Anaín Bjorkquist

twisted and elegant…

***This is a fictional erotic novella.***

I love watching myself in the bathroom mirror as I get out of the shower dripping wet. The first glimpse of me in the mirror is of my thick right thigh as I lift my leg over the tub then I lean forward before stepping firmly on the cold tile so that I can give myself a sly smile. There in the mirror my big full breasts greet me with beads of water sliding off of them down to my absolutely taut tummy. I turn around to look a my perfect round bottom. What do I love most about my body? My full succulent red lips.

I am a beautiful woman but I am much more than my physical perfection. I am twisted and elegant.

Yes. I am! And I am vain. And I am not nice. And I am many things that you really wouldn’t like if you took enough time to really get to know me but this story isn’t about that.

This is about how I use all that I am to gift you a lover that is the vision that you carefully weave with all that you wish you could be. I quickly whisk you away from the sadness that having everything you created suffocates you with and just when you crawl into my mouth for me to devour I violently spit you out. You mean absolutely nothing to me. Nothing.

You are ugly because you don’t know your own truth and I am a divinely twisted elegant beautiful woman because I live my truth. My truth is that if you let me, I will bring a fire into your life that will ravage you open unleashing all the desire, passion and joy that you only dreamed of before my arrival.

You don’t believe me do you? That’s okay it is better if you stay at a distance. Stay right there baby. I don’t want to set your ass on fire. I want to tell you about my last unsuspecting victim and how I had so much fun flipping her world upside down leaving her cold just like I found her.


Oh yes, darling I am a highly feminine woman that seduces women for fun.

Men are too damn easy. I have absolutely no interest in seducing them anymore. If and when I want that sort of penetration in my life I can make it happen anytime, anyplace with anyone that I like. There is no joy in setting on fire what has already dipped itself in gasoline and handed you matches.

Seducing women…that’s an entirely different story because although many are begging to be set on fire most don’t expect you to actually strike the match and if they do, they think you’ll actually help put them out when the fire gets too hot.

Women are always begging to be victims because they aren’t strong enough to live their truths. It always isn’t their fault that they are feeling this or that…especially when the feelings are coming from their cunts!

My favorite ones to ruin are exhausted-and-in-need-of-nurturing-beautiful moms, never-had-anyone-bend-them-over-properly-controlling executives and best of all desperately-searching-for-their-libido-and-purpose-young wives.

I shouldn’t brag about picking off easy victims but the horror that I leave behind is as twisted and elegant as I am.

I’ll tell you this little tale if you promise to keep your hands above the table as I lend you all my senses to experience this journey.

You better keep your promise baby. Don’t make mama bring out her matches!


She held onto her husbands hand tightly as they entered the room together but he was hardly beside her. They had been searching for a woman that they were both attracted to that might be interested in a friendship and possibly more with the two of them. He wasn’t my type really but something about how she answered their emails made me realize that his average physical appearance was combined with an inflated ego and a lot of bullshit that she did not see through.

The best part of setting people on fire is exposing points of ignition then deciding which one would burn the deepest. It was clear to me from those early emails that she had spent the last several years wanting to absorb the best he told her he was so that she could mold some sort of persona of her own. She longed to be him. Maybe because he had a dick to penetrate women with?!

His name was John but hers isn’t important. The women’s names are never important only their circumstances. She was vulnerable, sensitive but hardly complicated. She had married a man that spent so much time hyping himself and other people up that when he touched her there was no spark left. The more she tried to connect with him the more she noticed the disconnect. So when he told her that he wanted other women because he had figured out he was non-monogamous after they had been married for a couple of years any and all hopes of warmth between them froze.

Here she found herself barely capable of filling her ugly worn boyish shoes reaching to shake my hand. She felt inadequate standing before me because she was; she had already failed at living for herself. Her hair was cut super short, her body had no curves, her clothes were vintage but plain and her lips didn’t have any color. I ignored her hand, reached around her for his hand instead then I noticed the sad puppy dog look on her face as he practically gushed in his pants when I smiled and said hello.

I wore a snow white dress, red six inch stilettos, my hair flowing freely a lock of which got stuck on my red lipstick as I pulled her in for a tight hug. She felt cold and awkward in my arms. She squirmed a little but I could see the goosebumps on the back of her neck. Careful! This one was too easy to set on fire. I thought to myself as I let go of her noticing that as John and I sat down to enjoy dinner and some conversation she was still standing just looking at my lips.


That first night nothing happened between any of us. She was too scared to go through with anything but really she was too scared of letting him enjoy me. He tried his best to convince her that this was what they really had been talking about doing for months but she wouldn’t have it.

She wanted me all to herself. She would find excuses to spend time with me when he wasn’t available. She did everything she could to get close to me so that she could figure out what it was about me that drove her crazy. She was trying to grasp hold of anything that she could use to unravel the mystery she thought I was. She wanted to see in me worlds that she imagined in her dreams that sensual women secretly lived. She wanted to learn how to bravely live fully in all of her sexuality. Yet, the more she tried to unlock her own desires by becoming one of my experiences the more I rejected her.

Instead I’d bring up John. He was the last thing she wanted to think of when she was with me. So, yes, I’d tear at her fragility by talking about how fun it would be to be with both of them until she finally agreed that she also wanted a part of that threesome.

