head— no, they were in the sitting area. There were no roses, but they smelled so real.
Why is she looking at me like that?
The expression she wanted him to read on her face was similar to the one he once observed on an owl securing its hunt. Almost individually, he watcher her pupils narrow their focus to the center of his lips.
Wordlessly, she maintained focus as she stood and took a step to reach him. She set her right knee beside him and reached her left hand across his shoulder to hold the back of his chair, encompassing him as she put herself in his lap, compelling him to raise his chin up to look at her. His posture remained unchained, despite internally feeling himself melting into his own stillness in the now changing space. Deeper the experience of roses filled his senses, but only as oneiric suggestion. No real blossoms filled the edges of his senses, though feeling the briefest grazes of the movement of her chest tapping him underneath his chin with each breath was not yet regrettable.
His arms found themselves around her hips, his fingers getting briefly tangled in the ribbons that laced up her spine. He was eager to unlace her, a warmth pulling him closer to her. With each blink, there was a sensation moving through his body reminding him he wasn’t only being watched by this other on his lap— what she really was now, he was decreasingly certain— but he was feeling himself being perceived from a point that originated within his interior, the source of warmth. Strangely, though, he could no longer feel her eyes on him, though her gaze on his lips remained intact.
He felt his mouth go dry, breaking his composure, and he instinctively reached for the tea he had watched her make him when he first walked in. Clumsily, his cup splashed a bit of its contents onto her cleavage, but she didn’t react in pain as the liquid rolled across her chest. He raised the cup to his lips to realize the recently steaming tea was now room cold. He replaced the cup in its saucer. How long have I been here?
He could feel her looking at him again, and the sensation of being examined from the inner crevices of his spirit quickly dissipated. She finally lowered her eyes from his mouth and down to his chest. She relaxed back into her hips as she leaned back in his lap to give him some breathing room. The lingering drops of tea were quickly drying on her skin, and her weight was pleasant on top of him, though she inarguably already knew that.
He could feel sweat forming at his collar with the heat of energy building and he wrapped both his arms around her hips again, clasping his fingers together to avoid the tempting ribbon. The rest of his body, the part with her hips wrapped around and pulling him closer within her, felt roots reaching out from within him and growing into the ground, planting him underneath her. Roses, briefly, brushed his senses. A small bit of sweat formed at his chest…
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To be continued May 11th, 2026. ✨
