Wednesday, November 21, 2007

snare - Chapter 4, Part II

SHE LOOKED UP AT HIS REMARK AND GIGGLED. Light from the lamp by his shoulder glittered brightly in her eyes. Long eye lashes fluttered like moths as she continued with the task of making tea.
He felt a genuine kindred towards this woman that knelt across the coffee table, pouring tea from a delicately designed pot into an equally exquisite cup. The teaspoon tinkled a lilting song as she stirred the hot liquid. The firelight played bewitchingly against the fine bone china. Shadows danced along the walls. He watched her every movement intently. Full of grace, she fluently performed a ritual that she had seemingly done a hundred times or more. Long fingernails painted blood red augmented soft hands that hinged on dainty wrists. Surprisingly void of any ornamentation, her fingers bespoke a heritage of royalty or perhaps a higher commission.
He noted how she had bent over at the waist, lingering for a moment to afford him a glimpse of the top of her ample breasts. The dirk had slipped from within the confines of her cleavage to dangle seductively from the chain around her neck; the way her tongue had glided over her pink lips, serpent like, the trace of a smirk curling the corner of her mouth. His heart had lurched as she tossed her long red hair over her shoulder with a subtle movement of her head.
In the muted light of the lamp, accented by a few candles and the flickering tongues of the fireplace, her long mane-like hair had taken on an auburn radiance that fanned around her head like a crown. It was like looking at an old photograph, the edges cracked and brittle by time but the image still very much clear. She had yet to tell him her name. He wondered what it might be. He was usually good at guessing, but not this time. She remained hidden behind a mask of mystery that intrigued him.

Taking the cup from her with both hands and bringing it to his lips, he allowed the hot tea to swirl briefly around his tongue before it flowed down his throat. Almost instantly, the heat radiated downwards and outwards, chasing away the chilly tendrils that had wrapped it's fingers around his frame. He took one more long sip and sat back.

"Thank you", he said, exhaling softly.
"How is it?", she queried. Her voice had softened. She rocked back on her haunches, resting on her heels.
"It is perfect m'lady. Thank you again". He took another sip. The bitter tannins and the sticky sweetness blended in a melange of comfort and simple pleasure. No one made tea the way it was supposed to anymore. Not until now anyway.
"It has been a very long time since someone has served me tea, even made it to my satisfaction".

He sat back, sinking into the soft sofa almost groaning out aloud as the cushions embraced him like the loving bosom of a mother holding a crying child.
He closed his eyes to savour the moment. It lasted but a moment. With an almost tangible percussion of a thunder clap, the tortured cries of a thousand wretched souls whose dying breaths had borne him for centuries, surged through him like a raging river, swollen and muddied by monsoon rains. It pressed down on him and his mind flayed desperately to surface, his chest heaving from the effort. He dragged in a deep shuddering breath. He was tired, he was weary. He felt alone. Mired in this ugly predatory will to survive his bones ached with a deep chill that not even the fires of hell could ever relieve. More and more these days it seemed that his own immortality was catching up with him. How much longer could he go on like this. How far could he carry this forsaken loneliness that gripped him with a scabrous knotted black claw . How it hurt more and more these days as it wrapped around his heart. It just seemed to draw the very life out of him. Some days he hoped that it would. There were days when he wished he could close his eyes and sleep forever. If only redemption was as sweet as the tea he sipped on.
He snapped his eyes open.

She was watching him closely, her deep emerald eyes unwavering as they gazed at him, her expression unreadable in the low light.

"Are you alright?"
"Yes I am", he whispered, leaning forward to place the tea cup on the table. He ran long fingers through his hair.
"What were you thinking?"
"Life". He was a man of few words.
She tried to change the subject. "What exactly were you doing lurking in the cemetery? Is this a regular occurrence?" There was an impish inflection in her voice.
"The truth is, I was relieving myself. Too much to, well...drink". He smirked adding his own insidious tone.
"Is drinking then a regular occurrence?", she countered.
"You ask too many questions, my lil' vixen". He crossed his legs. "My turn now. I think it's time you told me your name, isn't it? after all I haven't insulted your tea".
"When you told me your name was Dirk, did you just make that up?" Her hand went to her throat and a flicker of distrust had crossed her features.
"No I didn't. Do you believe in coincidences?"
"I believe in many things". She stared at him for a long moment as if trying to make a decision. Another shadow flitted behind her green eyes and she exhaled in a sort of hesitant trust - or was it acceptance.
She extended her hand. "Rebecca...and equally pleased to meet you too"

He took her hand then, so soft and cool to the touch. It was like holding a small wren. So delicate was her touch. Little electric jolts like the panic-stricken beats of it's tiny heart trickled from his palm, running upwards to beat a tattoo inside his head.
"Rebecca. A beautiful name.
"Thank you. I have a certain affinity to it too" Witty as well as beautiful.
"From the Hebrew word for 'captivating'. In Aramic it loosely means 'snare'. Which one are you?"