On an average night with hardly any moon in the sky, I left the rush of the city to meet them at their place. When I arrived I rang her to have her tell the security guard at the gate to let me through. No answer. I rang again. No answer. As I was about to make a U-turn out of the entrance to the gated community when his car pulled up beside me.

“Sorry. She wanted to have a few drinks before to calm her nerves and I figured I should eat something.”


Ahead of me they went into their gated hell utopia in suburbia.


Once we were inside he turned on some soft jazz, popped open a bottle of wine which she took out of his hands and took a drink from, and he dimmed the lights. She sat on the couch across from me and in her injured child’s voice she asked me to kiss her.

“You sit there and wait. You’re a little too drunk for me right now.”

Instantly John let me know he hadn’t had anything to drink and was ready for dessert. I took hold of his tie, yanked him towards me and forced him onto his knees. I pulled off my little black dress and stood there in nothing but my indigo stilettos. His lustful mouth dove into my pussy. Right there in the middle of their living room in their ordinary home something grand was about to happen.

I looked her dead in her eyes as I rubbed my clit and his tongue went deeper into my pussy. She was afraid but her guard was fully down. The alcohol and the scene she was watching had melted the iceberg in her cunt. She walked over towards us and all I could notice were those ugly worn boyish shoes she always wore. She reached me and tried to kiss me. I turned my mouth away from her.

I demanded for him to get up to his feet. He did it so quickly that I almost forgot what I was going to command him to do next.

“Kiss your wife.”

And he tongue kissed her deeply. And her first taste of me came from his lips and tongue. Then down she went to taste me for herself as he and I started kissing. He couldn’t keep his mouth off me or his hands off my breasts as she tried her best to figure out how to work her mouth on my pussy.

“Enough! John get undressed.”

She looked up with tears almost welling up in her eyes. The poor girl thought I was admonishing her because of her lackluster pussy eating performance. I had to make it right for her.

I beckoned her up to her feet and with my right hand into her dress pants I reached. I could tell she was wearing fancy silk panties. The expensive kind that suburban wives think are perfect for spicing up their boring sex lives. I slid my hand between those panties that I imagined were peachy pink and her fat fleshy pussy. Easily two of my fingers fucked her already wet pussy. Again she was too easy to set on fire. I had to back out now.

I pulled out my hand and put my wet fingers in her mouth. She sucked them with force. Her nipples were now visibly hard through her buttoned down shirt. She noticed that John was naked at my side stroking his hard dick. She took all her clothes off. She walked over to him and put his hand on her pussy.

“Wow. You never get this wet for me. I guess you really are bisexual!”

Yes, she was. This woman was starving for pussy but I wasn’t going to satiate her with mine. Instead I was going to tire her husband out so that not even his cock could make an attempt at fulfilling her desire.


On that average night with hardly any moon in the sky I powered up their sex life by igniting her desire for sex but not satisfying it. For hours I made her sit her drunk ass down to watch me take charge of her husband sexually as she played with herself. When it became obvious that she wouldn’t resist not being able to have me any longer I left without touching or acknowledging her.

For months, I would meet her at bookstores, coffee shops, city parks and even would let her come along when I went shoe shopping. She would tell me about how much hotter the sex with John was since that night. She asked how I managed to be so in charge during sex. I would tell her that I didn’t know that it was something that comes naturally. My full answer was a jab at her.

“You either run the fuck or you get fucked.”

She would always look down first at my always brand new designer stilettos then at her ugly worn boyish shoes.

On nights with hardly any moon in the sky I would visit their average world to dominate John sexually as she watched but wasn’t allowed to participate at all.

Then one morning as I was leaving she ran to the door and came after me.

“I think I am going crazy. I don’t know if I want to be John so that I could have you or if I want to be you so that I can have him. I can’t take this anymore!”

“You don’t have to. I’ll see you around.”

And I never returned to their edge of suburbia.


Inside her a tiny ember of me still burned which she held on to tightly, hoping that with that bit of me she could set herself on fire. She hoped and she lied to herself and to everyone that would listen about how she is a vivacious blaze living boldly but when she looked at herself in the mirror she knew better. She hated looking at herself and the more she lied the more she suffocated that ember.

Her body had no fire. She’s a cold shell of a woman pretending to live happily ever after wanting her man to be her dream but he isn’t me.

Her body had no fire. She’s a cold shell of a woman pretending to live happily ever after wishing she were her man so that she could have me.

Her body had no fire. She’s a cold shell of a woman pretending to live happily ever after barely capable of filling her shoes.


Months later at a sex club in the city I spotted beautiful stilettos by my favorite designer on a shapeless woman so I approached her to compliment her great taste. But before I could John reached for my arm and called her name. He smiled so big and her confidence completely sank before me the instant she saw me. She barely managed a hello and looked down at her shoes.

She had bought new shoes. My shoes!

“You know when my favorite old shoes got ruined all I could think of was your beautiful high heels. I went to that place you always bought yours from and I bought a pair. They’re so beautiful but uncomfortable. I only wear them for John on nights like this to channel you.”

I calmly responded, “I hate comfortable.”

I had walked out of her life before she tried to consume all of me. Before revealing to her how her husband really wanted to be dominated. I had tried to play nice with this empty cold shell of a woman and she had the audacity to attempt to fill my shoes?

No. She said it best she was trying to channel me!

Twisted. Elegant.


It was time to pour gasoline on more than her sexuality…

////Read chapter two here.

© Anaín February 23, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

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