My Turn

He sits at the edge of the bed, and I can’t help but want to touch him. I crawl toward him, and rub my cheek against the backs of his knuckles loving the feel of his quick response. The palm opened and caressed my cheek, traveled to cup the back of my head, and played with my hair.

In his arms a few moments later, and unable to resist the feel of his skin on my lips, the same hand finds its way between my thighs and he uses the fingertips to tap and scratch the tender, greedy, skin there. Having needed his touch for so long the orgasm that rips through my body as his fingers enter my eager pussy takes over me. It tosses my head back. It opens my mouth and changes my grateful whimpers to groans of whorish delight. It forces my hand across his body and leaves a bright red trail, like the signature of an animal, from the back of one thigh to the opposite nipple. I press back against him, and stifle my own cries with his erection. Trying desperately to communicate both my appreciation and my pleasure I play with the tension in my lips. I roll my tongue. I use my fingers and breath against his flesh to make his hips buck and watch his muscles tighten in his abdomen, and thighs. I feel him surge and indulge his instinct only for a moment before releasing the hold my lips have on him, having come to the conclusion that this time, it’s about me.

For the first time for me our touch is not about him playing with me to see what happens or me touching him to please him, it’s about getting what I need. Motivated by my own needs I mount him and using his erection against my G spot, come again. Gaining trust in my decision I dismount, wanting to feel more of him against me. I lay beside him side to back and right away his hand finds my neck and his nails bite as deep as he can make them, I roll my hips and scissor my legs with his, letting his cock press against my sex, loving the feel of it sliding in my wetness, the rim flicking my clit and with each passing bringing me closer to another orgasm. Unafraid now to direct I call out my needs and he obliges beautifully, tightening his grip on my throat and pressing his hips harder into mine. The animal inside takes over and in a simple movement I bring him inside me and tighten myself around him, bucking and gasping I rip trough myself and fill my own world with the pleasure I'm using him for.

When my body is satisfied, I empty myself of his erection. He is left without orgasm, and we both know that its ok. The encounter progresses to merely friendly touches and caresses and the night ends on a gentle note, with an appreciated hug and a smile for the memory.

Alice- The Queen's Ways

At first, I thought it was a dream, and then I looked around the room and wished it was a nightmare. The dark need of the, so appropriate, Moonlight Sonata bouncing off the red walls, the scarce but completely white furniture placed with such careful precision; it’s dim, the only light given by twin standing lamps, meant to highlight that sick display of devastation; all these things confirm in an instant that restless fear I’ve had for weeks. Turning my eyes to the windows I see her, at once from where I’m standing behind her and face to face from the icy reflection; this impossible view showing my place in the moment. She was startled to hear my voice, but covered it well; that tells me this wasn’t planned. Her surprise is good, she may be driving but she’s not really in control. I steady my nerve and speak again, “Fox in the henhouse I see.”

In the kind of leather boots I’ve only seen in porn she stands at the window, our body covered in shiny black liquid latex to the neck, our long brown hair tamed and hidden beneath that a-line red wig, making us look like both a wet dream and a walking nightmare. Our crimsoned lips twist into a slightly sinister grin as she speaks, “So good of you to join us, Layla.”

“Us?” I say as she spins on one four inch heel to face me, the world swirling into nonexistence as she does so, when she stops we’re not real anymore. The room looks similar to the one I found her in, same blood red walls with their macabre decorations, but now sliding to the right, circling us slowly; the movement playing with my senses. We’re sitting, now, opposite each other in a pair of her white linen seats, separated by the low round coffee table, where a nude girl spins and twists silently between us, her face constantly shifting from Alice’s to mine, and more briefly to that of someone I don’t recognize and so must assume is her own.

“We have another now,” She gestures to the dancing doll between us; “I haven’t given her a name; she’s just a doll, no mind of her own.” The pride in Alice’s voice is tenuous; I can tell there’s something disturbing her about this new girl, but she shrugs as she speaks feigning nonchalance, “She’s a decoy. I ignored too much of your sex, so now I need a dog-catcher. She suits her purpose.”

