Monday, December 10, 2007

Alice- Crossing the Chessboard

That horrible grin hangs foreboding in the sky tonight, as if mocking me and I feel that chill, that rush of need, and the pain that comes from its denial. I feel the restless thumping from the thing inside me, that part of me I must never again allow to escape. My shoes make a hollow sound that echoes off the alley walls, other than me, and the restless chronic coughing coming from inside the shelter, this night is perfectly still. The fog rolls in from everywhere, it’s December in the city, and fingers of ice try to grab me with every step. I reach the spigot and begin to clean the filthy buckets and brushes, used so often to clear the vomit and human waste from the floors inside. The freezing water turns my fingers an angry red as I work; the pain twists my lips into smile. The payment for today has begun. Once I ran from even the slightest pain, gratefully letting Alice take the wheel, now I make myself feel it, because not giving in means a small victory.

For years I thought that Alice was my better half. She was stronger than me, and quicker to know the answers, it took me a long time to realize that just because you have an answer quickly, doesn’t mean it’s the right one. I was weak, and needful, I thought that she knew how to make us strong; I didn’t listen when everything else inside me was screaming that we needed to be good as well. I let her drive for so long, and watched as she tore at the walls of our little world until they came crumbling down. I watched her destroy a transient in the park, because he tried to make a victim of us, I watched her tear apart one teen aged girl to help another feel a little more real, and then turn disloyal as a serpent, and betray her as well. She thought I couldn’t see from inside that place, she thought I had no idea what she was up to, but I found a window, and sometimes I peeked. I’ll never forget the look of panic and shame on my sweet Silvie’s face when she realized that Alice wasn’t human. I let her do these things because I thought I was not strong enough to stop her. These are my sins.

I have sought forgiveness the traditional ways; I begged a meeting with a priest. Unable to be completely honest with him, but wanting desperately to find hope in his words, I learned that as far as his God is concerned, I’m a lost cause. I guess it’s better anyway; you can’t pay penance something you’re sure is a lie. I’ve always kind of admired the type of people who can believe in things like Gods. It’s like getting to believe in magic forever. Even Alice had something to believe, her ‘Smiling Lord’, often guided her to things and acts that normal people would have no part of, but at least she has something to blame, something that will exonerate her.

I had to create my own means of salvation. First comes sacrifice, I must relieve myself of all pleasures; that means cold food, uncomfortable furniture, and I must never so much as make eye contact with a man. I must pay back the carnage she dealt with my hands, so I work at the shelters and at the high school, doing the most disgusting, most degrading, things I can find, and return my pay to these causes. Atonement means a lot of things. Tomorrow I’m scheduled for a visit with my darling Silvie, her doctors think it will be good for her, they gave her a pass. I think it’s a sweet irony that we’ll meet, nearly unsupervised, in a park. I must face her and accept all the things I’m sure she has to say.

“Just a reminder, gentlemen, it’s curfew in 15 minutes.” I say in a clear voice, without looking up, as I slip past the walking dead and through the back door, their cloud of nicotine swirling in my wake.

My thoughts unbroken I begin to strip the beds, the musty air from too often soiled mattresses creating a foul wind across my cheeks. I breathe deep, payment comes in many forms. After Silvie comes confession. I must find a way to be done with half truths and whole lies. I’m smarter than to go anywhere near a therapist. All those afternoons, bored with Dr. Ashton, trying to find something to say that sounded real and didn’t lead to Alice taught me therapists are either idiots, or not to be trusted. Alice had served her master twice before we met the good doctor and he never took his eyes off my tits long enough to see that we were lying.

There are guards around the palace; even as the commitment of speaking her most guarded truths sets its dark chill on my heart, I feel an absent twitch in my left hand, her hand. The movement is unnerving, it draws my suspicion that she will strengthen as she stews, but those horrible dreams filled with pain-ridden gore and moonlight celebration come less often now, something is working. That gives me hope that someday I will finally claim ownership of this body. Unbidden to the front of my mind come two images; the first is almost comforting in its familiarity, her face, not so different from mine with just subtle changes, she has green eyes and a more slender chin, high cheek bones and bright red hair, cut close to her head in the back and lengthening to points at her collar bones. She is a powerful beauty; one I am hoping very much to miss.

The second image cuts into my heart with the implication it brings, the thing I found in the nightstand drawer. So small I hoped it wasn’t real; I couldn’t even bring myself to touch it. The tiny white triangle not half the size of my pinky nail, the slender cone and point of the canine, a trophy from that opossum eighteen years ago in Grandma’s woods. A trophy I thought I had destroyed; she must have ripped this tooth out of its skull before I cleaned house.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Alice- Sitting for Tea

We’ve been juggling a lot. It’s more me driving than her now; Layla’s kind of stopped trusting herself. I was able to get us rid of Seth, she still doesn’t really know what happened, but I was able to convince her we’re better off without him. ‘Besides’, I told her, ‘it’s senior year and all those pretty bitches and their pom-poms need you.’ She hates it when I call them that, but she agrees with me, they need her now more than ever. I only care about the team because the training has proven useful to my smiling Lord.

Something happened to Lucy, she went missing from the mall. They made a really big deal out of it, it was all over the news ‘What happened to Lucy Sumner?’ her Daddy’s big leaky blue eyes, looking desperately into the camera, begging, “Anyone who knows anything, please …”

And there’s us, it’s Layla on the screen, but those are my words she’s whispering, “She said she was going to meet someone, a college boy, she was real excited about it, bought a new dress and everything, I asked her not to go…”and then she turns our face, looking a little more determined now, a little more sure, “Lucy, please, if you’re out there watching, please come home, at least call your folks?”

I even had her start a ‘Finding Lucy’ hotline, it worked like a charm. The cops did only a cursory line of questioning, and for weeks Layla had to endure all manner of people telling her it wasn’t her fault Lucy disappeared. It made it easy to talk her into letting me have a few more turns. She knows it’s me that has kept us safe, she can trust my decisions.

Silvie knows she doesn’t have to be afraid of us, now. Layla and I talked it over; she knows we need a friend. Silvie’s different, too, she’s not different the same way we are, but she has her own special strangeness. She’s got the market pinned on rage, it’s almost creepy to watch her when she really lets go.

It was an even bigger deal when they found Lucy. Words like ‘monster’ and ‘depraved’ flew around like pigeons in Trafalgar Square. I’ll agree, we got a little carried away, maybe had a little too much fun, it had to be a shock for them to find her like that, tied to that bicycle, with all those things Silvie left inside her, and all those pieces missing. Silvie serves her gods with a certain artistic grace; it was a celebration, a baptism, if you will. She laughed when we talked about it, “If they’d really known Lucy, they’d use words like ‘fitting’ and ‘punishment’.”

I know there was more than just Lucy in Silvie’s rage that day, but for Silvie, Lucy was the poster child for high school tormentors. I put Silvie on the team. Of course, those dumb whores took some time to accept her, but with a little grooming Silvie’s almost normal looking, and the one thing that makes Layla invincible is our gymnastics. No one can pull off the stunts we can, well with a little training, now Silvie’s got a few tricks up her sleeves, too.

It’s kind of nice to hear my name aloud, in a voice that isn’t Layla’s. Silvie understands about the moon, she sees the same smile I do, but it doesn’t own her. Anger and pain are her masters. I’m growing quite fond of this particular human; she’s the only one who hasn’t made my skin crawl at her touch. The three of us talk for hours in the park, naked in Silvie’s arms, under the fan of that old willow. This place is special to me, Silvie understands why, she can’t wait for her own temple to be ready, she knows it may be a while before they get the place cleaned up and stop watching it, though.

And, still, something needs to be done about Layla. With Seth out of our picture, she’s back to swinging our ass around and flirting with every boy she sees. Silvie and I going to Tainted Flesh on the weekend, she wants a tattoo to remind her of Lucy, I think it’s silly, but I have an idea that will keep Layla chaste. I can’t let her do something stupid again. It’s been months since my grinning God has given me orders, and I know that in a few days, I’ll be allowed to serve again. There’s no way I’m gonna let her screw it up for me.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Alice- In the Tolgey Wood

We’re in Gym class when it happens. Standing in line, dressed in that strange bright yellow uniform, and listening to Mz. Feinlin give elaborate instructions on how to properly execute a jumping jack, because we’re apparently all assholes who can’t get it right.

We’ve been a little crampy this morning, not enough to cause concern, but this is a sudden, deep searing, pain. It rips through our abdomen and causes me to double over, bringing visions to our mind of a giant, using his big meaty hands to squeeze our insides, sending me into a cold sweat, setting our whole world ablaze.

Alice…” Her name spills from my lips as the tears spill from my eyes; a Pavlovian response to the pain, Alice always takes the pain. But Alice isn’t coming; I can hear her laughter as I move, still crouching, toward the locker room. Mz. Fienlin is at my side, her big man-hands on my shoulders, worry thickening her deep german accent. With some confusion I understand that she wants me to lie down in her office, something about a cot there, and a cool towel.

As I enter the locker room she’s motioning to Silvie to go with me. Poor little Silvie Jacobs looks panic stricken; Mz. Feinlin doesn’t know that Silvie’s scared of me, Silvie doesn’t know that it’s Alice she’s really scared of. She also doesn’t know that she has no reason to fear Alice, Alice likes Silvie. There’s something about that untidy brown hair and too big glasses Alice finds endearing.

