Bite my Blogger
by Erin Mercury

Autumn had quietly made herself at home, bringing with her the comforting warmth of golden afternoons and the gentle promise of colder days ahead. In the little corner of the old wooden house, pumpkins of different shapes and sizes had been carefully arranged, each one decorated with delicate patterns rather than the familiar carved faces of Halloween. Their soft cream and deep charcoal colours complemented the rustic surroundings, adding a touch of understated elegance to th

Over the years, the water had slowly crept inland, swallowing the ground around the old, dilapidated buildings. What had once been dry pathways and well-trodden tracks were now lost beneath the gentle ripples, leaving behind crumbling walls, boarded-up windows and the remnants of a place that had once been full of life. Wooden walkways had been built to connect one area to another, their uneven, weathered planks stretching across the shallow water, allowing passage between bu

She surrendered herself to the ropes, her body gracefully arched, her wrists bound above her head. Every knot had been carefully placed, every movement an expression of the trust she had willingly given him. Vulnerable yet unafraid, she found an unexpected freedom in relinquishing control, knowing that her safety and wellbeing remained his responsibility. He sat quietly, watching her with a calm, commanding presence. There was no need for words, no need to assert his authorit

Detention. Again. The last of the evening sunlight spilled through the tall classroom windows, casting long amber shadows across the worn wooden desks. Dust drifted lazily through the golden beams, while the faint scent of chalk, old books and polished wood lingered in the still air. Somewhere beyond the classroom, footsteps echoed along the deserted corridor before fading into nothingness. The heavy door had closed behind her with a decisive click, leaving her alone with the

Behind an unmarked door, far from the noise and expectations of the outside world, existed The Midnight Society. A secret club created for gentlemen who understood that some desires were better explored in shadows. Membership was whispered about rather than advertised, invitations were rare, and what happened beneath its warm amber lights remained known only to those privileged enough to cross its threshold. The Midnight Society had only one rule: if you entered, you left you

At the very bottom of the garden, hidden beyond the trees and tangled autumn leaves, sat a little nook that felt as though it belonged to another world. It wasn’t grand or perfect, but that was part of its charm. The old wooden steps creaked beneath your feet, the little lamps glowed warmly beside the door, and once inside, the noise of everything else seemed to disappear. It became their place to escape to when life felt too loud. A place for quiet conversations, stolen kiss

The room was warm and quiet, lit by the soft amber glow filtering through the bamboo. He lay face-down on the massage table, finally allowing the tension in his shoulders to melt beneath her hands. What had begun as a perfectly ordinary massage slowly took on a more playful atmosphere, the lingering touches, the knowing smile when he glanced back at her, and the unmistakable chemistry neither of them was pretending not to notice. By the time the massage was over, relaxation w

He tells himself he comes back for the show, but he knows that stopped being true a long time ago. There are other women, other stages, other nights, but somehow, his attention always finds her. He pays to watch the same woman dance because there is something about her quiet confidence that fascinates him. It isn't possession or some unhealthy need to know everything about her; it's admiration. He likes watching the woman who rarely says much command an entire room without ne

The basement was cold, but never cruel. Every morning he brought her breakfast, fresh blankets, and books he thought she might enjoy. He spoke softly, asked if she was warm enough, and sat for hours talking about ordinary things, the weather, old films, the garden she could never see. In a place where fear had become her constant companion, those small acts of kindness slowly eclipsed the terror of how she had arrived there. The man who had stolen her freedom became the only

She had always been exceptional at dictation. While others struggled to keep pace, she seemed to anticipate every word, capturing his thoughts with remarkable speed and precision. As his secretary, she understood not only what he said, but how he thought. Every meeting, every letter, every carefully worded instruction flowed effortlessly from his mind to her fingertips, creating a rhythm between them that made the office run with quiet efficiency. Dictation became more than a