“So you’re completely given over to madness.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Alice treats it as such, dismissing it before she really digests the words. I continue, “Alice, do you ever wonder why you do these things? When we were young we studied, remember? Have you forgotten all those nights in the library, trying to figure out what we were? I remember how upset you were when we realized they’d call us sick, that they would put us away just because you existed in me. Remember how you swore they’d not do that to us, how you vowed to give them no reason to think we were less than sane?”

“Those were the promises of a twelve year old, Layla, a confused girl who thought she was meant to be like you.” He voice shakes slightly, tone of the last two words betray her, the emphasis showing her confusion, at once proving the distaste she has for me and the longing she has always felt toward what she calls ‘being real’.

“Sour grapes, then.” I say, knowing what it will create in her.

“Aren’t they though? Just as sour as that fox thought them to be. Don’t you live every day feeling ashamed of yourself, of what you are? I understand all humans to feel this way. I used to, too, but this is better. I may be the shadow Silvie always called me, but now it doesn’t have to hurt. I don’t hide, I stalk; keeping low showing myself when the time is right, that’s strength, and when I drive, my existence has purpose. I don’t have to try to act the way people would expect you to, just so they don’t know I’m here. When I come out now, they know who I am, what I am; they see me, my strength and they bask in that reality.” As her confidence rises the girl between us begins to echo Alice’s aggravation with her movements; twirling fiercely, her arms flailing expressing in gestures the conflict in Alice’s mind. I try not to focus on her, or those weirdly revolving walls; but my eyes keep sinking into the motion. “I’d much rather this, that to be some social meat puppet again.”

“Meat puppet?” I say, struggling to keep my head against the tide. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Isn’t that what you are? I see you out there, endlessly trying to pay, to make amends to society, apologizing for what you are, for what you’ve been.”

“I’m paying for you. Trying to put right what you destroyed.”

“Don’t lie, Layla,” She hisses, the dancing dolls face contorting to show her distaste, with ice on her voice to slice through my mind, “it doesn’t become you. You’re trying to end me; to trap me inside. I told you it wouldn’t work, but there you are everyday, trying anyway.”

“It’s cause and effect, Alice, every action needs a consequence. We both know I’ve always paid the price for both of us. I’m tired of paying for you; I thought if I devoted myself I could teach you to be good, too.”

“Your desperation is showing, L, you’re reaching, trying to find an excuse for what you’ve done.”

“No, A, I’m trying to explain.”

“Enough,” she says, “You’re boring me.” Rolling her eyes and blowing her bangs she dismisses my words with a wave of her hand, “There’s a way, Layla, that we can both be whole.” And there it is, the reason I was brought here, I knew there had to be one. We’ve never been face to face like this before, and I knew somehow, the powers that be had to have a motive. “I think my smiling Lord has proven that this cannot be stopped. I am an instrument meant to serve my God, you are meant to be a vehicle for that service. Come inside with me, Layla, join me. If you live this, you can have everything, you can have a life, the attention of men, and the freedom from your conscious you have always craved. We were meant for this, L, give yourself to it and stop fighting your truth. You don’t have to make the gifts, you only have to bring them to me.”

“What about her?” I say, gesturing to the girl before us, now stopped in her dance and crouched on the table and hugging her legs. Her still shifting face hidden behind her knees, and the table sliding ever left, against the walls that promise me sweet oblivion.

“She’s a shell. All empty inside. I can use her to move for me at the club, but I can’t hunt there much longer. I need a human to bring them to me. I need someone who can react like a person, someone who knows sex, and how to use words as well as movements.”

“But how does that help me?” I ask, the truth dawning on me even as the words spill across my lips and I relax, just a little, feeling a rush of warmth like the last kiss of sleep on a cold winter morning. And somehow out of reality and into this place my ears again find the Beethoven, that lonely piano urging me to listen.

