Poison – ebook



Poison by Jo-Anne Wiley

She is being poisoned. Not to death, but slowly into submission…
There’s the waxy taste again, numbing her lips and tongue; then a hollowness rides low down. Her nipples ache. Her vagina is open territory. She’s overwhelmed by the desire to do something evil, and ready to be consumed.
The young journalist from Miami arrives on an island, chasing the story of her career. But the decrepit plantation house holds more secrets than she bargained for: The house boy in the linen closet, a sexual encounter with the au pair, a ‘brain-dead’ fieldworker she uses indiscriminately for her personal pleasure, as well the chauffeur and the local village boys, all falling prey to her lusty advances.
Though appalled by her behavior, she stands on the brink, ready to spiral down into sexual deviancy. She yearns for the opportunity to slide languidly into the arms of anyone, man or woman; anyone who cares to take an interest in what she has to offer. And her offerings are considerable.
But when a ghostly apparition descends from the ceiling of her ancient bedroom, there to feast on her open thighs, she wonders if she’s gone mad.
Includes sexual conniving and intrigue, humiliation; revenge, deviant behavior, non-consensual, girl-on-girl; girl-on-boy. Plus! An in-depth interview with the author.

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Lindsey moved forward, more carefully now. The trees seemed to thin and she found herself on the brink of a rocky grotto. Twenty feet below, Father Jimmy jumped from the last of a series of natural steps onto the ferny floor.

            He looked up to where she stood, poised at the brink. “C’mon,” he waved. “It’s easy. Come and see my real church.” And he motioned with an outstretched arm to a cathedral of rock and foliage.

            It was a natural sinkhole in the side of the mountain. Lindsey gasped with surprise as she jumped down. The trees canopied overhead throwing everything into dappled shade. Cuckoos cried from the branches. The cool greenish light reflected off a pool of water and magically Lindsey thought of fairies and leprechauns.

            It was the perfect swimming hole.

            Lindsey straightened; touched by a certain dread. Had she been set up? Had he planned his afternoon stroll to include a little naughtiness? A bare-bottomed swim perhaps? She swiveled around, expecting to see him standing there; but Lindsey was surprised to find she stood quite by herself. She fought a small pang of disappointment.

            “Over here” he shouted.

            Father Jimmy stepped aside revealing a large square stone. Lindsey came to a halt beside him and gazed down on the massive rock. It was about the same size and shape as her automatic washer at home. The surface was covered with stick-like artwork etched into the smooth surface. “It dates back to the Tainto Indians. An alter marking a portal to the underworld.”

            Lindsey looked down to the base of the rock. “Someone still comes here,” she remarked, pointing out the chicken feathers. A sacrifice?”

            “Yes. Those brown stains? Blood. Someone comes here for the same reasons I do. To pray in harmony with the forest. I use the spot by day… someone else, by night.”

            Lindsey reached out and touched the stone and felt herself drift back through the centuries. A chill ran through her, tensing her skin. “You can feel it too.” he said.

            “It scares me,” she had to admit, the tone of her voice, hushed. She backed away. “It feels like… like it’s trying to draw me in. Take me somewhere. Somewhere I don’t want to go.”

            “The Indians thought there where portals through which their spirits would pass into the underworld. But they feared that they might not find their way, so they marked the entryways. Maybe this is one such signpost. Maybe you are sensing the way down.”

            The thought of death was chilling. Lindsey shuddered and immediately craved the light and the warmth of the living. She swiveled around, moved back into the sunshine; soaking up it’s warmth. The pool of water shimmered in front of her. Beckoned her seductively with the promise of refreshing her body. Had he planned it this way? Had he known I would be tempted? That I wouldn’t be able to resist?

            “Can I swim?”

            She heard the falter in his step. “If you’re asking is it safe, yes, of course. But if you’re asking me if it is wise, then I would have to say, definitely not.”

            “Thank you, Father,” Lindsey retorted. “Better turn your back or you may see something the good Lord has on the restricted list.” She unbuttoned the front of her dress and slide it from her shoulders. As it dropped about her feet she heard him backtracking through the ferns. Fuck him! Lindsey levered off her sandals and clad only in white underpants, stepped to the water’s edge.