“Um… Layla?” Silvie’s voice is cracking; she looks lost in her clothes. They’re rumpled, like they’ve been jammed in the bottom of a back pack, and are so baggy they look like they were bought for someone else, all Silvie’s clothes look that way, it’s why Lucy Sumner and the rest of the cheerleaders won’t give the poor girl a second’s peace, Silvie thinks I’m one of them because I’m a cheerleader, too. It’s guilt by association, but who can blame her, really?

“Yeah?” Lips pursed and breathing heavy, little droplets of sweat flying from my mouth as I answer.

“Here.” She presses a cool towel into my hand; I push my face into it, welcoming the cold cloth against my fevered forehead. I’m trying my hardest to call to Alice in my mind, begging her to come and take the pain. Silvie half helps, half rolls me onto the cot, I have enough time to force a deep breath and a slight smile of thanks before that sadistic giant wraps his hands around my abs and rips my insides to bits.

Rolling back off of the cot and crawling, with shaking limbs, I barely make it to the bathroom and into the handicap stall before the blood lets loose across my thighs. With the site of it, comes that sweet release on my exhale, Alice has come, at last, to save me.


I let Layla take the first part of the pain because she needed it. I knew it was coming. My smiling Lord has made me stronger since that first beautiful night, a gift for pleasing its need. When I come to take the pain for Layla, I use this new gift, I send her completely away. I see her, in our mind crawling, between the walls in our old house, to that special place only we knew about; I make her hide there. The pain I let her feel makes her grateful to do it.

Layla’s internal giant begins to push its poison from our body; deep cramps force my breathing into shallow gasps the pain is coming in waves now. I pull myself up, hugging the toilet, reaching in to bring some of the cold water in the bowl to my skin. There is a deep pulling from within me as the thing inside finally breaks loose and finds its way out of my body. There is a soft, wet splash on the tile as it comes to rest between my knees.

Sweet Silvie is just outside the stall and hears the small thud made by the dead thing as it lands. I hear her gasp, telling me she’s peaked under the door, she knows what was happening, just like I’ve known for weeks now that it would.

I figured it out while I was in control, making plans to silence that cur in the park. The blood wasn’t coming when it was supposed to, and the calendar confirmed. For weeks, every night, while Layla slept, I worked the pressure points at the insides of our hips, first fingers of both hands pressing deep, trying to choke our ovaries, to end the thing inside us.

It lays there, now in its puddle of blood, that salty wine covering what would have been a face, if given time. A life that has never been is not the same as one that I have taken; this fleshy blob will not make a good gift for my grinning God, and therefore will not have a place with my other treasures.

Coming back together, using the locker room showers to clean my body and free my mind, I decide on the next step. Dressing, and telling Silvie to get back into street clothes, I take her hand, without another word, and lead her off campus, a few blocks from the school to a park nearby. Unlike the park by our house there are no willow trees here, just a few medium sized apple trees, and one old and gnarled oak.

This park stands near the center of town, and this tree has to have stood for nearly a hundred years. The roots are as thick as your arm and sticking up in places, crisscrossing on themselves, leaving you with the impression of knotted ropes. Up close to the trunk there is a place where the roots entangle; with a little imagination you can see the shape of a heart. Layla and I found it when we were little, and as far as we can tell, we’re the only ones who know that if you lift carefully from the center point of the heart and slide the roots to the left, there is a hollow in the trunk beneath it.

Silvie catches my eye as I reach for my bag, she’s confused by my silence, and moves her mouth as though to speak, I hold a finger to her lips and pull the package free. I’d long been keeping my pot stash in my gym locker, to keep the Mommy’s thieving hands off of it. Away from Silvie’s curious eyes, I’d emptied the blue aluminum box into my bag and placed the fetus, wrapped carefully in bandages from Mz. Feinlin’s first aide kit, inside. For close to three months this thing had tried to live inside me, the fleshy result of it’s attempt is not longer than three inches and the weight of the bandages swaddling it are more than that of the thing itself.

I hear Silvie gasp as I lean close and kiss the lid, before placing the box, carefully inside the tree. There is a new kind of pain in this action, something so much more real than any pain I’ve ever felt. As the tears spring from my eyes and make their salty tracks I realize the difference in this pain is that it comes from within. The wound that has caused it is not something one can dress, or suture, it is the pain of a human soul, and it is entirely new to me.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Alice - Chasing Rabbits

Seth is pulling at my blouse again; it’s become some kind of nightly ritual. Hot breath in my ear, and his tongue tracing the ridges, his other hand is at the back of my neck, and I’m getting all kinds of dizzy. That weird, electric glow growing between us and it’s like we’re feeding on each other or something, my hands are everywhere, his chest, his shoulders, his face, his hips, grasping and clawing, and sliding across his skin.

When his fingertips meet my nipples there is a great crashing wave through my body, my eyes are locked on the moon, lost in it, afraid of it, and wanting it. Knowing, just like I know that the bright question mark of stars above me is called ‘Cassiopeia’, that what Seth and I are doing will end me. As his lips find the skin between my breasts, that wave crests again, and I know Alice is watching.

She leaves me alone, mostly, on date nights, but I know the moon trumps all our best laid plans. I don’t blame her, that Cheshire-cat grin in the sky is all she really feels. She’s waiting her turn now, being patient, playing nice. She’s not fooling anyone; we both know she can rule me, just like we both know how much she needs me. And Seth mistakes the smile on my lips, he gnashes his teeth against my nipple, and misreads the air between my teeth and pulls away with a mumbled apology, I lose my orgasm to misinterpretation.

A few moments later our bodies twisting, repositioning, we work our way around each other’s skin like a pair of sex driven creatures. I’m on all fours, knees dirty, twigs and pebbles beneath them digging in, biting a little, hands bracing against the tree, breasts swinging free, Seth is behind me, his hands on my hips, bringing me to him, his cock, like steel, pressing into me, prying open the space between my legs. His need, so firm within me, feels like the whole world has entered me, like all of existence is being pounded into the center of me.

When it’s over, Seth walks me, as usual, as far as the park. Our paths home separate halfway down the path, and I hear his boot heels making their rubbery clomp as they fall on the concrete. My own soft soled trainers making almost no mark on the quiet summer night.

My eyes travel to the sky, its white grin starting something. I take a deep breath, and on my exhale am no longer steering. Just like when we were a kid and learned to ride our bike no-handed, I lean back inside myself and let go, and just like back then, I feel a rush of air across my face and an invisible force take over. It always scares me, a little, trusting something I can’t see or control, it also scares me how welcome that feeling really is.


I come in on Layla’s exhale, as though the air moving in our lungs were some sort of toggle switch between her and me. I barely have time to revel in my freedom when I hear a voice behind me.

“Hey ‘candy’”, the voice calls from the shadows, somewhere under the wide fan of the willow I’m passing, “got something sweet for me?”

“Fuck off” I hiss to him, and feel Layla shiver inside me.

“Oh!” He calls, “Tough little bitch are you? We can play it like that, if you want.” There is an amused tone in his voice, as though my retort has feed something in him. I turn, and lower my eyes onto him. I don’t need to try to make him see how big a mistake he wants to make right now. As I had guessed, the pathetic animal shrinks within himself, and I pass unmolested into the night. I can feel his eyes traveling over our body as I leave him, and something inside me knows that this dog will have to be put down.

I have to keep Layla from steering for the next few weeks, to make the arrangements. I’m as close to excited as I’ve ever felt, for years now, my Cheshire-cat moon has been calling me, wanting this, and promising this will make life real for me. I want to share, at least part of this with her, but I know she’ll have no taste for it, the moon doesn’t have the same hold on her, she’s real, I’m something else.

It’s been a long month, waiting, pretending to feel, kissing Seth for Layla so she won’t lose him, and trying not to vomit while his greedy hands work my body. He’s frustrated because Layla doesn’t come beneath him while he uses her, I can’t tell him why that is. He also doesn’t understand why I won’t let him walk her through the park anymore. I can’t tell him that it’s best the animal who lives there forgets he ever saw us.

When I’m ready for him, I find the dog in the same place I left him, under the willow tree in the moonlight, my smiling Lord, has returned to bless my actions tonight. He’s dosing, a light snore escaping him on random breaths. Any fear, or second thoughts are cancelled as I my eyes focus on his right hand, a pair of bikini-briefs adorned with little red cherry blossoms are clenched within it, the smooth wet reflection from the lamplight tells me he’s used them recently, the coppery smell of semen fills my nostrils and feeds my desire to end it for him. To give this animal that sweetest of release.

Working quickly, carefully, I bind him, my foot kicking an empty vodka bottle as I cross his left side, drunk and post coital, he’s made this almost too easy for me. He only wakes when I have him completely trussed to the tree, and am shoving those panties deep into his throat. His eyes open, confused, and widen as he seems to recognize me.

Naked beneath my clear plastic rain coat, I know our body will distract him enough for me to keep control. I raise my blade above him and begin my work for the first time, and really feel our heart beating rapidly in our chest. I hear Layla screaming in my mind, and block her voice. She still hasn’t learned to go away, she still has to sit and watch, but right now I’m so real, so alive that I almost wish she didn’t have to share. I get a little excited in my work, and feel the creature’s blood splashing this way and that leaving trails along the walls of my coat, the heavy plastic keeping me clean, but still allowing the heat to come through to me.