She smiled, the light dancing in her eyes, merrily infectious. She wasn't going to answer him. His heart thudded painfully within his chest. His mouth was dry. He took another sip of the steaming tea and patted the cushion beside him. "Please. I would rather you sit next to me. The floor is cold. And I don't bite". His smile widened. That charming little-boy grin revealing a glimpse of perfectly sculptured teeth.
"Well not on the first date anyway"

©two bucks, inc.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

salacious sunday

How do I tell you that you are beautiful?
How your eyes rage green;
Your lips a soft pink.
How your pale breasts offer
A sanctuary for my fervent mouth.
To taste you is to rouse my hunger.
To smell you is to kindle my desire.
To touch you is to sate my fevered spirit.
How do I tell you
That your voice bathes me
In a liquescent fire.

To hear you breathe is a comforting hand.
Your whimpers like a band
Wrapped tight around my heart.
Forever bound
To never be apart.

Thursday, November 15, 2007


"You're lazy, just stay in bed You're lazy, just stay in bed You don't want no money You don't want no bread" ~Deep Purple

She has the comforter scrunched up against her neck. The heat from her cheek radiates in a warm glow onto my bare skin. Her long tangled hair still knotted and disarrayed from sleep trickles across my belly. It flows across her face like a veil. I gather up a handful and move it out of the way so I could get a better look. It's hard to see in this light. The sun has only been up for a few minutes and the shades are drawn across the windows. It is quiet in that serene way that only an early morning can bring. Cool and crisp, the air carries the sounds of birds and the occasional rush of traffic as the world around us turns. Inside this bedroom, what I cannot see, I can feel as her lips ride up and down my cock. They pause at the top for a brief moment to allow her tongue to swirl around the sensitive head before sliding down again on a trail of spit, all the way until her lips kiss my groin. I am so hard it hurts. She slips me out of her mouth and in the shadows of the room, the shaft glistens like an eel twitching with yearning. Her dainty tongue flicks out and curls around collecting the bead of pre-cum that shivers on the tip like a crown. She giggles in that little girl way that send darts of desire and lust down to my balls. She kisses the head, her lips making a soft smacking sound and turns to look up at me through eyes still glassy from sleep.
The red digits on the bedside clock glow 7:27. Sunlight has started to creep around the edges of the blinds invading the confines of the room. Shadows slowly melt back to disappear until another night encroaches.
"Would you like me to make coffee?"

"Yes please", she murmurs as she stretches out against me. "Imagine what I could do once I'm fully awake"

Sunday, November 11, 2007

tea - Chapter 4, Part I

If I pour your cup, that is friendship
If I add your milk, that is manners
If I stop there, claiming ignorance of taste,
That is tea

But if I measure the sugar
To satisfy your expectant tongue
Then that is love,
But if I measure the sugar
To satisfy your expectant tongue
Then that is love,
Sitting untouched and growing cold
~Cowboy Junkies (Cold Tea Blues)