            The rock was slippery under the skin of her bare heel and she gingerly placed a foot down. The cool water came up to her knee and, inching forward, she stepped down again, the water swirling about her thighs. Two steps further and she was at the base of a precipice, droplets falling about her face like springtime rain. She dropped down on a rocky shelf, legs outstretched, the water up around her neck. Her breasts buoyed. Only then did Lindsey look around for him. He was mulling around among the trees, his back discreetly turned.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she called to him. “I’m in now. You can turn around.” He ignored her like a belligerent child. She ignored him in return; determined not to let him ruin her refreshing swim. The water was lovely; seemed purifying as it swirled around her body; cooling and cleansing. She craned her neck back, face lifted toward the sunlight, her hair swirling. She slipped lower, closed her eyes and felt, as well as heard, the muffled sound of the cascading waterfall.

She perceived the tension sliding down along her arms and legs, leaking out from fingers and toes. There was the unmistakable impression that she belonged here. That she was finally home. Lindsey slipped deeper, revolving. She couldn’t explain it, but ’round and ’round she went; her hair swirling about her shoulders like she was caught up in a gentle whirlpool. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered: How did my hair get to be so long? I’ll have to get it cut when I get back home. Then it came to her: It wasn’t just her hair. Her whole body seemed elongated.

Her fingers were a mile long, like tentacles, stretching along the tops of her thighs, snaking over her kneecaps and extending down the fronts of her stilt-legs. And she wiggled stick-like toes.

Somewhere within her inner-self, Lindsey knew she was hallucinating, but why, and for whatever reason? She was drawn to the open water in front and didn’t fight the desire to slip from her perch and drift down, slowly spinning like a descending angel into the bottomless depths. Oh the bliss of letting go; letting the mountain take her; sliding down, down, into the pale green darkness…

“You just about done?” The words jarred her nerves, raked coldly across her conscientiousness. Damn you! How could you… why would you bring me back. And she opened her eyes.

Father Jimmy was watching.

Lindsey sat up abruptly, crossing her arms over her chest to keep her breasts from floating too close to the surface and tossed wet hair from her face. “See?” she chided him. “Completely decent. Nothing to feel guilty about.”

“You’ve got a terrific back,” he replied ruefully. “Nicely defined shoulder blades, curvaceous spine. And dimples lower down.” He sat carefully on the edge of a rock, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that… well let’s just say that it’s been awhile.”

“There you go again,” Lindsey chastised. “Apologizing for having feelings. If it wasn’t for the fact that you have me at a disadvantage; me being naked and all, I would come over there and punch you on the nose!”

            He looked over and laughed lightly. “You’re not naked. I can see your white pants!”

            “You can see?” she shrieked, and suddenly Lindsey did feel naked, and didn’t mind the thrill. He respectfully looked away again.

            “We should think about getting back,” he said, spoiling her moment.

            “A couple of minutes more,” she replied, tilting her head back again and closing her eyes. She heard him push himself up off the rock and dust the seat of his jeans. Behind closed eyes, Lindsey imagined him standing and wondered if he was watching. She risked a peek. Yes, he was still there and looking at him through the fuzzy bars of long eyelashes, Lindsey watched him silently step forward. Her whole body was once again, set adrift under his quiet gaze and moving her face to the side, she let her arms drop away and went all tingly at the feeling of her breasts floating to the surface.

            The light seemed to shift, like a cloud had just passed before the sun. She felt chilled and exposed; the warmth draining from her body, like an artery had been opened low down and her blood was running out, leaving her empty.

            The sluttish feelings grew out of nowhere, filling her abdomen: I want this man to see me naked, she thought. She wanted every man she had ever met to see her naked! She wanted to be opened, forced back and explored: Her mouth, her breasts, her sex. She wanted to be rolled over, bent, and probed there as well; fingers spreading, opening, exposing. Lindsey shuddered violently and sitting up, she reached for the elastic while scanning the undergrowth.