I know what an orgasm feels like, because Layla’s are strong and she can’t help but share them with me, I’d never felt my own until this moment, the salted wine spraying across my barely covered skin, the power of this gift feeding into all the other sensations.

Just as the moon promised I am alive tonight, I am real, and now, I’m sure, I can never stop.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Alice - Looking Through The Glass

“I worry about Layla,” We hear the Mommy saying into the phone, “she plays so strangely sometimes!”

She wants to listen, I feel our heart grow warm and still at the sound of her name from the Mommy’s lips. I know Layla wants to go to her, press her face into the Mommy’s lap and try to calm her. I try to remind her that the Mommy isn’t like us. Just to prove a point I tug our hair a little, Layla cries out when a bunch of it comes off in her hand, I laugh, “Did that hurt?” I tell her, “Funny! I didn’t feel a thing!”

The Mommy and Layla catch each other’s stare and I stop, it’s not good to confuse her, I don’t know why, but somehow I know you can’t let them catch on. You can’t let them know we’re different. I have to be a secret.

“Ssshh!” I whisper, “I’m not really here…” and I can’t help but giggle while I take us to our room. I know the Mommy is watching me go. She almost always does when I forget, when I come out in the living room. I have to be more careful. I need the Mommy.

“Al-ice!” Layla whines at me as soon as we have the door closed, “You’re gonna get us in trouble again!” Her voice is so much sweeter than mine; I think that’s how the Mommy can tell, because Layla can sing. The Mommy always looks at us funny when I try to sing with them. I start to sing now, while we pull the boards from the closet wall, ‘Golden Afternoon’ from the movie where we got my name. We saw it at the Grandma’s house last year. I almost never come out at the Grandma’s house, the old lady smells funny. I let Layla go there alone; I play by myself in our mind.

I like to watch the movies, though. Layla snuggles up next to the Grandma. Usually we fidget and fight, and the Grandma gets upset, but this movie was special. Something about that little girl and her daydreams caught me. We sat still as stone and the Grandma was so happy she gave Layla a cookie. After, in the backyard we found a family of opossums and played Queen of Hearts; I told Layla she had to call me Alice after that, it just felt right, and I never had a name before. That’s how we know Layla’s the real one, I’m just something else.

The air is hot in our lungs and Layla wants to rub the sweat out of our eyes, but I like the sting. Its not easy crawling between the walls, but it’s the only place where I can be with my things. I don’t think the Mommy knows about the little room, I think it sits between the hall bathroom and the den, there’s pipes. Layla always tries to stop at the entrance, she doesn’t like it here.

I like it here. It’s dark, and hot, and I don’t have to worry about them seeing me, I can take over for a while, in here it’s my turn. Layla doesn’t know how to go away, but I don’t let her steer, she has to just sit there and watch. The pipes make a lot of noise, so I can even talk and play with my treasures and not have to worry about being heard.

“Boxes of boxes of boxes,” I say to myself with a smile, the sound of my real voice as refreshing as the feel of the Daddy’s old cigar box in my hands. A whiff of that deep, sticky, oily scent, puffs from the box when I open the lid. Looking at my treasure makes me smile, I think back to the woods, playing with the opossum family, how upset the Grandma got when she found us, fresh blood on our cheeks; the taste of it on our lips. It was a hard moment for Layla, for sure, but she got through it. The next time we were there, the Grandma kept a stronger eye on us, but I got a little time and I was able to find where she put them and bring a piece back to my secret place. I pet the small patch of fur with one finger, and dream about the treasures I will find, and create, in time.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007


‘It’s not fancy, but it’s nice’, he assures himself not for the first time, as he looks nervously at the entrance. The bunch of daisies beside him beginning to look not as proud as they had half an hour ago when he arrived, wet palmed and heart racing. He’s had time to cool a bit, and his shirt has had time to relax it’s carefully pressed fabric, the anticipation, and self-doubt are beginning to find their own time in the back of his thoughts. ‘What if she’s not what she said? What if she sucks? What if she doesn’t think I’m what I said? What if I suck?’

He runs their conversations through his mind, bits and pieces of verbal nostalgia playing in his ear, letters, phone calls, all that shared and private laughter. The smile that plays on his lips is as unconscious as the blush at his neck, both the result of their more, sordid conversations. She’s everything he’s looking for, and no strings. And as that thought comes to him, again his gaze drifts to the entrance.

His heart soars as the world slides into slow motion; the doorway is filled with the same girl from all the pictures, those deep brown eyes, tan legs flashing beneath the wine colored halter dress. He steps to her, stammering, “H- Hi…” and his voice betrays him with a crack and a squeak, because he can’t help but imagine those legs opening close enough to his face for him to feel her heat on his cheeks, back arching as the deep red silk slips up her thighs and drapes across her sex like a theater curtain.

Her smile reads his thoughts, with a playful toss of her hair and a swish of her skirt, she takes his hand, leaning forward she places a kiss at his neck just below his ear and whispers.” I know what you’re thinking, and yes. But let’s get a table first.”

Before he really knows its happening she leads his hand through the slit in her dress, pressing his fingertips into the soft fabric of her panties, warm, not damp, and then it’s gone, and the hostess is asking them to follow her to their table. His sad little daisies lay forgotten on the waiting bench.

Dinner, for him, feels like a dream, his mind spinning through the courses laced with her electric touch, brushing his leg, his shoulder. Each new plate seeming to spur on her advances, appetizer, to entrée, hot fingertips tracing his hardening cock through his pants, or leading his to that secret paradise between her thighs. Entree to dessert has her voice in his ear, spilling dirty thoughts into it, while images of cream melting across her tongue fill his thoughts. All the while filled with deep eye contact, and her silvery laughter, their conversation falling from them like a moment lost in time.

In the cab, on the way to her flat, she allows him to taste her. Laying supine across the back seat and holding him with those beautiful legs he hears for the first time without a speaker, her sounds. He tongues her swollen clit and toys with the jewelry she has there, three pair of labia rings, interlocked, bar his fingers, but create and intriguing texture against his lips, the taste of the surgical steel mixing with the sweet salt of her bites his taste buds with a coppery sting. She uses her panties from behind his head like a net, pulling at the waistband to lock him to her; and grinds her sex into him, mashing his teeth against her clit as he tries desperately to pull his lips together around it. And between her puffing breath and moans he hears her giving the cabbie directions, and describing what the rearview mirror can’t show.

He’s in a world he never thought he’d really know, surrounded by the sounds and textures and scent of her, his cock throbs with need, and he questions, for a moment, the jewelry. She’d never mentioned them, and he was certain from the phone calls that they weren’t always there. It’s a fleeting thought, though, because he needs this too badly to question any of it. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a real girl…’ he thinks and, his fingers clinch at her hips in desperate gratitude, ‘…no more silly bitches, Tommy. Only class A kinky thinkers from now on boy!’ and that thought sends him reeling, hips grinding against the bench seat in a frantic display of his desire.

He tries to pull his shoulders in, wanting to slid up, needing to feel her thighs on his, to give his restless prick something to shove, the idea of at least rubbing against that web of metal making him hungrier, but she rolls her pelvis to match his movements, keeping his face where she wanted it, keeping the control she’d promised she could provide. He whimpers and submits, frustrated, and sucks angrily at her clit forcing her orgasm. He feels the cab swerve and know what the driver is feeling, he’s been there. He remembers driving, one hand on the wheel, the other on his cock, and her in his ear lost deep in some dirty fantasy, ‘How sweet’, he thinks, ‘to finally control those sounds, to feel her flesh, to taste her’.

Sweet release finds him in the elevator, twelve flights never felt so long with her lips hugging his cock in a full mouth embrace. Her tongue rolls against his flesh in hot waves, lip and tongue piercings drawing smooth pressure points, proving her abilities in rhythmic taps as she pulls. His climax comes in perfect time with the belly dropping sensation of the lift settling.


My new plaything is lost in it’s own mind when I shove the decoy aside and start to really play. All night I’ve been letting her share, she’s had to do a lot of work to get us this one. While it’s dizzy and weak minded, I lead it to the door, it thinks it’ll get sex, so it follows.

The blind little sheep, stupid little cock driven animal! It doesn’t even notice she’s gone, that the swing in my step isn’t the same as hers. It doesn’t notice that I almost choke on my bile as it shoves that weirdly squirming tongue against mine, but it seems to like the taste of itself in my mouth. It thinks the disgust on my face and the strength I show when I shove him to the couch is a game she promised to play.

She told it there would be ropes, but she was wrong, she doesn’t know about the drug. She doesn’t even know about the job that opened the door to it. The toy barely notices the needle when I pair it with a well placed bite, and its racing heart and ragged breathing hasten the effect. Curare is a powerful drug. Its eyes widen as it realizes it can’t move, blinking rapidly.

“This stuff,” I say, waving the syringe so it can see, “works quickly. Without respiratory aid the diaphragm paralyses within several minutes, good for us I don’t need nearly that long to see what you’re made of.”