REBECCA HAD BROKEN HER CARDINAL RULE. She had allowed another to enter her sanctuary-her abode, her tranquility. Strangely with this one, she felt at ease even though he could be at times rather uncouth. And the arrogance that he wore like a cape grated against all her natural instincts. But that smirk, the way his lips curled slightly upward and the way his eyes twinkled stirred something primal and licentuous deep within her. She wanted to at once bite them, lick them, taste them. She tossed her long flowing hair, now slowly drying, away from her face and focused back on her task.
The swinging door that led to the kitchen remained slightly ajar - she kept meaning to fix the damnable hinge, one of many things to do in this ancient house. But now it allowed her to sneak unbidden peeks into her living room. She felt like a school girl that had just stumbled on her daddy's porno magazines in the basement. Nervous excitability, as her mother called it, fluttered in her belly. A sort of morbid curiosity governed her movements. The tingle of danger, of having a stranger inside her home, both tickled her scalp and leaked wetness from between her thighs. She could just make out his form from this angle, his legs outstretched across the ottoman. At least he had the decency to remove his shoes. Or else she would have kicked him out into the storm that was building outside. The kitchen window rattled suddenly as a gust of wind lashed against the pane making her jump almost out of skin. She very nearly dropped the spoon. The rain was coming down in sheets, pelting the glass with sparkling beads of water that ran down in little rivulets.
He appeared to be relaxed and at home within her jumbled world of artifacts and knick-knacks that she had managed to accumulate during her many travels. He hadn't said a word since they walked in. She wondered if he had fallen asleep. That would be most inconvenient, she smirked to herself. She picked up the finely polished antique silver tray, the china set perfectly upon the reflective surface and pushed forth into the main room. He sat up as he heard the squeak of the hinges and looked at her. A shiver ran through her. Her nipples hard and erect chaffed painfully against the lace of her blouse. The tray rattled slightly as she came around in front of him,
why was she so self-conscious?
setting it down on the wooden scrolled coffee table. She lingered momentarily bent over. She couldn't help herself. She knew as she straightened up, without even looking at him that he had drunk in the sight of her cleavage. She ran her hands down her sides, smoothing down the dark red blouse giving herself one more moment to regain her composure. He seemed to command such control over her, and she would be damned if she was going to let him know this.

"Cream, honey or sugar?" She asked with a smirk to her voice.

He peered up at her for a moment, those dark eyes smouldering dangerously in the fire light. His hair that flowed past his shoulders now curled tightly about his shoulders as it had dried. She noticed a tinge of weariness in the corners of his mouth. In the shadows of her living room, he suddenly looked weary as if he had been on a journey of a thousand miles. Where had he gone in those few minutes she had left him alone?
A twig snapped and hissed as it died in the fireplace. The fire roared briefly, the glowing tongues licking the blackened stones as sudden heat radiated outwards. They both turned to look at the fire works, breaking the moment between them as if a magician had snapped his cloth. He smiled then, a surprising warm smile that almost matched the warmth of the fire. His eyes twinkled again as he gazed up at her.

"Cream and two sugars, please m'lady". The crows feet that edged the corners of his eyes deepened as his gaze tripped across her face, "I like my poison sweet".

©two bucks, inc.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

salacious sunday

"Most welcome, bondage,
for thou art a way, I think, to liberty."
~William Shakespeare, Cymbeline V:iv

Wednesday, October 31, 2007


The bright afternoon sun muted by the drapes, bathes the room in a cool glow. Clothed only in one of my shirts, the opening held together by one button, and cute pink and white panties, she's lying across my left arm, her body out stretched against my length. Left leg bent, one dainty foot placed perfectly between my legs, the bells around her ankle tinkle merrily with every movement. She has her face buried into my neck, hidden behind a tangled red web. Her soft whimpers blow warm puffs against my skin. I have been casually stroking her for a little while now, not unlike petting a sleeping pet, as I watch TV - grazing the back of my palm across her smooth belly, brushing my fingers along the edge of her panty to occasionally slip them just under the waistband. With my left hand, nestled between her arm and her warm body, I've been rolling a soft nipple between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the soft tissue stiffen and harden, in turn squeezing and kneading her soft ample breast. I love her breasts. So firm, yet supple, they mold like jelly under my hand, the nipple digging into the spongy flesh of my palm. I could play with them forever.

Her whimpers turn to sighs, evolving into to low moans. Her body responds under my hands, turning and wriggling like an eel. She grinds her hips, pressing herself into me. Her fingers turn to claws as they dig into my chest. With a sharp hiss her lips clamp onto my neck suckling urgently while I slowly slide my right hand down once more and over the silkiness of her panty. My middle finger slips into the crevice between her thighs, pushing the soaked fabric against her hot snatch. My finger slides along easily, lubricated by the strands of sticky wetness that has strained out from between the porous threads.
Her body goes rigid and then relaxes, reacting to my touch like a fine tuned piano wire. Pinching down on her erect nipple, I continue to rub between the ridges of her snatch through the soaked panty. Now as I slip a finger under the edge of the panty, making contact with the soft lips of her pussy, it brings another moan, a little louder this time. She is so soft, like butterscotch pudding, wet and slippery and gooey, and my finger slides into her with ease. Against my neck, her breathing has quickened. Ragged, quick short gasps, soft cat-like mewls blend with the sensation of her sharp teeth as they graze my skin. Every stroke, each pinch brings yet another jolt. Her fingers dig deeper into my chest. I am sure the welts will remain for awhile.

