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    <title>Darkwolf on Utopia Stories Library</title>
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    <description>Recent content in Darkwolf on Utopia Stories Library</description>
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      <title>Covenant of Steel</title>
      <link>/stories/21368/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/21368/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; : For those of you who are unfamiliar with my work, this is the third installment and second prequel to my first venture into erotic literature. If you have not, I highly suggest you read both Two Halves and Late Nights since both provide some important insights into the characters presented. This will be my first attempt at a multi-part story and, truth be told its proven rather difficult. Once again, I must suppose that an author is his/her own worst critic, but I hope you enjoy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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      <title>The Gingerbread House</title>
      <link>/stories/81456/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/81456/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt; This is the first multi-part story I&amp;rsquo;ve worked on in some time. Please read, enjoy and leave a comment.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was something of a truism that, if you dug deep enough every neighborhood, no matter how small, had its mysteries and a rare few of those were even actually mysteries. Famous crimes, strange disappearances, spooky occurrences and unexplained phenomenon, the kind of things that might even draw in tourists or a television crew if the neighborhood was insistent enough in promoting itself. Of course, most neighborhood mysteries were completely mundane. Little more than housewife gossip, the type passed around church pews and barbecues, or wildly exaggerated stories that became little more than urban legends, if they were interesting enough. Hickory Lane could not even claim that much. Oh, there was certainly plenty of gossip, that seemed to be something of a universal constant, but most of it was of an utterly mundane sort. The Emerson divorce had been the biggest news in a while, but that ended up being too painfully amicable to make for a good story. No, the real enduring mystery of the neighborhood was a house. Not a haunted house, nothing so interesting, just an old house. It was a nice house, most would agree, a small two-story affair at the far end of the block right next to a thicket of hickory trees that had given the development its name once upon a time enclosed by a wooden fence in the back. Now, who had built the house and when was something of a mystery. No one in the neighborhood was entirely certain just how long it had been there, though most agreed that it had to have been among the first homes built here and certainly the oldest still standing, but that was hardly the sort of mystery that got tongues wagging. Nor was the house some rundown and abandoned ruin of an earlier age. The building itself was clean and well kept, the shutters painted, the yard and the gardens in the back were neatly tended and the pool was cleaned regularly. That was no mystery either since the house was occupied and had been for years. No, as was also traditional the true mystery of 137 N. Hickory Lane was its residents.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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      <title>Through the Cracks</title>
      <link>/stories/77522/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/77522/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;It&amp;rsquo;s been a very long time since I dipped my toe into the waters of writing, the muse had basically left (suppose I should tie her down next time), but this scene just popped into my head and would not let go. The setting is pseudo-Victorian, but makes no claims at accuracy. Enjoy.&lt;/em&gt;*&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;In a maneuver born of much practice Eliza carefully balanced the silver tray in her hands as she climbed the narrow stairs toward the second floor, heels clicking on the worn and ancient wood as she did so. Especially mindful not to shake the steaming teapot she was carrying, to say nothing of the fine china cup and saucer or the pots of milk and sugar, she made her way out into a broad hallway. The house was mostly deserted at the moment, the doors of empty rooms yawning wide open, save for the last. Stepping up to the finely carved and richly stained piece of oak she carefully shifted the tray to balance on one arm while gently knocking on the door to announce her presence.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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      <title>Trick or Treat</title>
      <link>/stories/77536/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/77536/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Author&#39;s Note:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;All Hallows&amp;rsquo; Eve is said to be a night when spirits walk the earth, but times change and spirits change with them. However sometimes even they are surprised by the results. Happy Halloween everyone.&lt;/em&gt;*&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was a nice party, I concluded as I stalked through the sea of humanity perched on precariously high stiletto heels, leather and latex sheathing the curves of my body, a permanent smile etched onto my lips as I took in the atmosphere. I had never visited this club before, indeed only sheer whim had led me inside tonight and I found myself regretting that. From what I had seen so far the place was delightfully kinky and I made a mental note to become a more regular customer. Tonight however was special as Halloween celebrations were in full swing. The place had been decorated meticulously with streamers in orange and black, ghostly effigies hung from the ceiling and pumpkins abounded on the bar as well as the various tables. Low lights and a thin fog complimented the atmosphere and lent the place a strange gloom. It was silly and cheesy and I loved it. Music filled the air, performed live from a small stage set on the far side of the dance floor, clearly audible over the sound of dozens of overlapping conversations. The band itself definitely caught my attention though and I made another note to see if this was a special performance or if they were a regular features. The four girls on stage were pretty, but more than that each dressed in a way that exemplified a particular fetish. Hell, the drummer seemed to be wearing nothing but strategically placed ropes and a ball gag. I silently tipped my non-existent hat to whomever owned this place, they most definitely had good taste.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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      <title>Two Halves</title>
      <link>/stories/18974/</link>
      <pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
      <guid>/stories/18974/</guid>
      <description>&lt;p&gt;Every inch of her looked utterly professional from the well pressed suit and skirt to the perfectly aligned stockings sheathing her legs, the moderate heals, immaculately applied makeup and the crisp white blouse unbuttoned just enough to provide a hint of what lay beneath without being obscene. Striding confidently down the hallways she unconsciously raised a hand to check her hair, confirming that the blonde locks were still in their loose bun. Smiling faintly with rosy lips she paused to straighten out her cloths and brush an imaginary piece of lint from her suit coat, her grin growing just a notch as hands passed the familiar band of the chastity belt that encircled her waist. Idly she explored the edge of the stainless steel through her cloths, licking her lips ever so slightly in anticipation.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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