I raise its arms, working quickly, but carefully rubbing the warm, dead, palm against my nipples, my other hand expertly releasing the jewelry she didn’t know she was wearing, I take his greedy flesh into myself rocking and working myself against a cock I know will die happily inside my orgasm.

“I know you feel everything,” I say, letting laughter play in my voice, taunting it, “ you told her you wanted to be helpless, vulnerable to a powerful creature to use for pleasure. She told you to be careful what you wished for. You should have listened.”

The pupils are drawn to pin-pricks now, it’s close, the buzzing starts, the gift begins. From below the cushions I draw my blade, making sure it sees, squeezing my muscles around it mimicking the way she used her tongue in the same place, using it now to press against the sacred mound within me, the chain mail web grinding against it’s testicles, a few rings swinging with my movements.

The eerie silence when there should be screams as I bring the skin from its ribs away from its torso and use the crimson wine to paint my breasts, my belly; its cheeks, spur me to come stronger than I’ve ever known. The gift presents itself in perfect time; I watch its eyes and know that the last moment between this world and that was split equally with the crest of my orgasm, a perfect way to start the game.

My toy is now complete, and still oh, so warm and sticky. I lose myself to my playtime, spending hours taking things apart, and learning things, tasting, touching, using it. I splash around in its insides a bit before I prepare it. Experience has shown me that a popsicle stick works just beautifully to keep the penis useful. The hands I remove and place in the lockbox in the bedroom. I take the rest to my temple, to use later, when time has had a chance to change it a little for me.

Monday, June 11, 2007


I know I'm a long while between posts, but I wanted to drop everyone a line and beg your patience, I'm working on something kind of special, so bare with me, ok?

In the meantime I would absolutely LOVE it if anyone had anything to say, (questions, comments) about anything at all, really...



Sunday, June 3, 2007


The thought of you has been driving me nuts all day. Our afternoon tryst still moistens my lower lips at the thought. I’ve been writing, sex on the brain. That window opens, the blue sphere tells me it’s V. You seem a little disappointed at the conversation turning to my calling him. The thought of the three of us crosses my mind. I know he’s into that, and you may be tempted.

He’s all hot about the pictures I sent him. When I call he answers on the first ring. You’ve got your hands on my breasts nuzzling the space between them and I miss what he says about the look in my eyes in the picture he’s staring at.

Thoughts of his sounds and your body driving me to distraction, I sit outside with you and smoke. I have to admit my original thoughts went to having you outside, the air on our skin an added sensation, but not wishing to press my luck, I lead you to the couch, removing my pants. When I tell V I’ve just shaved my pussy, I can hear his breath shake on his exhale. I hear his panting deepen as I tell him you’re eating me. The way you make me come and the sound of you fisting your own cock, the thought of me pleasing two men at once gives me that throaty gasp, and V starts saying “There you go, that’s it, come for us, be a Good Girl” and I know he’s gonna nut soon. That’s when I tell him not to pop too quickly because I’m gonna let you fuck me, and I have to step outside of myself for a second and wince because I should have said ‘Let you hear him fuck me’ bad wording… but I hear him whimper as he tries to back off.

You’re still pulling on yourself and licking me, and I think about how much he loved the BJ pictures we took, and thinking about how hard I’ve been trying to learn to swallow your shaft, so I suck on you for a bit. That whimper in my ear getting stronger and the greedy way you’re grabbing at me and holding my head is driving me hard, just like the train I hear go by outside.

I get to that point. That cagey, I need to get fucked HARD right NOW, point. I tell him how you’re gonna fuck me from behind, knees on the couch, and the speaker in my ear explodes in ‘ Gods Yes!’ and ‘Fuck. Yeah Baby!’ , his breath puffing into the phone between his deep growls. Coming from the moment you enter me and riding the crest of one orgasm to the next almost nonstop. You slam into me from behind and just as I’m about to tell you to rub my asshole with your thumb, you drive deep and my head slams against the back of the couch hanging up the phone.

The thought of leaving him dry crosses my mind, but his sounds in the background were turning me into some kind of rabid sex kitten. I grope in panic for the phone as you keep driving your cock into me. First call the line is still busy. I take a moment to fix my headset and try again, “Good of you to call me back” he says, and I can’t really reply, you start pounding again, with a vengeance, and all I can hear is yours and my breathing. Barely in the background, I hear him egging me on now, almost an afterthought to our grunts and moans. My cunt convulses a final time as you pull out and shoot across my back, I lay there, panting, and melted on the couch. Feeling like a total Slut Goddess.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

My Master's Rainbow (pt.6)

Movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention and the real world comes sharply into focus. My heart stills, and my exhale becomes ragged, it is fear, it is surprise. A cold sweat breaks out across my brow, it is need, it is impending gratification. My eyes widen and my jaw tightens, it is embarrassment, it is resolve, rejection, betrayal, and gratitude. It is anger.

It is twelve figures, faces and bodies shrouded with white satin cloaks, circled around me. Master has given me to an army. That realization brings me crashing through another orgasm, this sweet release, my body convulsing against the ropes. In the center of it, there is a point where an unconscious decision is made, my body must choose to scream or to whisper. That question posed, endorphins releasing in reply, and before the message can fully be received, the sting in my left breast begins. That familiar burning cold, the coin brings to my skin never fails to confuse my flesh. It remains, poised at the curve of my cleavage, the skin there burning and soothing as the coin rocks in time with my racing heart.

It’s like an implosion; every other sensation is not wiped away, but intensified and brought into the center of me. For a moment, the whole world is the skin beneath Master’s coin. The way it overcomes me, is like nothing else, only Master can elicit such overwhelming reactions. Then, that unforgiving heartache when the coin is removed, like my skin has betrayed me.

And swimming up from the back of it all, Mia, her voice carried to my ears over my own sucking, gasping, breath.” I know what I’ve said, Tobin, and the Bishop promised he’d be able to help me.”

“Hmm… and yet he hasn’t. So then is the fault his? Are you calling this ‘man of the cloth’ a liar? Or are you going to take a step of that high horse and admit the problem lies in you?”

As though on a timer, all twelve figures step closer to me, in unison, with no noticeable cue. My heart beats even faster, I feel sweat break out across my forehead and begin to slide down my temple, I do my best to shake my head within the web trying to fling the droplets clear of my eyes. They step again and I find myself trying to judge how many steps until they reach me, five more, maybe.

“I’m not sure how I could have done any better.” She says her voice echoing circles around me.

“Oh, really Mia?”

“I went to the right meetings, I dressed nicely, I smiled. No one came to me.”

“You smiled? And no one came to you?” In the restaurant, I had been struggled to keep the laughter out of my voice, in the cellar, listening, I realize I had done a very poor job of it, it’s ok, poor Mia, it was about to get so much worse, “ Imagine that, Mia, no one came to you .” The laughter in my voice fading now, leading into that cold edge again, then, and now, I am loving it.

Puffing up again, indignant, Mia says,” What is going on with you, today, Tobin? You’re being extremely disrespectful.”

“C’mon, Mia, disrespect? Really? If either of us is in the position need to remember their place here, it is not me. Need I remind you what the stakes are? Your son, darling,” I smile inside thinking of the way Master uses this word, “or mine? You need to be careful, Mia, really fucking careful. I called you here to remind you that your time is almost up; just six months now, think you can manage it? Don’t think I won’t take him back. I’m not that little girl anymore, Mia and you know it. ‘Nobody came to you’. What the fuck is that? No fucking wonder you haven’t gotten laid in four years!” Cursing freely now, my mother’s ‘sailor words’ given shore-leave in my sister’s ear, my voice still quite low, but vicious and clipped, this is a private show, for me, for her, for Master.

Master’s shrouded circle has stepped twice more, always in unison, always without cue, or warning. One step left and they’ll have me, my mind frantic, trying at once to imagine what will happen when they reach me, and trying to block the images out. And still over all of it, two things, tear through my mind, excitement and anger. I am caught between my cunts aching need to be used, and my heart’s feeling of betrayal at having to share my precious time with Master.

I stare at the screen, trying to center my mind on anything besides that next bittersweet step. Mia’s face, that look of pure bewildered confusion, manages to hold my attention keeping my imagination at bay. Not for the first time, that look amazes me. They all have it, my whole family, and their strange congregation. It is a look of fear and naiveté, of absolute disbelief at the possibility of any idea not presented to them by their precious gospel. God’s plan in action, if that plan were to build walls and post sentry against the unclean, it breaks my heart to see. It’s like the rape of minds, the violation of independent thought.

“I’ll come for Gray in the afternoon Mia,” The plan falling from my lips even as I place it in my mind, “you’ll be going out. I’ll send a car for you. Believe it or not, we both want the same thing. I love my son and want to see him thrive; I know Lance and I can provide for him, perhaps, better than you, now. But I also recognize the need for consistency in his life. Get in the car, Mia. We are both bound by this contract, yes, but that does not mean I can’t help you. The driver will take you to see a dear friend of mine; she will teach you a few things about how to own yourself, sell yourself, to become woman enough to own a man. You have to trust me, Mia. You don’t have a choice.”

I loved watching her face twist with the mixing emotions, gratitude at my apparent change of heart, fear at the suggestion of this woman friend, pain at the idea of change, anger for the experience on the whole. The opportunity to see it again, big as day in front of me, is not lost, but savored, grasped as desperately as a life preserver in the arms of a drowning man.

