Journals of a Psychopath



Clarkson obsseses about the Lady Flarice constantly in the novel.

Waldorf Grove

Cold, I preened and danced. Screeches vented from my lips, pertinent to predestined victory. Climaxing, gazing at my excellent form in the looking glass, and it was enhanced in the pure white silk robe.
      “The Lady Flarice will be yours before you take her as a Knight," the Orator said.
The ejaculations streamed from my manhood and I foresaw my man-milk, as it shot into Lady Flarice as her Knight, the silver shield would reflect us. Picking up the laptop, I saw Lady Flarice transfer into the bedroom. She disrobed sucking in my breath she captivated me.
Watching her walk around the room, I was frustrated, when she slipped into bed.
Stacking my hair on top of my head the way Mother sometimes arranged her hair I sensed her reproach. Gyrating, trying to capture Mother’s love, the performance was energetic gaining her adoration was hopeless.
      “You are the strong one it is the women who are weak,” the Voice said.
I shambled upstairs and plunged on the bed, the mattress complained in protest. Burying my cranium in the pillow, the thump from my heart blotted the noise of the blood, as it rushed through the veins. Falling into sleep, a night-plague harassed, a giant monster advanced, the pincers were sharp and the lips fat layered with white sticky mucus. Attacking and mauling my legs, the flesh tore. Waking, I hurried into the yard. Plunking onto the padded seat, the creak of the wooden rocking chair was spooky. Rocking how Mother rocked in the past and the painful memories visited once more.

The Diner

Joria lifted the cup of espresso to her lips, full and juicy I ogled. Asking to use the sugar, Joria handed it over. Stumbling into Joria, the coffee spilled all over her top and jeans, I swaggered to the counter to fetch a cloth. Loping back, Joria blushed, as I dabbed the shirt. Partially hard, her nipples stiffened, I stroked the areolas under the material, Joria’s eyes filmed over with lust.

Twin Moon Forks

Taking Joria to the eatery, I stayed for a while, she was saddened when I told her I was about to leave, I promised to return. Joria took the menu and pretended it did not matter however, I knew that it did.
The Purifiers and the Darkest-One

Pulling out the piece of bone from the lesbian, sniffing it beguiled. Relaxing with my arms above my head, amity washed over. Some twigs snapped, someone was invading my area. Crawling into the hideout, I deemed whoever dared to enter the hive of the higher world, would receive discipline. Witnessing the brutal sacrifices, the Trees and the Darkest-One would not tell, they were loyal and steadfast, but it was imperative to prevent the exposure, the evidence was all mine. Comprehending the instability relating to my tenure, I moaned. Scourging through the branches, the cold wind wailed, the moon shone on the river. A solid branch was in my hand, cracking it onto Brady’s skull, he attempted to rise to his feet, but he fell back. Jerking him by his thick coat and head-butting Brady, he collapsed. I tied him to the Tree. Brady was an old enemy, he would pay for seeking me out.


She smiled, as we set forth from the diner, hanging onto my arm as if she had known me for years it exasperated. Rambling into the alley, I kissed her hungry lips. Joria climaxed as soon as my manhood entered.
      “It was the best sex I have ever had,” she said.

Global Scriggler.DomainModel.Publication.Visibility
There's more where that came from!