Exquisite Corpse Book Novels & Stories

"They pulled a liter of fluid out of your pleural space. They said the cells they found weren't just inflamed. They were... changing. Crystallizing." "The Grey," I whispered. My voice was a ghost of itself, a raspy tear in the quiet room. "My body is turning into a monument to a pack that hates me. Funny, isn't it?" Silas finally looked at me. His amber eyes were flat, devoid of the pity I’d grown to loathe. "It’s inefficient. You’re no use to me as a corpse, Elara. We have a bridge to build and an empire to dismantle." He stood up and walked over, placing a thin, sleek laptop on my over-bed table. He didn't offer a hand to help me reach it. He knew I’d rather crawl across broken glass than

The gaps between entries got longer and longer, and he complained more and more about all the time he lost to his debilitating moods. The only thing that seemed to lift his spirits was finding a certain specialist bookseller. Matthew had continued to collect rare books on the occult, and he was always looking for book shops to sell the paper he wrote on the ancient forest. This bookseller not only took several copies of his paper, he also sold Matthew a unique grimoire by an unknown author. The grimoire fascinated Matthew, and he made notes on it in his journal. Sally couldn’t understand much of what he wrote, but she found one entry, towards the end of the journal, very interesting:

Flipping open the book randomly, my eyes skimmed over words that made no meaning to me. I turned around as heavy footsteps approached, only to find Yeti balancing a ridiculous amount of books in her arms. “Found some good stuff—” she paused as her eyes strayed to the book I was holding. “What is that?” “A book?” She walked past me, dropping the heaps of books on the table before turning back to me. “Let me see that.” She said, prying the book from my fingers. “Forgotten Beasts: A Study on the Supernatural.

Then again, my life wasn’t normal. “As far as what I know about hybrids,” CLAIRE continued, “I know the brainwashing bullshit that VEXX teaches, and I know my own experiences. But I’m trying to find something in one of these books to back up any of what I think is true. We should keep at it.” Apparently, she wasn’t going to tell me her theories. I opened an ancient tome—so old that the pages were elegantly scribed by an individual rather than a machine. The artwork caught my attention first. In the section header was a drawing of a person with a wolf’s head. I read the passage below and sucked in a shallow breath.

Then, to the right, and at the end of a long row of books, one book jutted out from the shelf. I pulled it out. It didn’t have a name. It was a leather-bound volume, and its cover had a skeletal hand clutching a wilting rose. I opened the book, skimming through the pages. My stomach turned at some of the rituals inside. Selene was too arrogant, too vein, to resort to grave robbing, and there would be no need to stitch me together if her plan was to take over people’s bodies as she had before. The Binding.

So Proserpina moves on to the next row, then the next one, and the next one, on and on until she was literally kneeling like a child on the floor when she finally comes across a book third to the last on the bottom row in between a skinny book and leather bound one; the book was silver-gray, small and light in her hands and the cover seemed to have some sort of glossy material in it as it twinkled when she turned it here and there… ‘Kind of a child’s storybook,’ she noted. The book was almost as big as her palm and seemed to have pages as what one would expect from a novelette. She carefully opens it up to the first page–not wanting to have a repeat of another destroyed book because a destro

She poured herself another glass of cheap red, already on her third, and dropped onto the couch in her pencil skirt and blouse, buttons half undone. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows. Her laptop was still open on the coffee table, case files glowing like accusatory little rectangles. She should sleep. Instead she reached for the dusty old book she’d bought on a drunken whim two years ago at that weird occult shop downtown. *Daemonologie for the Modern Woman.* Stupid. But tonight it felt like the right kind of stupid. She flipped it open, scanned a page at random, and slurred the words under her breath. Latin? Probably, didn’t matter.

What if I just hadn’t found the right way to let go? I found the group by accident. Or maybe not. My fingers moved before my brain could stop them. ‘Looking for a Dom to guide me. First time, nervous but curious. Be gentle?’ I hit send, plugged in my phone, and passed out on the couch like nothing had happened. The next morning my phone was exploding with notifications like fireworks. I’d muted them ages ago; my account had been a ghost town. Now it was alive. I scrolled through the responses in a daze. Dick pics. Creepy demands. Stuff that made my skin crawl and my stomach turn.

Seeing him like this, I suddenly recalled how, three years ago, his eyes were just as red in anger—all because I was kneeling at the door, begging him not to kick me out. I couldn't help but smile bitterly. Zack began to carefully reassemble the flesh and bones. He continued on for a good 20 hours, not daring to rest for even a second. Finally, he managed to reassemble my entire body. Unfortunately, I was without a head—the drug dealers had fed it to the wolfhounds in order to exact their revenge. Although everyone present were experienced detectives or forensic pathologists, they still couldn't help but gag. Even I felt sick to the stomach seeing the uneven, dark red body on the autopsy tab

“This pussy. These tits. All of it.” I nodded, beyond words. Third orgasm hit harder. My body locked. I dug my nails into his shoulders and came around his cock in long pulses. He groaned and followed, burying himself deep and flooding me. Hot. Thick. Until I felt it leaking out around him. We stayed joined, breathing hard. He pulled out slow. Cum dripped down my thigh. Afterward, neither of us moved for a long moment. The linens smelled like wax and dust and him.