The time lost in my sister’s eyes ends all too quickly. One last shrouded step and they’re on me in a rustle of satin, a flash of hands, arms, and bare bodies, as all twelve toss their cloaks off of their shoulders, revealing their bodies, but leaving their faces lost to me. Master’s army seems equally divided; it does not appear that there is more of either sex.

They begin to touch me, some stroking gently, some using the edges of their fingernails to draw angry red lines against my soft white flesh, still more pinching, or grabbing and pulling, no part of my body is left unattended. Just like The Shoes, this satin-soaked army moves silently, with a grace like I’ve never seen, my mind just has time to frame a question as to how he finds these people, and the world begins to spin. Literally.

The silence of this tool leaves no room for warning. Excitement and frustration surge through my body, carrying with them an orgasm so strong its final waves leave black spots before my eyes. When it leaves me, I am once again horizontal, this time facing the ceiling. My ears again pick up the familiar tone of my own voice, and for a moment I am confused, ‘We already heard this part…’ I think as I hear me say “ ‘Nobody came to you’. What the fuck is that? No fucking wonder you haven’t gotten laid in four years!”

Over and over, my ears are filled with my own voice taunting my sister, calling her out, practically laughing in her face. The relief of having done that, after having been subject to her condescension my whole life, at first was a glorious moment. The replay in my mind and on the screen a reminiscent triumph, even the initial few sound byte plays were a thrilling experience when mixed this way. But now, with this fever pitched replay and four of his naked, faceless, soldiers crawling toward me, the web shaking with their weight, my desperately confused mind circles around one thought:’ There’s a reason I have never spoken that way to her!’

Her condescension is valid; her position in every way she knows to read it is above mine. She is superior, morally, professionally, educationally; even her genes are stronger than mine. I know that having been in a restaurant, a public place, I was safe for the moment, and that even barring that, Mia’s nature would never have allowed her to raise her voice to me, but later there will be another price to pay. Another voice will soon be heard, and in this family, we are to follow two gospels, that ever present, almost universal, book of God, and in truest hypocritical blasphemy, the words of my mother.

As I am taken by a surge of fear at the thought of her, her opinion, her decision on the matter, Master’s four have taken their positions. A man lies above my head, his legs spread wide to accommodate the woman who places a ball gag in my mouth and cinches it tightly before straddling my face to grind her pussy against it and my lips and leaning forward to fellate him. At the same time I feel someone else sitting at the base of my ribcage, another man, his hands at my breasts, using them against his cock Someone else, sex unknown, is using a toy, a dildo with a clit tickler aggressively on my swollen pussy, the buzz driving a bolt of that deep, white heat into my flesh with each thrust. I feel the web rock with their wild, random, movements, each sway and tumble reminiscent of the waves at the heart of a storm driven sea.

One of Master’s soldiers has grown bold, showing off his strength and prowess by climbing the web from beneath me. I feel his arms come up between the ropes at my elbows locking his with mine. He pulls himself up by the same line that runs across my collarbone, it draws tight against my chest as it takes his weight while he slides his legs through the ropes at my thighs wrapping them around me and hooking his feet just inside my knees. His cock head brushes the puckered rim of my anis; I barely have time to take note of how slick and hard he is before I realize that it’s vibrating. Somehow, despite all the motion above me he is able to hold on, to keep control, to move slowly, carefully working his vibrating phallus with long, deliberate strokes. As the woman on my face comes, he enters me the translated movement of the bullet vibe in his cock ring helping to coax my asshole into opening. The rolling, surging, motion of my web moves our bodies for him; his deep growls and hot, puffing breath in my ear announces his enjoyment.

I am surrounded by a world of sex, all over and around me people are using my body and each others’ in a writhing bed of pleasure. I feel the hands on my breasts tighten and their owner’s pace quicken, at the same time the soldier grinding against my ball gag begins to roll her hips and clench her thighs, her juices running across my tongue. I can also feel the man in her mouth pumping his hips harder into her.

Everywhere in the room the breathing has changed, and the motion of the web has grown more frantic. I marvel again that the soldier below me can maintain his hold on me, keep me so beautifully impaled within it all, forcing my own orgasm to announce itself in shudders and gulps. Somehow in the midst of it all my voice has stopped, and I realize Master must have given orders regarding their voices because no one is calling out, and there are no moans, just this ragged puffing blanket of desperate breaths, a symphony of orgasmic air.


Dressing again in that familiar, sickly yellow glow, reflecting, as always, on the things Master has shown me. Like an experiment on my soul, each session with him is meant to teach me something, too help me fix the broken pieces. By removing himself from the greater part of our session, he has left the stain of today’s color in my mind. His truest passion is the world of human emotions. A smile plays across my lips and I whisper to myself,”His passion controls him, and I benefit.”

On the cab ride home my mind turns to Mia, and to Gray, I breathe deep, resolve stirring, creating, there is work to be done. One more nearly breathless whisper earns me a glance from the rear view mirror, “Thank you Master.”

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Serving The Beast

My fingers shaking as I press the number four on my phone, the speed dial taking over with it’s familiar beeps. One ring…two….

“Are you there?” His voice comes from hundreds of miles away.
“In the parking lot.” I say.
“Turn it on.” The Beast in my ear gives the command in a tone as cold as steel, but at the edge of his words I can hear his excitement. I reach into my pocket, where the control is hidden and feel the tiny red phallus come to life, fresh batteries making even the first setting an intense thrill.

A small whimper escapes me a result of both the sudden buzzing in my pants, and the realization of what it is I am about to do. His responding gasp eggs me on. It is nothing to me to be in my car with it on, still not too big a deal being semi public, but I am about to be fed to the wolves.

Take a deep breath. Step out of the car.

Excitement taking over me, mixed with urgency and embarrassment, I walk toward the entrance. The motorized doors making their hiss and sounding strangely normal to me, like somehow my actions, my intentions, should have changed their sound. I move toward the shopping carts, his voice rings out as if he’s reading my mind.

“Don’t take a big basket; get one of the small ones.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice obedient, knowing he can hear it shaking, and wondering if he knows it’s as much from fear as excitement. This whole time my mind is screaming, ‘Stupid thing to get arrested for.’ And I try to push it aside. Moving slowly, carefully, because I am already so close to coming.

Whimpering and moaning under my breath, preying no one hears me, and hoping that my Beast still can, I walk the aisles, nervously chattering into the phone, rambling about all the things I’m seeing around me.

“Aisle One” I tell him, “Baked goods, and prepared foods.”
“Take a loaf of bread,” he tells me. I choose a loaf of sourdough; its phallic appearance not lost on me, and place it in the basket on my arm. I wander on, not really knowing what I’m doing, or what I’m expected to do, snaking my way up and down.

“Aisle Three, Sire.” I report, trying to keep my voice even.
“Go ahead and turn it up to two.”

My hand reaches obediently for the switch in my pocket, the sensation jumping into me as I comply. Somehow, I keep moving, walking up and down the aisles like a lost child. I’ve broken out in a cold sweat, my knees want to buckle, and I find myself stopping every few feet, giving in to the machine, so relentless, tucked up tight against my clit.

“Turn it up to three.” Says this Beast, this relentless, beautiful animal, knowing full well what it’ll do to me. There is no escaping the yelp that rings out clearly from my lips as I comply. Clutching my stomach, bending down, looking for all the world like I’m sick as a dog, I stare at a row of cereal, the brightly colored kid friendly boxes swimming before my eyes as I give up, give in, allow the orgasm to take over.

“Such a good girl, so eager to please.” Hearing his voice shake, knowing how much he’s feeding on this, sends me to my knees, and I feel the fluid rush of my orgasm collect in my panties. Grunting and gasping into my earpiece, and hearing his excitement on the end of the line, my whole world contracts to a single point. Only my labia dancing against the vibrator, and his ragged, intense, breath matter. My climax does not really end, it only steps back, the bite taken off of it a bit. I gather myself and rise, beginning to move down the aisle again, so very slowly.

“You may bring it down to two.” He says, with a sadistic giggle at the relief he hears in my exhale. With little ability to control my legs, I shuffle on, more afraid than ever of staying in one place, random noises spilling from me, like a forgotten tea kettle spitting and whistling on the stove, all the while his sharp voice rambling in my mind. The Beast is intense, more worked up than I’ve ever heard him, his voice trembling as he asks,” Are you near the restroom?”

“It’s at the end of this lane.” I say, his question striking through my heart like a bolt of lightening.

“Go ahead and go there.” Like a gift, and I rush to the sanctum, stopping for a moment as I see an employee stocking shelves in front of the restroom, the sharp purr of the vibe making the decision an easy one. The door barely closes behind me and I am lost to it, catching the latch to the big stall and falling to my knees, flushed and flowing and crying out, and I hear him echo my passion, so close, so ready to give me what I’m working for, he drops phone in his excitement. Through my own cries, I hear fumbling, buttons pushing, and silence…. The dreaded accidental hang up that seems to plague my best sessions.