I sit up suddenly, and she yelps in surprise, shock registering across her face like paint from a brush. Her eyes scrunch tight as she cries out reaching for her breast as the blood rushes back into her assaulted nipple. I push her down away from me and lean across her, my hair falling across my face to tickle her breasts. Bent over her, I run my tongue down her belly, a wet trail following like a wake, glistening brightly along her flushed skin as I make my way towards her pussy. Once again her body stiffens in anticipation. Her hips move upwards to meet my tongue. She is whispering something but the words are unintelligible. A mantra of passion and urgency perhaps. I hear my name once, twice. Moving the edge of her saturated panty away from the edge of her groin, I lower my face, extend my tongue and lick across the drenched lips of her cunt.
It is a dizzying jumble of senses - the musky aroma of her cunt, the bitter-sweet nectar of her juices, the crinkled folds against my tongue. They all slam into my head in an orgiastic melee. A low growl escapes my lips building from deep within. It's an incredible rush, an eruption of flavour and fragrance, like falling head first into a hedonistic pit. I bury my tongue into her sticky folds, lapping urgently, flicking it along the sensitive hood of her clit, nipping along the edges of her labia, and I then slowly insert a finger into her dripping hole.

Beneath me her body erupts. Stiffening at first, then lurching violently against me. Her head snaps sideways, forced by the surge of her climax. Her passion runs freely now, trickling down her ass, drenching my tongue and lips, dribbling down my chin. The fine hairs of her bush tickle against my nose. I insert a second finger into her pussy. I can feel the soft spongy walls contract and spasm with every stroke and dance of my tongue. Suckling tightly on her clit, fully exposed and sensitive beyond imagination, I bare my lips and clamp my teeth into the soft flesh. She howls, a long low bestial sound as her orgasm rips across her in waves, body convulsing with every ripple. Holding on to her is almost impossible as she bucks beneath me, gushing into my mouth. Over and over again, she climaxes each wave following the other in a seemingly never ending pattern.
Finally, it's over and I slide my body up and across hers. She wraps her arms around my neck and I push my soaked fingers into her mouth. She laps at them urgently, running her tongue in between each digit, sucking and savouring her taste. I push my tongue into her mouth and drag it across her lips.

"Would you like some more?"

Saturday, October 27, 2007


The people upstairs are vacuuming. Ordinarily this would not be blog-worthy material. But it's 6 o' clock in the fucking morning. And they have been at it for the past 20 mins. As I lay here on my bed, plotting deadly revenge and the perfect murder, I also tried to figure out what would make someone do domestic chores at 5:30 on a Saturday morning.

Was it a case of insomnia? boredom? Perhaps he used the potted plant in the corner to fuck her, spilling wet soil all over the ground in the process.

"Now look what you've done. Who's going to clean up the mess?"
"Here honey, you missed a spot. Let me drag the coffee table half way across the floor. Then when you're done, I'll drag it back".
"That's alright, no one will hear us. They're probably all asleep anyway"

At first I thought about writing a note.
Then I contemplated throwing large rocks through their window. There, vacuum that you idiots!
As the sound of moving furniture and the whine of the vacuum continued, I considered knocking on their door and politely asking them why before I carved out their eyes with a butter knife.

But then hesitation crept in. One of them might have just offed the other. In a messy sort of way. Maybe she didn't give good head. Maybe there was milk with his coffee. Or she was simply tired of having his hard dick pressed against her. Every morning. There's only so much a person can take.

If I were to knock on the door he/she might not take it too kindly to being interrupted during this delicate clean up process. I could be a witness - god forbid! That would most certainly ruin my Saturday. I have much to do today. So I got out of bed, turned on the fan in the bathroom, made coffee and wrote a note. This note.

Friday, October 26, 2007

home - Chapter 3, Part III

The door closed behind him with a soft snick, severing the cold tendrils of the impending storm that had picked up in the last few minutes. He shook his head as a shudder went through him. Damn! it was cold outside. He was glad to be inside, sheltered from the fine rain that had begun to fall.