“You know as well as I do that you can’t be anymore, not unless you want this hidden life of servitude and degradation for the rest of your days. Come inside with me, Layla, we’ll give you a new way. We will rename you; you will be reborn in a fresh mind. Take with you the memories and the tools you’ll need to do our work and leave the parts of you that conflict with this behind, here, in the mind you use now. When you give up those false morals and give in to what we are, you’ll have no more shame. It is so incredibly freeing to do the Lords work, to be what it is you were meant for. We can stop the pain, we can stop the shame. Come inside, Layla; let the Lord make us whole.”

I feel the way Eve must have, staring at that shiny apple, all God’s knowledge being offered with just a taste, and hearing the truth through it all in that rattle at the serpent’s back. There is a difference between Eve and me; her serpent was working against Eve’s God, the archangel in my ear works directly for hers. There is a truth in Alice’s words, I can feel it like the wind in my lungs, if I go inside with her, if I leave this self outside and willingly become something new, then all the pain that is Layla Murphy has to end. Everyone wants, at times, this chance to be more, to change into someone that’s ok with what they are. As much as it hurts me to lose, to admit defeat, I know the true victory is in finding a place for me.

I close my eyes, breathe deep, and let the tide take me. Washed through a deep hole inside me I stand and, with solemn tranquility, wander the aisles in a warehouse of my life; picking and pulling out the things I will need to do the Lord’s work. I keep the things closest to me, my schooling, my laughter, my music, I take Seth’s small platinum heart, but leave Silvie’s blue steel box with its pretty silver bow in place, there’s too much pain there for my new soul. I take a last look at the walls of my mind, now beginning to burn out all evidence of its own existence. One look, one breath, and I return to the place where Alice waits. I reach with one shaking hand to the girl between us, and pull her by the shoulder to me, I feel myself slipping in her embrace, sinking into her and becoming something new.

-x-

There is a rush of air around me as I watch the embrace, my heart tearing with the swell of joy and sacrifice, driven by the rush of a Chopin concerto. Layla was born, she was real, but she didn’t know what to do with it. She’s gone now, and I’m real and I’ll miss her. She was my sister, my twin, and she’s gone inside forever now; changing into something more. Hot salty tears streak my cheeks as I reach to hold to my breast the woman-child before me, a moment of maternal instinct for her, and then I place her cheeks in my hands and watch her eyes to see the spark that tells me Layla made it in. I watch a simple, frightened, shudder escape her before her mind builds a new soul that shines with talent, experience, and eager subordination.

“Clair.” She whispers, with a sly smile and an air of salutation, and we kiss. She melts into me and it feels like the world spins on the tips of our tongues. When it ends, we’re back to reality and I can see through her eyes and feel her mind beside mine, as we draw the curtain across the museum and change the music. In this state our body is like a second skin to me, I can feel her using it, but know the overall control is mine.

Our eyes fly to the clock, 11:45. My smiling Lord may not have thought to warn me of It’s intentions for this evening, but you have to give a God credit for timing. A glance to the chair on the right, the last place Layla ever was, and I’m biting my lower lip as I move to regain my place at the window. Not long into the second track of Pretty Hate Machine, Clair and I see lights of a small truck climbing the hill, and the Moon takes it’s rightful place in my thoughts. I settle into a lounge chair in my mind as Clair presses the buzzer to open the heavy steel gates that guard the factory grounds. She moves like a pro when she meets them at the lift and leads them, panting and tripping over their own cocks, down the hall to our door. I let her play first, so I can get a feel for the new talent, before I take over the game, and celebrate the complex pains and simple pleasures my Lord has shown me under the light of It’s ever grinning gaze.

Alice- Gazing At Mome Raths

612 Foccia Point stands at the end of the street and on top of the hill, this city was built in its shadow in more respects than one. The fact that the smaller dog seemed confused means they must be tourists, that’s good news for my Master, tourists are less likely to be missed quickly and a lot harder to track once they’ve gone. I checked with Marcie, those boys didn’t run a credit card at the club, more good news. It’s 11:00pm, expecting to see the bright splash of headlights I’m standing at the long wall of windows in a room that used to be one of The Weighs and Kneads test kitchens, watching the fog slip past cloaking the city’s secrets in its cold embrace, and waiting.