            He had moved off again and Lindsey spotted him in front of his damned Indian alter. She quickly pushed her underpants down her thighs; bunching the wet cotton in a fist. She stood, and dragged her legs through the water until she could step up onto the mossy boulders and cross over to where he stood with his eyes focused on the stone. His face was hidden and she was almost within arms reach when he finally heard the sound of her bare legs forcing the ferns aside. He turned, his eyes flashing at the sight of her naked skin; eyes dropping uncontrollably to the sopping patch of hair between her legs.

            “Lindsey…” he faltered as she forced her way into his arms, pushing him back against the stone block and nuzzling her wet skin against his chest, saturating the front of his denim shirt.

            “What’s the matter, Father?” Lindsey asked coyly. “Never had a naked, soaking-wet women, throw herself at you before? God, I want to get laid so bad,” she said.

            “Lindsey!” he tried again. “I don’t think… I mean for the love of God, please!”

            Lindsey pulled back, irritated now. She wasn’t used to rejection. “What? You don’t like this?” she gestured to her bare torso with a sweep of her fingertips. “Not good enough for you?”

            “Of course,” he retorted. “You’re as slick as a seal pup. Any man would…”

            “Tits too small? Is that it?” she badgered him now, feeling a little crazed.

            “Don’t be silly. You’re perfect. You’d look silly with big…” The words clogged his throat and he pulled his eyes away.

            “Men in this country are lining up for a chance at this,” she shot back. “And I offer it to you! And you’re going to turn it down?”

            “I’m a priest, for God’s sake!” His eyes fell on Lindsey’s; searching for some hit of sanity.

            “And I’m a fuckin’ sinner?” She fell back against him; her hands dropping down to contemplate what she might find hidden beneath the denim. Lindsey was astonished to find a long hard ridge extending along his leg. “Well! Well!” she turned the tables on him.

            “Lindsey! Don’t!”

            But she had already fumbled his belt open and when she slid the tab of his zipper down, an eager playmate forced its way into her hands. He was a nice length and quite thick. “Oh my, look at you Father,” she pressed on. “And you a good Catholic boy… I’m surprised! This will take a few Hail Marys; won’t it?”

            “Don’t,” he uttered, trying to pull from her grip.

            “You can have me anyway you want.” Lindsey teased but somehow it came out sounding desperate and it made her mad. I shouldn’t have to work this hard! “I want to get laid so bad,” she repeated.

            “Don’t be absurd!”

            The mood changed as quick as a tropical downpour. Lindsey turned stone-cold. “Damn you all to hell!” she shouted into his face. She found that she was working his cock and when Lindsey looked down she saw all the white chicken feathers about her feet. There was a long one; a tail feather perhaps, longer than her hand and, smiling greedily, she reached down for it.

            “Well if you won’t fuck me, Father, then I’ll fuck you!” And holding him in one hand, she jammed the quill up into the head of his penis.


            His lungs emptied with a swoosh and he uttered a cry of anguished surprise. He tossed his head back in pain and shock and Lindsey looked up into the roof of his mouth. He gripped the edge of the stone but made no move to still her hand. Like he was martyring himself.

            Lindsey felt empowered; wanting to laud her dominance over him. She saw his eyes water up and was aroused by it. She probed deeper with her dreadful little feathered dagger; deeper into the upper regions of his swollen penis. “Like that?” she laughed, pulling on his cock and wondering if he could cum on her; cum around the obstruction she had forced into him.

            Lindsey pulled the quill back, releasing the pressure for a moment and then drove it forward again, further in. He writhed in her palm, lifted off his heels, tears finally cresting, spilled over his lower lids. She pushed deeper and enjoyed the seething contractions under her hands, not understanding why her feelings for him had altered so drastically.

            Abruptly, she dropped him.

            Lindsey ran back, scooped up her dress and sandals, and scrambled towards freedom. She reached the rocky steps and clambered up over the boulders. She had a visual image of herself, monkey-climbing up over the stones, scrambling on all fours with her bare ass in the air and she stopped and looked around. He still slouched against the square rock, his splayed fingers gripping the surface. His head was bowed, eyes focused on the end of the feather, looking like the folded wings of a butterfly that had come to rest on the tip of his penis.


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