Fumbling, myself, now, on all fours in the stall, cursing and coming, trying to get ahold of my phone, pressing the button and thinking of how I must look like a crazed animal, a picture of my cat, crouching in the midst of her heat, flashing through my mind. The ringing, the line opening, but I hear his breath has calmed. “Are you calm enough to leave?”

“I think so...” Comes my throaty whisper.
“You may turn it back down to one, then-“
“-OH Thank You!”
“-leave the room when you can.”

I take a moment to run some cold water across my cheeks and stare deep at myself in the mirror, ‘What are you doing?’ I think, and again, ‘Stupid thing to get arrested for.’ My face is flushed, I look feverish, sweaty.

Breathe. Leave the room. Go. LEAVE.

Somehow I’m in the store again, walking past the same blonde, teenaged, emo-boy stocking mac’n’cheese in the entrance, he stares after me as I walk past, I’m sure he heard. There’s no way he didn’t. Bending carefully to gather my “shopping” (still just a lonely baguette), being kept ever on the edge by my little phallic friend. I whisper to the Beast about the boy and hear his excited whimper egg me farther on.

Still lucky, most of the aisles are clear, it’s the middle of the day on Wednesday the store is only sprinkled with people, and those are members of the ‘geriatric set’ shuffling around. But as I turn the corner from aisle six to seven I see a pair of employees in the corner of my eye. And from seven to eight there they are still, I freeze. Whispering to the Beast about them I grab a bag of potato chips and feign intense interest in the ingredients as they pass. I overhear them, something about a co-worker and a manager, not about me, I release a sigh and tell him it’s ok.

“In the freezer section now,” I tell him, pressing my face to the cool glass of the ice cream cooler. And elderly couple wanders by, looking at me with watery eyes, and I wonder if their ears are strong enough to hear it buzz. It’s the polite way I greet them, they way you always feel obligated to recognize strangers that make eye contact, I think, that sends him over his own edge. His moans and gasps growing stronger in my ear, a rush running through my body, it’s the moment I’ve been working toward, and I feel both satisfaction, and grief at the sound of it.

“At the end of this aisle, stop.”
“Yes Sir.” A few moments lost in travel, punctuated with our puffing, excited breath.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, Sir”
“You are going to set the vibrator back to three-“
“-Oh God!” I make no attempt, this time, to hide my whimper.
“-you will return to Aisle 1 and put the bread back. Once the bread has been returned, you may leave the store. You do not have to walk casually for this.”

Breathe. You’re almost done. Breathe. Move! GO!

I move like I’m wading through concrete, the tiled floor stretching out before me into eternity. Tunnel vision. Somehow I’m next to the bread rack and swimming through loaves trying to remember where my own loaf came from, crazy manic energy making it important to put it in its place. I focus on the bright green and yellow of the package to guide me. The bread released, so are my legs somehow, and my pace meets my pulse as I walk through the doors. That hiss not sounding so desperately normal, now.

I orgasm twice more trying to walk to my car, and really let myself go once I’m safe in the driver’s seat, giving the Beast a feast of sounds, gasps and curses, clueing him in to how much I was effected by this task. Before our connection is severed, He assures me that I’ve done well.

“Such a good pet.” He says to me. And I thank him for the chance to show him how willing I am to please. “We will talk again.”

Thursday, May 17, 2007

In The Rain

It’s one of those humid days where an unexpected shower is celebrated. I see you sitting, in pj bottoms, bare-chested in the rain. Head tilted back, enjoying the drizzle against your face. I take the opportunity to enjoy the view for a moment before approaching silently. Your first clue to my proximity is my placing my hands on your knees, to brace myself as I kneel before you. Resting my head against your stomach, I nuzzle, gently your chest, as I feel your hand caress the back of my head. Running your fingers through my hair, they tangle, a little because of the rain. As I begin to kiss your chest I feel your fingers tighten slightly, pulling my hair a little, accidentally.

Rising up on my knees I face you, your hands move to cup my face as you bring me toward you, pulling me into a series of deep kisses. When our lips part we both gasp a little, left hungry for each other in our embrace. The warm rain playing against our steaming lips. Leaning forward I whisper into your ear, just your name, but on my hot breath I can tell it makes your pulse quicken. I begin to lower myself, kissing my way slowly, carefully, your chin, your neck, stopping for more than a moment at the hollow place where your collar bones meet. A bit farther down now, again I press my cheek against your stomach. Your hands have traveled, now, to my shoulders, fingertips digging in a little, in anticipation.

My hands begin to play with you, through the fabric of your pants. Inquisitive fingertips, pressing against your firming shaft, I seek out the head, tracing firmly the rim. I feel your hips shift, the electric connection of my touch bringing you closer to me. Fingers trailing down now, drawing figure eights against your balls, and then cupping them in my open palm for a moment, rolling them slightly in my fingers.

Hungry for you now I lean my face against your thigh, using my breath to farther excite you, I blow, alternately hot and cold against your skin, the sensation muted only slightly through the material of your pants, cotton isn’t much of a barrier, and not much of the effect is lost.

I release the drawstring now, and lower your waistband taking with it the elastic of your boxer-briefs. Your cock exposed to me, standing at attention, ready for my skin. I oblige it by relieving my bosom of my halter and enveloping your shaft in them. Using my hands to press my breasts against you, completely encircling your shaft with my cleavage, I feel your thighs tighten now, as your hips thrust almost involuntarily, creating a crazy kind of friction with the heat of our bodies, lubricated by sweat, and the rain.

My palms pressing against my tits, your cock trapped between them, begin to move, up and down, causing my breasts to roll. I lean my head down, lips moving ever closer, slightly parted, warm breath puffing against the swollen tip. Upon one upstroke my tongue escapes my mouth, flicking only once, the very end. I hear you suck your breath through your teeth at this sensation, and feel your whole body tighten against me. Your fingers travel now, to the small of my back, to that place you know makes me melt, and the heat of your touch brings an animalistic need to my body. In a rush I suck the head of your cock into my mouth and begin to pull against it with my tongue. Tightening my lips and pressing downward I use my mouth to mimic you entering my pussy, I show you what a struggle it will be to ease your swollen phallus into that soft wet place. Your hips buck fiercely now, desperately signaling your desire for me. I relax my hold on your shaft and allow you to enter my mouth in a rush. I open my throat, taking you deeply, your shaft filling my mouth perfectly, and I start to pet you from inside with my tongue.

Still using my hands on my tits to caress you, I’ve moved them lower, my nipples now brushing your balls, I feel your sack tighten against them, and moan at the sensation. The sound from my throat causing vibrations against your cock, driving you mad, and you grab my head and begin to guide me, thrusting into my face in slow strokes, while my tongue wraps itself around your shaft. My fingertips seeking out the tender skin of your thighs, dragging my nails lightly across the skin there, returning to your testicles and tracing those light circles. Placing thumb, first and middle fingers each hand, high on each testicle and drawing down, creating a milking motion. A groan floats down from your lips and again I hear you suck your breath through your teeth. I pull my mouth away from you and hear you gasp in sudden disappointment.

The sky opens and the rain pours on us, full force, beating against my back and soaking my clothes. Halter pulled up now almost to my shoulders, tan cotton shorts, clinging to my thighs like a second skin, hair clinging to my cheeks, still flushed, lips crimson from the friction of your cock. The warm rain across the bare skin on my back sending waves of sensation through my body, driving me toward you. I rise, climbing into your lap as you again take the back of my head in your hands. Once again our lips meet, our passion translated through our tongues, dancing in each other’s mouths as our hands betray our greed for each other. Roaming like frightened animals, scurrying across each other’s bodies.

My hands find your chest; trace the muscles of your stomach, travel to your sides, exploring your skin. They move to your back and my fingers caress the small of your back, giving you a taste of my own pleasure. Your hands move from my head, to my neck, cupping my face briefly before pressing onward. To my shoulders, squeezing gently, and along my arms, settling for a moment on my sides as you position me so that I’m straddling your prick. Then on the move again, reaching now to cup my tits, one in each hand, palms up, thumbs brushing my nipples. A natural rhythm develops between us as we grind our hips together. My shorts, and my panties, are the only thing separating us. Your hands, on my breasts begin to turn, palms at the sides of them now, your fingers begin to curl, firmly grasping my tits as we buck together. Our mouths press together alternating between deep kisses and shallow gasps for air, intermittently moving from lips, to cheek, neck to ear, back to lips. The desperate need for each other not allowing us to focus.

Your hands move again, fumbling now with the button-fly of my shorts, then with the fabric sticking to my wet thighs as you pull them down, my panties coming with them. I rise, gaining my feet momentarily to kick them aside and climb back onto you. My bare pussy now hot and wet against your straining cock. Your skin there is smooth, like no other sensation, and I begin to rub myself against you, needing to feel you sliding against my sex, tip to sack, clitoris to perineum and back. Careful, even in my hunger not to let you enter me, I love this too much.

My back arches and my shoulders fall back. Breasts present to your face, your lips taking their cue, nibbling, then sucking, opening and taking a mouthful up to my areola using your tongue like a nursing infant. The electric waves of your touch sending me to orgasm. You feel a slight rush of fluid as I come, my hips bucking so wildly now that your hands on them can barely hold on, it’s all you can do to keep me from falling off your lap. I press myself more firmly to you and my hands find my bosom, I clutch, firm handfuls of breast, you can see my nails digging in, my sounds becoming more and more animalistic as my orgasm peaks, I cry out as it crests, and just as I come down from it, my hips jerk again. This time I am unable to control you entering me.