The windows shake slightly with the force of the speakers behind me and bring my focus from the fog outside to the images reflected from within. Layla destroyed most of my treasures from before, but I managed to save a few of the smaller bits and smuggle them here. My eyes find the twin shadow boxes, like bookends on the wall that frame gifts created for my grinning God. Staring closely at the box on the right, from here you can just barely make out the ear that used to belong to that old cur all those years ago, in the other sits Lucy Sumner’s pinky finger resting forever still, now mounted in its bed of cotton. The center of this display is given to much larger, fresher gifts; a trio of prizes for my Master set out on a low ebony table. I close my eyes breathe deep and feel myself settle inside, lids flying open on my exhale I take a moment to revel in the memory of each offering.

To the extreme left lies a souvenir of freedom. Recalling my first post-enclosure offering plays a smile across my lips, it was cheap and pretty; something meant for my own amusement, the way a real girl takes an afternoon to spend her husband’s money on a new dress and a manicure. Palms stitched together; frozen in an eternal, silent clap with wrist separated at an angle drawing a sharp capital ‘V’ that ends just before the absent elbow; rests a withered pair of forearms. I took them from an old bitch I found wandering in the fog one night, filling the air around her with random curse words and shaking her fist at the sky. Pretending I was her granddaughter, I used her dementia to bring her into one of the lesser buildings and fed her thick potato soup that, I must confess, was more than sufficient in its strychnine content. Playing “Shiny Happy People” I giggled wildly as I watched the miserable thing convulse on the cold concrete floor gagging on her own vomit, and fouling herself. It was the funniest damn thing I ever saw and the release I got from that celebration helped me to understand why humans laugh.

The empty face that hangs on the beautician’s bust to the far right used to belong to a girl I found in the campus library. Too pretty for her own good, and blissfully unaware of it she let me lead her here in the name of a study session I let her come run gratefully across my tongue before she felt the heavy shackles slam closed around her fragile wrists. Her strength surprised me; not much more than a puppy and that baby bitch lasted a week against the wall while I came, nearly nightly, to use her body against her mind. I took so much delight in that bitter little toy that her face was the only thing that could be saved. Even her shoulders had tasted sweet, slow roasted with onion and thyme I sliced them thin and, for a midnight picnic, had them on sourdough with bitter apple cider and fresh vanilla ice cream.

My eyes and mind travel, lost in the yesterday of my most treasured prize to date, a set of nearly limbless torsos I saved from a breeding pair of wandering dogs that tried to befriend me in the subway. Watching the waves slam the beach at Carter’s Cove with my Lord’s blessing shining down on us from a cloudless sky; he made dinner over a fire while she babbled mindlessly about free trade and how hemp could save the world; I woke that night before the moon faded, and smothered the dirty clueless bitch while she slept. Then in the pre-dawn silence I brought him out of his sleep and into the arms of my Master panting and moaning his way to orgasm; his eyes flying open as he walks that razors edge With his hips bucking between my thighs I leaned forward, letting my nipples drag against his squirming torso, watched closely as his eyes drift into emptiness as I slipped my blade into the hollow place where his collarbones meet, and savored the sweet gurgle of his trachea’s desperate search for air. I used their bodies to please myself, painting us all in his blood; before I relieved them of their heads and most of their arms, keeping their necks and a good portion of her hair as well as the tops of their thighs. Now they rest in a macabre sort of embrace; upright with bellies together, her breasts pressed tight to his chest; her sex open against his eternally greedy cock. I took special care when I attached the hinges to their backs and mounted the slender wire stands, I haven’t permanently joined them to each other yet, because they’re still fresh enough to use on the nights I need a little company.

