Iris Morales
Bio
I'm an author with a passion for the provocative and the pulse-pounding. I write erotica and thrillers, often blending the two to explore the tension between desire and danger. I live for the art of juxtaposition- where passion meets peril.
Stories (4)
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Stockholm Obverse part 1
Intervals of light from the lampposts flashes through the car as it sped down the highway. Wayne's hearted pounded in his chest as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He had just kidnapped a woman. Officially making himself a criminal. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at the thought, making his mouth salivate. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could peer at his victim once more. Her beautiful black hair sprawled across her face and all over the back seat in a beautiful mess. He imagined burying his nose in her hair and being deep inside her; the thought making his jeans a size smaller in the front.
By Iris Morales2 years ago in Fiction
Venomous Revenge
The sound of the chopping against the cutting board drums in my ears and breaks through the quiet ambiance of his apartment as I dice the tomatoes idly. His apartment, I linger on the thought. It should have been mine, and if I would have known that eventually this thing we call us would crash and burn, I never would have left my quaint little apartment upstate. I never would have given up my friends, my family, my career had I known. The weight of everything I've lost to him floods my mind and I'm boiling under the surface. Every lie that passed his lips, every excuse he told for why he didn’t come home that night, all channeled into one big carousel of torturing images. I choke down the lump now balled in my throat and do my best to keep the thoughts from breaking me down. Now's not the time to be weak. I slide the tomatoes into the saucepan and put the stove on simmer and make my way to the bedroom to dress for the evening. I let the towel I was wearing drop to my feet and reach for the skimpy, black silk mini dress hanging over the chair of the vanity. I press the fabric against my naked skin; it still feels warm from the corpse that was wearing it earlier. Dazed, I stare for a moment and wonder if she ever wore this dress for him. I sincerely hope so. I wiggle my way into the dress and it fits me tightly, making my breasts pop out at the top. As I examine myself in the mirror, I notice a single blonde hair caught in the straps. Carefully I wrap my fingers around the strand and pull it off of the dress. I appraise it for a moment, taking note of the discoloration at the roots. I scoff, of course she was a fake blonde. I extend my arm to the candle burning on the dresser and hold the strand over the flame, watching it as it shrivels into nothing.
By Iris Morales6 years ago in Filthy
She Loves Control
I arrived at the hotel, room 406 as she directed. This is a first, I think to myself. Admittedly I never thought a woman could demand me, let alone order me to her hotel room like I was room service. Perhaps I'm too privileged and too used to women jumping at the chance to bed me. The thought almost makes me feel guilty, but frankly, I'm more nervous than anything else. Suppressing the thought and the butterflies doing summersaults in my stomach, I knock on the door. Less than a moment passes and she opens the door and I'm quickly taken aback by her raw beauty. I quickly drink in the sight of her, taking note of the way her beautiful black waves fall past her shoulders. Standing in front of me with her black lace lingerie in full view under her silk robe and what looks to be a glass of whiskey in her hand, she motions me in. Taking a swig from the glass, she closes the door behind me and suddenly I'm anxious as I watch her cross the room. It's a foreign feeling to me. I've bedded many women, too many to count, but this woman gives off a vibe unlike anything I've ever encountered. Her eyes are cold as her gaze finally meets mine. She keeps her eyes on me as she puts the glass to her beautiful pouty lips once again and takes another sip. She doesn't wince at the liquor in her cup as she gulps it down. Her gaze holds mine and I can't help but look down avoiding the ice in her stare. My palms are sweaty and I can feel the pace of my heart quicken, I realize I'm in new territory. Hooking my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans I shrug in an awkward manner keeping my eyes down, my vulnerability evident in my stance.
By Iris Morales6 years ago in Filthy