He took a moment to look around at the surroundings, hoping to find amongst the furniture and fixings, a glimpse of the dark hallways inside this woman's mind. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark. This woman had intrigued him like no other before her. She played with his mind like a cat would toy with a fresh kill. He smirked to himself. His mind was made up. She was going to be his. She just didn't know it yet. First, he had to penetrate the wall of defense that stood like a fortress between him and his final coup. First, he had to gain her complete trust. Perhaps finally, after this accursed journey paved with the shells of a thousand desecrated souls, he had finally found the woman who could tame this accursed creature that shared his spirit. Was she the key that would unlock the hidden door - to stroke the knotted craggy scales, to soothe it's beating heart as it nuzzled roughly against her palm? Would she be worthy of forever being called His First? Suddenly tiredness fell like a cloak upon him as he stood inside this woman's home. Weighted down by the seeming pointlessness of it all, he had to sit down.

After she had turned and walked away, he had fallen in step next to her, trepidation like a shadow beside him. Would she cry out for help. That would be unfortunate. Or she could've turned to dismiss him. But she did neither and the two of them walked the rest of the way in a strangely amicable silence. Just like an old dog enjoying and evening walk with it's master. He snickered to himself as he pulled the lapels up above his ears.
Every now and then, his hand would brush against the long sleeve of her coat, making the fine hairs of his arm tingle. Her high heels clipped along the concrete pathway in measured steps, the sound ricocheting off the trees, the leaves already starting to glisten from the falling rain. They walked up the pathway of her house. It was an old small unassuming building which wasn't surprising at all. The garden was a riot of colour even in the gloom. Closer inspection had shown signs of it being well tended despite the initial sense of wildness. She must spend hours outside. It displayed a sense of nurturing on her part. There was neatness and order to each patch. And the scent of the flora released by the fine rain assaulted his senses as if an expensive vial of perfume had been uncapped. She had paused at the door, one hand on the lock, a slight smirk on her face as she turned to face him.

"You look like a wet puppy, how am I supposed to leave you outside?"
"I could curl up in front of your hearth m'lady", he beamed as sweetly back.
"Would you like some tea?", she inquired once inside.
"Yes please", he replied. Anything to linger near her presence.

Now as he stood inside her living room, gazing around at the austere yet richly elegant decor, he looked for somewhere to flop down. Interestingly, she never bid him to sit down, he mused. From the antique winged-back chair, to the ornate coffee table with beautifully carved feet, to the ancient brightly coloured Indian fresco hanging on one wall, each piece was carefully chosen for their beauty and value. There was silver candelabra, wine decanters, odd medieval knick-knacks and a simply stunning forged steel dirk, perhaps three hundred years old, on the mantle piece below which a fire crackled and snapped like a tethered creature. Tastefully decorated and harmoniously laid out, the effect was dramatic, yet comforting, like a welcome home hug from a loved one. There was wealth in this room, not only from the monetary value of these possessions but from the priceless heritage and stories each piece bore.

From the kitchen a kettle gurgled to a boil. The melodic tinkle of silver against porcelain, cupboards opening and closing as she prepared tea. Sinking down into the welcoming folds of a sofa, the heat from the fire warming his aching bones, he placed his feet upon a red ottoman. Patterned in an ancient intricate Middle-Eastern design, beautiful and ornate, he briefly wondered if his feet even belonged there before slumping backwards. Ah! those Ottomans. Almost a century of passing time had dimmed the memories of mingling among the Turks as rivers of blood ran along the parched ground and fires licked an azure sky. How the bitter caustic smell of burning flesh had clogged his nose. The screams of the innocent filled his ears once more as the twisted faces of the raped and the pillaged scrolled like an old scratched film across his eyes. The thunder of horses echoed inside his head as a log fell over in the fireplace showering sparks upwards as pretty as fluttering fireflies. The sound snapped him back into the room. The woman was still in the kitchen. The comforting aroma of fresh tea infused the air. He pushed the past into a small cranny in the back of his mind and took a deep ragged breath. Those days were gone forever. For now he was home.

©two bucks, inc.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

walk a mile...

