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Friday, December 06, 2013

Free Story and audio recording

Greetings. Here's another free story. This one is a bit different. It's called Out of the Mist. It's one I wrote a while ago under my other pen name of Lucy Appleby. What's more, I can offer you a sound file. Click on the link to listen to the audio recording and the wonderfully expressive voice of my friend The English Master. If ever there was a deep chocolatey voice, it's his! Curl up in front of the fire on a dark night and listen and enjoy...

Out of the Mist
copyright Lucy Appleby/Abigail Armani

A white pall of mist rolled across the rocky peninsula, its unwholesome fingers trailing over the beach and curling up the cliffs. Cold and clammy fragments of smog clung to the water and more segments floated away to lurk in the hidden hollows of the land.

Up on the clifftop path a lone figure watched the mist drift in off the sea and rise up like a white wave of haze. Coating every dip and fold of the fields, it curled into the ditches and lapped ravenously around the trees. The long quavering call of the owl hung on the still air, heralding the onset of the night as the sloping rays of the setting sun began to crimson as they pierced the heavy black swags of cloud which fused with the distant horizon.

And as the mist rose, so too did the wailing wind, blowing a sudden squall that raked the fields of corn and whipped the tree branches into a frenzied dance. The figure stood resolute and solid though the wind tore through his hair and threatened to topple him by its sheer force. Feet apart and arms outstretched, he embraced the mist, exulting as it wove its wild magic, entwining itself around his body.

He embraced its power and harnessed its energy, filling himself with the intense force that coursed through his veins and burned fanatically through his eyes. And as the raw energy surged and pulsed within him, he felt uplifted, renewed, and all-powerful. All self doubts dispelled, he turned and focused his eyes on the line of cottages nestling in the shoulder of the field. With a determined stride, he approached them, and pushed open the white gate of the end cottage, his booted feet crunching on the gravel path as he stood by the front door.

Without knocking, he thrust open the door, stepped into the kitchen and through to the sitting room. She was there, waiting for him, an expression of fearful excitement upon her face. She rose in a silent greeting, her long hair caressing her nakedness, her porcelain pale skin glowing lightly from the fire burning in the hearth.

"I am ready," she said, and got into position on the floor. On her hands and knees, legs splayed invitingly, she thrust out her bottom, awaiting punishment from this man who was, and yet was not, her husband.

His mouth curved into a hard smile as he surveyed her appreciatively through narrowed eyes. His hands moved automatically to the leather belt he wore at his waist. With strong fingers he removed it, folded it into a loop, grasped the ends tightly, raised his arm, and brought the leather cracking down vehemently on her pale flesh.

The crack of the leather accompanied both her cry of pain and the spitting of a log on the fire which sent shards of tiny red sparks flying up the chimney. Time fractured. Pain filled the small room. Lust filled his loins as the madness was upon him. She smouldered beneath the blows as her buttocks were welted, slashed sore, throbbing red, mottling to a purple hue. And when it was done, he entered her in a haze of heat and desire, bellowing out his frenzy and release.

The night passed, and the pale early morning light cast a dull monochrome over the fields, gradually infusing as the day dawned and the birds began to sing. The thick pulsing clouds of morning were blown out to sea, leaving the skies clear and blue and bright under a golden sun that dazzled the surface of the waves.

In the end cottage with the white gate the occupants stirred to greet the day. She walked stiffly, her hands rubbing her bruised flesh, yet there was a secret smile of satisfaction and wonder on her face. Her husband, a quiet, mild and gentle man, smilingly ate the breakfast she prepared for him, and then went out to tend the sheep.

Far away, deep in the dark caves beneath a hidden cove, the strange mist pulsed and eddied; now that it had found a willing host, it would return.


Did you like that? I hope so. It was published along with a collection of my other stories in the ebook Six of the Best:Book 1 by Lucy Appleby. Further details here.


  1. This was one of the most beautifully written. very descriptive and sensual stories I have ever read. I am so jealous of this woman with this sexy man in this beautiful cottage environment in the mist. Really loved this story. Thank you,

  2. Hi Barbara, It's one of my favourites too. Really glad you enjoyed it and thanks for the nice comment :)

  3. This is a story it was a pleasure to read. The use of the mist to set the mood gave the story a supernatural feel.