My swollen pussy lips stretch to allow you, feeling nearly torn by your girth, as my hips sink forward, pressing you still deeper into me. Breath coming in gulps and gasps, my chest heaves. Your mouth opens as well, as if in surprise, your eyes try to widen, but are forced shut again by the torrent coming down from above. You cling to me, arms encircling my body, crossing behind me, hands gripping my biceps. You place your cheek to my bust, hiding your face in my bosom, I can feel your breath puff against the skin there. I lace my fingers behind myself, and you shift your grasp to my wrists, knowing what this will do to me.

Like a well played violin, my body begins, once more, to tense. The sounds elicited from my throat, belong to no language known to man, unintelligible syllables, exaggerated consonants wild vowels. And in the midst of it, again I say your name. Using my wrists now to guide my body you lead me to roll my hips in circles against you as you thrust into me, working me like you own this body you twist, figure eights now, and then back and forth, circles once more, and to figure eights and back. Having you use me this way does something to my body. The way a sculptor wields a chisel, you control my movements to create your own art upon the canvas of my flesh.

Our bodies so close together that our breathing compliments, your lungs filling creating my exhale. You lift your face to my neck, kissing, sucking, and licking hungrily. Our own form of communication develops, in total synchronicity I brace my heels against the chair and push as you lift us to your feet. The force of us rising to your full height brings you farther into me, still holding my wrists you support me, your arms a cradle. The total lack of control brings me again to that sweet electric heat, my cunt convulsing on your cock, you take the steps slowly. Matching the rhythm of my orgasm to your footfalls, you add to the pressure inside me.

Walking carefully, nearly blinded by my hair as you nuzzle my neck, you cross the patio. Fumbling with the back door you manage to work the slider while giving my left nipple a bit of attention, sucking my areola into your mouth and placing it between your top teeth and your tongue you suckle at my breast. Entering the house and somehow shutting the door behind us, you place me now on the back of the couch, so that I’m balancing on the edge intensifying the situation even that much more.

Bringing your hands back up to grip my shoulders, you push yourself away from me. Exiting me completely, stepping back, a wicked grin spreads across your face as I, in surprise flail desperately for support, saving myself, barely, fingernails digging in to the fabric at my sides. You wait just long enough for my shocked expression to fade before dropping to your knees in front of me. My heart still pounding both from being separated from you so suddenly, and from nearly toppling in surprise, skips yet another beat as I feel the burn of your unshaven cheek slide across my swollen, clitoris.

As I find your lips against my clit I also find your hands, left using your fingertips once again to stroke the nerves at the small of me back, right taking its own path, making its home palm against the front of my neck. I lean into it, allowing my chin to rest against the back of your hand controlling my breathing by lifting and lowering my face, I allow my mind to wander, my traveling between all the parts of my body painting their own portraits of sensation in my mind.

The black spots before my eyes growing larger, I reach for you. My palms loving the sensation of your closely kept hair against them. Lacing my fingers behind your head I pull your face farther into me, burying your mouth in my sex. You respond by greedily working my wet slit with your tongue. Long slow strokes from bottom to top, much like an ice cream, and soon you feel my pussy surge again as you raise me to orgasm. I feel your lips lock against my clit, my hips bucking wildly as you begin to suck. I throw my head back releasing the pressure from your hand at my neck, and as the world comes swimming back into focus, my mind centers on your fingertips, desperately digging into my skin, communicating to me through your touch exactly how much you enjoy making me come.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Afternoon Delight

In this world of word processors and email, I have come to notice how neglected a thing the pencil has become. I, myself, have been guilty of ‘processing’ my words. The passive ease of typing and spell checking, although attractive, I think, has taken from me some of the freedom and power in my words.

Given the opportunity to, once again, wield a pencil, I find myself struck by a sense of satisfaction found, reborn, in watching the page filled by my movements. The words themselves, although sounding the same in my head as I write them, somehow feel more important as I see them written in my own script. The act of erasing is so violent actually scrubbing, and wiping away the proof of my own thoughts, leads me to exercise more caution in the words I choose.

The intense compulsion toward all things expressive makes as benign a thing as reading in a coffee shop, for me something tantamount to public masturbation. When a phrase is enticing, my mouth moves, tasting the words, a perfect paragraph will cause me to read aloud, to call out, to share, not at all unlike the moans and cries pulled from my lips in the depths of pleasure.

The ideas brought to life in my mind by an artist’s beautiful words fill me with a perverse sort of glee. A Catholic’s first communion is wrought with an intense sense of awe for this holy act and with a selfish pride in being allowed to taste the wine. It is the same, in this, for me.

Although I know a word written is a word shared, and that I am most likely a part of an audience, a multitude of readers, being allowed to taste the joy and pain placed before me by the writer feels so very intimate, so real each time, like a tryst, causing stolen whimpers in shadowed corners…

My writing this, your reading it, I’ve opened a door, you’ve crossed a threshold. A commitment to each other in each letter. What I’ve shared, what you’ve learned – we are no different than lovers, now.

So I light a cigarette, inhale deeply, and ask,” Was it good for you, too?”

Thursday, May 3, 2007

The World at Her Command

A passionate woman. A perfect mind. An amusing distraction.
A deep appreciation for humanity. A dream. A fantasy.

The plaything. The confidant. The muse.
A love of words, of passion. Connection.

Owned by a Trinity. Revered by degree. At a loss for completion.
Through skin. Through words. Through memory.

A power even greater guides. The future's sacred trust.
Another Master. Another name.

A feast of responsibility.

Importance. Necessity. Self Reliance.
The world at her command.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Back Into The Mist

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Doing 90 and it’s midnight there
Screaming my favorite pissed off song
Having confessed your true importance
When I was nothing all along

You shrug your shoulders, stupefied
Saying pain was not your goal
But you knew what you were doing
When you tore into my soul

This kind of desperation
That I’m seeing in myself
Is strictly something coming from
Being put up on a shelf

I know you can appreciate
That I love how strong I feel
But each new time you blow me off
The pain is much too real

Fingers dial, baited breath
‘Should I even have made the call?’
Rejoice the anguish when you cut
With words I knew would fall

So, yeah, I AM pathetic
And this connection is a crime
But I still can’t help but wonder
How I became not worth your time

You asked me for my servitude
And I give it gratefully
Do your tasks with humble heart
Just so you’ll look at me

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Some day I’ll gain perspective
Grow a pair, and walk away
But even if that time does come
I’ll wish you’d just ask me to stay

Mutual Adiction

It is the way you use your words

The gifts of them you make
The compulsion I see in you
I’m not sure how to take

This type of true intensity
Has really played its part
Tattoos a mark I’m sure will scar
Upon my mind, and heart

I have never known someone
To give as soon as you
As much the best part of their mind
With purpose not untrue

I made you my owner
And now you are my pet
Epiphany has struck, My God!
My match may have been met

Unwilling to concede to you
The game’s more fun this way
I think I might enjoy this ride
See just how hard you play…

The Balance In Ownership

Precious torment, secret bliss
No sacrifice as pure as this
The gentle touch of ice or heat
No torture ever quite so sweet

He rules me with an iron hand
My sleeping breath at his command
The waking sound that fills my ear
Tells me again, that he is near

My dancing clit, my violation
I live for this sweet degradation
The blindfold sound, his hidden face
The precious limbo of Sub.-Space

My birthright is to be his tool
To beg the chance to act his fool
Our sacred trust, this desperate need
Each selfless gift negating greed

The things he has to think and be
Give the power back to me
I push he pulls. He gives I take
And when it's right our minds will quake

A climax sought, is not the prize
But truth behind each other's eyes

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Precious Torment Sweet Surrender

Her heart racing in her chest, cold, naked in the rain. Hungry for him.' Will he come tonight? Will he leave me wanting?' It's been too long, a couple nights at least and she is frightened, hungry, thirsty, desperate. 'Please, Master.'

Her chain taught, the ground beneath her a muddy bed from rain and her frantic circles. She tilts her head to the sky, extending her tongue, to catch even a few drops, to calm her thirst. The rain sending a chilled wash across her face, clearing the muddy streaks of her tears.

Curled in her shelter, merely a four foot square fiberglass roof held up by three and a half foot tall, two by four posts. Hugging her knees, legs crossed at the ankle, jaw clenched she whispers "Please. Master."

Ears straining, trying to hear through the rain, eyes trying to see through the lightening, hoping for any sign of him. Unable to stay awake, she rests, stranded in fitful dreams of loss, a deep heartache the continuing theme.

At first she thinks it's a dream, the touch across her lips so gentle. The wind in her hair? Rough hands at her shoulders shoving her, confused she topples to the ground. A body pressing against hers, one hand holding both of her wrists, another at her throat. Her eyes fly open as her sex is impaled, seeing only a curtain of hair.

"Master!" She cries smiling.

"Master!" As he thrusts into her.

"I live to serve you!" As his fingertips dig into her flesh.

"Use me," and, "Thank you" as his breath grows ragged in her ear.

"My sweet animal." Is his reply as he spends himself deep inside her.

