Damien Bentley
Bio
Stories (11/0)
Seattle (NSFW)
Her favorite part of this city was their apartment. They did not have a lot of furniture, but that made their quaint home feel massively spacious. In fact, the studio apartment had the kitchen, living area, and bedroom, all huddled into the same space. The only doors were the door which led to the outside, the coat closet door, and the door to the bathroom. And yet, to Charlotte, she was living lavishly. Perhaps the key to the illusion was their window wall.
By Damien Bentley2 years ago in Filthy
Endless
“The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." And now it was starting to rain. It was getting dark and she was already cold. But her heart sank with dread at the thought of who might have found her. She had fled to these woods a few days ago, knowing that this cabin was miles away from the next nearest road. It had served as her bunker, hiding from the faces she could no longer bear to see.
By Damien Bentley2 years ago in Fiction
Behind Us
The flames danced as if celebrating the end of a long day. His feet, out of their boots and warmed by the fire, felt relief at long last. Hiking this trail was a dream that he had looked forward to for months. As he sat, his legs too felt caressed by the heat. The slightest movement of his leg within his pants shifted new skin to touch the pants, which felt burning hot. But God did it feel nice.
By Damien Bentley2 years ago in Fiction
No Shit, There I Was...
God, please let no one I know ever read this. No shit privates, there I was. Fort Huachuca, AZ, 2013. I was a private myself, fresh out of basic training. Now, I was in a specialized school learning to become an Army interrogator. Pretty cool stuff. But we'll fast-forward a bit to the Fourth of July weekend. Fourth of July happened to be on a Monday.. or maybe a Friday? It was a three-day weekend, which is pretty damn rare for military: even rarer for lower enlisted soldiers.
By Damien Bentley3 years ago in Confessions
Forget Me Not
The chilling wood of his shovel felt good against his hands, burning with fear. He walked a few paces from his car as nonchalantly as he could, still, nervously glancing in every direction to see if he was truly alone. At once, he began to slam the spade into the dirt. Thankfully, it was as damp as it was cold, so the earth offered little resistance. Stroke, after stroke, after stroke, he dug the hole. Only the red lights from his car allowed him to see, making it hard to determine the exact depth; but as the shovel traveled farther from his hands with each strike, he knew he would be done soon. He nervously peaked again for witnesses, seeing only the fog from his worked breath looming in the cool night air. The hole was now the depth of his six-foot shovel. Eager to leave this disaster in his past, he hoisted himself from the depths, struggling a bit due to his short stature and heavy-set build. The damp ground mushed under his hands as he tried to climb out, finally succeeding only once he squished his feet against the opposite sidewall. He paused for just a moment, staring deep into his work. The dim red tint glowing from his tail lights painted the grass all around where he stood and made it impossible to make out any details within the hole. All he could see when he looked into it was perfect darkness. His eyes began to water, despite his best efforts of composing himself. The image of the grass blades blurred and danced through the tears as they grew larger, but the cold, unforgiving, and heartless hole retained its perfect, black form.
By Damien Bentley3 years ago in Horror
Glass Cage
The train ride was a peaceful one. Each bump along the track was like gentle rocking. Every once and a while they would hit a slightly larger dip on the track that would jar him awake, but never her; she was out like a rock. When he would stir, it would only be for a moment to look out the window, which had now grown dark. He'd then try and focus his sleepy eyes on his watch, but usually fell back asleep before he could determine the time. They had been traveling for nearly two days. Isabella's mother was having surgery on some ligament within her hip and would be completely bedridden for the next three weeks. Neither of them necessarily wanted to go, but it was one of those family things that just had to be done.
By Damien Bentley3 years ago in Horror
Class (NSFW)
It was that really pesky time of year in Texas. In the morning, it was bitterly cold and required layers, but by the afternoon, it was sunny and warm. The jackets, scarves, and sweaters that people wore became burdensome by lunchtime, and were often toted around underarm. This time of year is also frustrating and difficult because nearly every building is on one end of the thermal extreme: they either crank on the heat to deal with the frosty mornings or blast the ale to endure the afternoon heat. That's why Morgan was wearing a light zip-up hoodie; it was right in the sweet spot of warm enough and cool enough, so long as she wore it over a breathable t-shirt.
By Damien Bentley3 years ago in Filthy
A Wave of Change
It's crazy how her body felt so warm and so cool at the same time. This was her first time on the open sea, and she had never felt this sensation before. Above her, the beaming Caribbean sun heated her skin. From the bow of the small sailboat, the northern wind cooled her, almost to a chill. It reminded her of the hot peach cobbler and ice cream she loved to eat back home.
By Damien Bentley3 years ago in Wander