Today was a better day. Today both shoes matched. I didn't walk like I was listing to port. Today was a good day. Now if only my co-workers would stop making stupid jokes/comments about matching shoes. So damn immature if you ask me.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

salacious sunday

'Tis now the very witching time of night,
when churchyards yawn,
and hell itself breathes out
contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
~William H Shakespeare (The Hamlet Soliloquies)

Saturday, October 20, 2007

first taste - Chapter 3, Part II

At first shocked into near paralysis by his actions, she drew a deep quivering breath holding it until she was thrust hard against the tree, the knotty bark digging into her spine. Somewhere deep within her, she knew, just like she knew from the moment he had stepped out of the murky darkness, that he would not hurt her. Too much
But as the rough bark prodded like knives into her flesh and his hand about her throat felt like collar fastened a little too tightly, a moment of doubt rose like a mist to cloud her thoughts. Her green eyes held steadfast to his contorted face which in the panic-laced moment seemed to deform and swirl into a dark demonic shadow. Time seemed to congeal, thick as molasses and it was as if she peering into the very depths of hell itself. It was a brief, sinister moment, a glimpse into another world, alien and malignant. Time shifted and the moment was gone. A glimmer of the soul to his true being perhaps. Her eyes narrowed as her windpipe constricted further. But, she would give him not a flicker of emotion or wavering of her composure. Her passive alabaster features bordered on serene as his hot breath rolled over her cold skin, almost in an enticing sort of way. Sensations laced with a touch of repulsiveness prickled down her spine-coldly caressing each knotted vertebrae pressed hard against the bark. The lack of oxygen made her head now spin taking her senses fleeting away with each completed spin; someone else or something else seemed to twist her thoughts and bend her will. She fought back against the tug, like a current, that tried to grip her mind.

Just as quick as the vice like constriction of his fingers gathered around her throat, he released her, again making her head swim and her vision dance. During this moment she could almost swear that change from Demonic to human was not a figment of her imagination. A low defensive growl dispassionate, tainted almost with a hate escaped her snarled lips as she quickly regained her stance. Pondering his query rolling it loosely around her head like a bubble gum. She ran her hand over her slender throat, which burned slightly seeking the indents of his fingerprints there, indeed it would leave a mark. Thus made her green eyes smoulder as her mood slipped to caustic almost dangerous.

And then she kissed him.
As impulsive as when she kissed Molly in third grade she leaned forward clamping her chilled lips onto this man's mouth, so full and delectable. She wished to taste them. To run her tongue across them. To push her tongue between them. To nip. Wetness made her thighs moist, the insides of her cunt contracting and twitching. He was taken aback, she could tell from his reaction. A low grunt of surprise muffled by her actions vibrating against her mouth. It seemed that he almost took a step back before melting into the kiss. The grunt turned into a low growl, bestial and untamed. Their tongues danced together. Their collective breath clashed between them. Her heartbeat raced to uncontrollable heights. She moaned. And just as suddenly she broke away. Pulling away from his hardness that had pressed against her with a harsh sound. Surprise hissed through his teeth, exasperation flickered in his eyes.

Wiping at the corner of her mouth, catching the trail of spittle that had dribbled there, she turned on her heels. And she did not look back thusly giving him her back and leaving it like that. At times things did not appear as though they first seemed, this was one of those times. She made her way back to the path she had been on, her boot heels sinking unceremoniously into the ground, thrice she stumbled almost completely to the ground. Her mind raced with rapid outcomes and scenarios of what had just transpired. His words, his voice blurred her thoughts. She thought she heard him following behind her though she would not give him the satisfaction of turning back and looking. Her muddied boots hit the gravel path noisily cutting through the still night. She compensated her stride to slow down her pace. He was almost beside her. Without turning her head she spoke out.

"Just because you follow me home, does not necessarily mean that I am going to keep you." A snickering grin danced unseen upon the red tainted lips of hers.

There was no response. Just the sound of his footsteps in time with hers. Keeping her head up, chin level with the ground, arrogant in nature she walked on with a slow purposeful stride along the path, the moon gone, the black clouds now ruling the sky. Then the first light droplets of rain began to fall like icy fingers against her cheeks. She swore silently to herself and kept walking.

©two bucks, inc.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

fancy I

“Lick my neck, right there”. I point to a spot between my chin and collar bone.

She smiles pertly up at me from her place between my thighs, her head against one knee. Her cheek presses downwards, skin like chilled ice. Summer meets winter in one passing caress as she turns to place her lips on the inside of my thigh, dragging her tongue across my skin. Her eyes twinkle with a liquid green that sends a shiver up each knot of my spine, but she hasn't yet complied. Instead she bares her teeth from between her smile, her impertinence like a gauntlet thrown down, a reminder of unfinished business from earlier that day. I sink backwards against the soft leather, hands above my head and smirk down at her.

