The
Quiet Coup
Between
buildings bursting with greenery, a city’s worth of citizens
gathered under a slate grey sky. String instruments sang out a
liltingly sad song, seeming to draw down the rain that wept from the
heavens. Those who weren’t weeping themselves stood quietly amongst
the massive portraits posted throughout the city of a proud, elegant
dark man. He was smiling, handsome, his salt and pepper hair close
cropped. Letters of grief were written beneath his face.
Amongst
thousands

Warning: This story contains (my first
attempt, actually) at hard vore! It’s very graphic and generally
just really unpleasant, (as usual). Read tags below and – as always
- proceed with caution!
It was a dark, moonless night. It was not
your kind of moonless, like it is in the cities. We have no street
lamps, no towering spires of fluorescence. Only oil lights our homes.
Ours is a true darkness, when there is no moon. Here, you cannot see
your own hand in front of your face. Here, only soun