“So this is what you’ve been up to.” Layla’s voice breaks into my reverie like a hammer through a sheet of glass. My eyes shift and refocus on the window before me and suddenly I’m starring at her reflection next to mine, as always she comes to me in that pure white nightie, her hair softly hugging her shoulders and looking for all the world like a child lost in her mother’s body.

Alice- The Jabberwalkie

Somehow the narrow hall from the stage to the dressing room collects all the air from the club. Everything from the stairs to the lobby, even the smell from the private showrooms gathers here. I leave the stage and move toward the hall, breaking the vortex of smoke, bravely spinning its silent witness to the desperate fantasies we sell, as I pass. Upstairs I pull my next outfit from my locker and make sure Layla’s mousy brown hair is still hidden beneath my wig while trying not to really see the mirror, sometimes you see too much when you look too hard, and sometimes someone else looks back.

Layla thinks she’ll win; Layla has always been a little blind. She gives every day to her little plan, she thinks she’ll kill me, or fix me, or something. Six days a week it’s high schools, shelters and old folks homes; servitude. Those hands the Mommy insisted were bred for holding tea cups and babies are getting rough and red from the scrubbing and scraping Layla fills her days with. I use strong lotion to fix the damage. Six days a week she pays. She pays for what she thinks are my sins and Silvie’s, she pays for her compliance. She keeps herself elbow deep in shit, and cries herself to sleep every night from loneliness. And she’ll keep paying, even though she knows there’s no one manning the till, as long as she thinks its working. She hates us that much.

Finished changing, wearing the blue dress now and having traded the black leather knee boots for clear sling back stilettos, I make my way back downstairs and into the lobby, different dress, different shoes; same animals drooling in the dark on cheap vinyl benches and lounge chairs. I missed last month’s moon, but tonight one of these dogs will bleed for me. Three nights a week I steal her sleep. Before she locked me in, I tried to tell her that it doesn’t matter what we want from this life; my God has a plan of its own, and true deities can’t be denied. She might have found a window, but I was given a key. My laughing Lord is proving its plan, paying back all those years with Layla’s band of jumping whores in green. And with the green It brings me choices, oh so many choices, all those dirty dogs and filthy bitches that need to be put down. It wants them all, but I discriminate, sometimes less is more.

Phoenix is up next. She’s a cute brunette with a tight ass and great moves, I hate this music, but I love this bit. She’s playing schoolgirl to Britney Spears, and sporting that classic catholic uniform, knee socks, glasses, pig tails, lollipop, the works. Its camp, but the spoons love it. With her back against the mirror, and her hands on her knees, she lowers herself, its one fluid movement that finds her squatting, knees open hands crossed, and lifting her skirt just enough to let the cat tease the dogs. Then she rolls forward and begins crawling, shoulders so low her pigtails drag against the stage, that crisp white top opening to give the spoons a peek at her artwork. At the edge of the stage she tucks her head and pulls a somersault, landing legs open, straddling the shoulders of the dog sitting at the foot of the stage. Pulling his head into her navel lands her another five spot, and with a nod and a wink she’s got him on the hook for a private show when she gets off stage. Anyone can use these moves, but Phoenix takes the time to use the music, to actually dance. Just for that she takes more tips off the stage than almost any other girl here. It’s with a slight edge when she tells me that she makes less money when I work; I tell her she needs to use the pole. We’re both only half serious, she’s got moves to spare up there, but when it comes to the pole, I fly.

After Phoenix is Candy; awkward as always with shoes as cheap as her name. Her song is short with heavy bass and lyrics that barely meet the rhythm, she moves like she’s never heard the music she chose; no commitment to the character. She looks like a girl trying to be sexy instead of one that just is. She doesn’t understand why she doesn’t make the kind of money we do, and often begs Phoenix and me to teach her. Phoenix might help, but I settle the girl with a dismissive glance, the last thing I need is another Silvie. I was watching from the window that day, I heard her trashing me to Layla when she should have been thanking me for sending her there instead of making a gift of her. That twisted fuck almost ruined everything with her ‘Legacy of Pain’; if I’d let her play her cards she would have gotten us both the hot needle. Layla couldn’t see it, but when you’re as close to your monster as I am, these things get easier to see.