She lays there, cheek pressed into the mud, lips curled in a thankful grin. She feels his weight lift from her, and expects him to leave. Her heart breaking, both from the loss of him, and from the physical needs she gladly tries to ignore.

Food, water, the words running through her mind through everything, a constant battle for her attention. He moves toward her, his hand reaching again to her neck. In one swift movement he releases her collar from the chain. Pressing his arms into the soft mud beneath her and cradling her, placing gentle kisses on her forehead.

Standing, his pet still pressed to his chest, he carries her indoors. Her face tucked into his shoulder. The light in the living room splashes across her face, the purple tinge to her shaking lips, and the silent tears of gratitude slipping across her cheek sending a stab of emotion through his heart. Bringing his lips to hers for the first time, he feels the chill in her very responsive kiss.

He places her on the couch, and brings her the softest blankets he can find. It's been four days and he knows it. He brings her beef broth in a mug and makes sure she sips it slowly. The mug emptied, he lifts her again.

He carries her to the bathtub. He knows the only fragrance she can stand is natural vanilla, and he has laced the warm water with it. With a soft sea-sponge he cleans her, attending to every detail of her body. Washing her hair, and taking care to massage the conditioner into her scalp. She sleeps in the warm water feeling safe in her Master's care. Silent grateful tears sliding down her face as she doses.

When she wakes she is laying in his bed. Down comforters and pillows surrounding her, and his sleeping head in her lap. She brings her hand, first, to her neck, the collar removed brings both a feeling of relief and one of grief, as it is her dearest friend, a constant reminder of his devotion, and then to his hair, lacing her fingers through it, petting his tresses as he has done so many times with hers.

He wakes, taking her hand he presses her palm to his cheek. She feels the tracks of his tears there and his words pour from his lips. Apologies, promises, words of regret, the roads were closed, he couldn't get through, begging her assurance that she believes he would never leave her so long on purpose. Fresh tears spilling from both of their eyes they lay together that way, him hugging her legs, her hand in his hair, both secure in their absolute need for each other.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Flash Paper

Flash Paper

I’ve had to step aside today.
Say goodbye to someone so special.
The connection an implosion.
Flash paper, pure and bright and intense.
The kind of thing destined to leave a mark.
That sweet nostalgic poisoning.

The leaving is good, from a pure place.
Grief that comes not bitter discontent, but selfish daydreams.
Weird to leave without anger, without resentment.
So strange the longing without feeling betrayed.

Can’t allow myself to need someone who doesn’t need me, back.
The world is a little brighter today, and a little more in shadow.
I have the words, the voice, the memory.
The addiction is severed, it’s not heartache, but the come-down flu.

Everyone is optional, even me.
It’s not rejection.
The choice was perfect fantasy or a prefect reality.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

My Master's Rainbow (pt5)

I barely have a chance to open my mouth before I feel him push past my teeth and ram against the back of my throat, Master’s left hand presses against the back of my head pushing it down, his right cupping my chin pulling it forward, keeping my throat open.

From the corner of my eye I can still see the screen, Mia is still crying, her shoulders shaking, I can barely hear her over the wet sounds of my Master’s phallus slamming hard against my tongue. I adjust my jaw, drop my tongue in the back of my mouth and relax my throat. Master takes advantage of the amount of control he has over me, the wave like motion of his hips as he pumps into my face proves his enjoyment of me.

‘Tobin The Bitch’, continues to work Master’s magic on the Mia on the screen. Between thrusts, I have a full view of my sister’s pain. I watch, almost hypnotized, as my fork lifts before the camera, nonchalant little bites if fettuccine alfredo, like it doesn’t matter, like I’m not shredding her heart, to trade for my own pleasure. I hear me clear my throat, “Really Mia,” a delicate sip of chardonnay, “I don’t understand why you’re acting so surprised, this has been a long time coming.”

“Grey is ten, Mia. That’s four and a half years you’ve had to find a man. Is there a reason, you didn’t think we were serious? I may be twelve years younger than you, but ours is still a legal contract. I can’t give you another extension. You swore when Jack died you would be able to replace him quickly. Said your church has a program for unwed mothers. Did you lie to me in the name of your God?” The fingers at my neck tighten, those at the back of my head, becoming still as stone.

I know the reason he has gotten so close so quickly. The laws only state that I have to make someone cry, my task has been preformed, by all rights I could have stood and walked out of the room, leaving her there, confused, hurt, letting her to brood, wondering why I lashed out. That self-righteous anger flowing through her tearing her mind between this and the words of her gospel telling her this feeling is wrong, but overall not much worst for wear. Master’s excitement is brought about by the calm way I sit, taking the time to finish off my meal, and my sister. He knows the only reason I would go on is to please him, to give example of my commitment to him.

“Tobin, no.” She says, as though she really thinks any of her words could make any difference.

The side of the fork coming down, cutting into the scallops on my plate, another simple, business like forkful lifts, so calm, the tip of one ting toying, set against the plate and spinning for a moment. I see Master’s hips flash three more times, the intensity brimming inside him, on that last thrust his hands lock my head and neck into place and my nose is buried in his pubic hair. Working my tongue and lips as much as this position allows, I work hard to feel his skin tighten and his veins swell and twitch against my uvula.

My lungs screaming in my chest, his shaft remains like a stone blocking my air, I feel hands at my hips, unlatching my garters, pulling on those silk panties, fingers from nowhere drive into my cunt. I have a moment of panic as this happens; no one has ever joined us before. The combination of surprise and the black spots floating before my eyes pulls an orgasm out of me that makes my legs and shoulders go limp, I am held off the ground by Master’s hands and those of our mystery partner third knuckle deep by at least two fingers. My amazement at this new level of play is only farther fed into by my own voice from the speakers.

“Or is it that at your age, even with all that grooming and breeding you’ve always held up to me, and even with your church’s help, you’re hopelessly unfuckable.” I drop that last word on my sister’s Christian ears and watch her shake, now with anger as well as fear. Direct disrespect has always been frowned upon in my family, and especially the use of what my mother would call ‘sailor words’, Mia’s shock is understandable, she lives every day by our mother’s rules and by those of her god, just as I live by the laws of my Master. I would find that kind of shock were he to say ‘I love you’; it is almost like two sides of a coin, she and I.

Master’s hot seed spills down my throat in great bursts, and the moment he releases me, so does his helper. I fall to the floor, my limbs shaking from the strength of my orgasm, the dark taste of his seed overtaking my tongue. Turning my head to lay eyes on our partner, I see only The Shoes. Master’s silent witnesses are both still as stone, and exactly in their places, I know they are quick, and nearly silent, but no human can move that quickly, Master gives me only a moment to ponder this, before pulling me to my feet by my hair walking me forward.

My heart skips a beat as I recognize what looks like a pile of white nylon ropes on the floor. Without need for direction I step into the two center most holes in the pile, placing my feet so that the last length is straddled between the ball and heel of each shoe. I bend, carefully and pull the topmost coil sliding it up my left leg first, the ropes enveloping me like a pant leg. Repeating the movement for the right leg and then moving on, my hands find the coils meant for sleeves and pull them to my shoulders. My already soaking pussy warms again in anticipation.

The machine Master has The Shoes pushing toward me is a reward; it makes no sound as it travels and rolls so smooth you’d have no idea of its weight or strength. It looks like a frame, at first, but horizontal, the inner edge lined with eyelets. I watch, my labia swelling in anticipation, as The Shoes busy themselves lacing the ropes, halfway through, I lay face down, again without prompting, and feel my weight being distributed across the netting, the binds tightening equally across my body like an especially erotic hug.

With the machine loaded I am staring at the floor, from four feet above, I love to look for phallus shaped markings in the marble as I wait, Master uses patience to keep me just this side of that white hot pleasure. It is the gyroscopic nature of this device that marks a testament to Master’s genius, the locks releasing and the free swing making no sound, meeting only perfect resistance from the gears, and I am now held upright, spread eagle, my face being fastened to the netting by twin leads pulled taught against the back of my head.

Only three feet, now, from the screen, my view filled completely by my sister’s confused, desperate, face. All this time the video has continued, her pain, my words, a soundtrack to this pleasure. Master has a perfect sense of timing; the Mia on the screen is gathering herself. I see her puff up in an attempt to regain some of her pride. Using the tools her years of service to the church have taught her. Grasping desperately to the kind of certainty that comes from thinking ‘God would agree with me’. Her hands are still shaking, betraying the confidence she’s trying to convey, as she brushes the last tear from her cheek. Squaring her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it through taught lips, her nostrils flaring with the anger she’s trying to overcome.

“Tobin, I understand you are upset, but that language! There’s no excuse for it.”

“Mia, my dear, they’re just words, and may I remind you that you are in no position to attempt to correct me? Unless, of course you want to piss me off, I suggest you bite that god-fearing little tongue of yours before you do some permanent damage to your situation. If I were you I’d reach into that bag of tricks of yours and find some damn humility.” The tone of my voice echoes in my ears, the ice on the delivery, that stony gaze I can’t see on the screen, but know I tried to serve her. I am struck by the dichotomy of my situation, on the screen wielding my power over Mia, in Master’s name, and here and now, that power handed back to him, myself trussed, completely encased in his ropes, suspended, I feel like a fly caught in a web, vulnerable and loving it.