Silvie wanted everyone to see her pain. I thought at first she cut herself because she was lost and hurting, but she needed the badge. She said ‘People won’t learn, Shadow, until the scars they make on the inside cut so deep they show on the outside too.’ After Lucy came the tattoos; smiley faces, each with some injury or defect, a scar, a bullet wound, one of them had a cancerous tumor bulging from its forehead. One smile for each of her ‘lessons’, she was eight deep by the time I had to stop her. The calling I’ve been given made it easy to understand most of Sadistic Silvie’s punishments, but when she wanted to take those two little boys for fighting in the park I knew I had indulged her too long. I nearly threw up when I saw those twin smiles on her hip; she had them clawing at each other’s eyes. Lucky for me, Silvie could barely maintain, when they came for her she broke quickly and began to rant so deeply they soon stopped paying attention to anything she said about me. It hurt to have to lose her, she was the only human that ever knew me, but I need to be free to serve my purpose, I have a higher calling.

There’s a pair of spoons in the corner, desperate dogs these two. The one on the left straightens when we make eye contact; it’s a done deal before I even reach the table and all I have to do is quote a price. Taking one grubby paw from each of them I lead them into a private room, using my hip I topple the first onto the bench seat and apply a little leverage to fling the second into the space beside him, I give Charlie the bouncer the nod and he draws the red velvet rope across the entry. I position them knee to knee, straddling the seat, and place myself on the smaller one’s lap with my back to him. I’m going on memory, now, using the movements and expressions I remember this body making when Layla let the boys play with our body. The big dog is almost a cliché, broad shouldered and slightly intimidating, dark shaggy hair, thick stubble across cheeks that feel like sandpaper, and eyes as dark as midnight; his partner is slight, at least a head shorter with long bright hair and a neat little goatee. As the music begins to climb I raise my arms and grab the ceiling rail, I use this to control my weight against their laps, making my movements more fluid. I present my bosom to the greedy eyes before me and rest my shoulders against the other one’s heaving chest. Using a combination of my memory and the music I slide my hips back and forth between them, the first and second beats of every measure belong to the darker one, the third and fourth to his companion. These dogs are well trained and although I can feel their appreciation clearly, they both keep their hands at their sides; I can tell the larger one is having a hard time being good, his big meaty paws clench and release in spasms and his breath begins to grow ragged against my nipples. The lesser one has better self control, and proves his nerve as I feel his lips against my ear; his hot breath delivers the question I’ve been waiting for, “So how’s a guy get a little more friendly with hot little piece like you?”

“612 Foccia Point, midnight, and its double for two so make sure you bring at least a thousand.”
“ Foccia? Like the bread?”
“Just like the bread.”
“A thousand sounds steep-"
“A thousand gets you both. Vanilla, you get me? You want more, you pay more. You want to pay less go find yourself a cheap whore and you’ll get what you pay for.” As I’m saying this I’ve turned to face him, I speak the words with my lips pressing against the creature’s smooth white belly, I feel it tremble and know I own him now.

When I turn my face up to him the world spins slightly and suddenly I feel like I’m using a mask; another face, another us, I’m pulling her strings like she’s some kind of sex puppet. I feel the heat growing in her thighs as I rub her ass against the silent partner’s chest, there’s something awake in her now; some deep need I can only vaguely feel. It’s not the same as sharing with Layla, there’s no person here, no other mind; there’s just a doll. But somehow the energy feeding from her sex is guiding me, helping me know what strings to pull; giving reason for my movements and lessoning my need to rely on the memory of those hot, sticky fumblings with high school boys that I found need to excuse myself from at the time. The smile my face shows is truly mine for a moment, another gift; another tool to serve my Master’s purpose.

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.

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.

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.

-x-

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.

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.

~x~

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.

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.

Alice

‘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.

~x~

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.

Words...

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...

Please?

B-

Tryst

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.

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.

~x~

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.”

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.”

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.