Although my flesh has started to prickle and I am struggling to control my breathing I refuse to let her know what consequences her actions have already had over me. She continues to gaze up at me with that beguiling look, expectation like a fable scribbled across her face. With a glint that crosses her eyes in a flash she rakes her nails down the wet trail left by her tongue. I drag in a long breath between clenched teeth and hold it. Blood has already started to flow downwards to tingle the tip of my cock which just mere inches from her face. It twitches involuntarily and she giggles softly. Who will break first? Will she obey? or will my stubborn resolve tumble first before this pose she offers to me?
Her dainty pink tongue flicks out again. I growl and reach out for her...

Sunday, October 14, 2007

salacious sunday

A chair is still a chair
Even though theres no-one sitting there
But a chair is not a house
And a house is not a home
When theres no-one there to hold you tight
And no-one there you can kiss goodnight
~Dione Warwick (A House is not a Home)

Friday, October 12, 2007

purple prose

"Here, wear mine", she says.

"Sure", I shrug. Why not. We're are standing in the parking lot at work. It has been raining, although the skies are clear now. We have to walk across a grassy median and I'm not wearing shoes-or socks.
Feeling adventurous and slightly trippy, I slip my feet into her rubber slippers. They're purple in colour, and there's a flowery pattern across the part that bridges the top of my feet.
"Cool!", I exclaim as we start to walk across the grass. Of course it's wet from the rain and soon my feet are soaked and they start make that squish, squish sound. Now the cold sets in as this small grassy median has turned into an endless field. We've been walking forever it seems.
I have to pee.......I have to pee.........I have to pee.......
"Oh fuck!". Groaning, I turn over and force myself awake.

It's just as well that I seldom remember my dreams.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

do angels cry?

Jason Blake has Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia (CML) and it makes the evening news. He breaks down and cries during a news conference and we're all supposed to cry with him.

In North America, more than 20,000 people have CML and approximately 4,600 new cases are diagnosed each year.
Who sheds a tear for them?

Monday, October 8, 2007


(n) Intense or unbridled sexual desire, intense longing: craving; (v) to have an intense desire or need, crave

"But I say to you that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (Matthew 5:28).

to taste
her lips
to probe
her mouth with my tongue

to feel
her nipples
slowly harden
between my teeth

to stroke
her back
her skin
cool and smooth under my palms

to watch
as welts
slowly surface
to stain her delicate flesh

to drink
from the essence
of her arousal
dripping between her thighs

to explore
with fingers
my tongue
deep inside her

to feel
her quiver
and shake
clamp down on my cock

to clutch
her hand
so warm
and secure

to breathe
in her scent
intoxicated, giddy
by desire
to hold
her close
to never let her go

Saturday, October 6, 2007

froth runneth over

My head has shrunk. I don’t think that my cap has somehow grown larger. That would be just silly. So it is that my head has grown smaller. This is not a bad thing. While some might take this as slightly alarming or cause a degree of consternation to others, I am actually quite excited by this turn of events. See I don’t really pay too much to my head. It just sorta, sits there on my shoulders. Two eyes that bookend my nose, which in turn peer down, at my mouth. Just like Gramps use to do when he was constipated. Yes, like most people I occasionally mock it while staring into a mirror-but it’s all in good clean fun isn't it? I do like my eyes, kinda trippy I was once told. My eyebrows can be trimmed I suppose-but then whose doesn't need to. My nose, hmm...well it's functional. How about my lips? Kissable apparently and erotic when slickened by her juices.

There are times that I don’t really miss my head at all. It’s always noisy inside, as if someone is constantly re-arranging the furniture. It's too cluttered if you ask me. There are too many pictures hanging on the wall. Events and memories are always floating around like ghosts, getting in each other's way. The last time I counted, there were close to 500 songs running amok, knocking over everything and making a general mess. And let’s not even think about the mountain of trivia that’s been accumulating over in the corner under the stairs!

Walking across the parking lot, heading for Shopper’s Drug Mart with shampoo on my mind (see how this all ties together?), a gust of wind almost blew my cap off. Clutching onto it, while at the same time trying to look cool (yes it can be done), it struck me:

'Hear my mummers beaver!'

What you ask?

That's what the email said. Don’t you just love spammers? The hardest part of blogging for me is coming up with a title. I like them to be short and succinct. Sure, anyone can come up with “Today as I Brushed my Teeth with my Vibrating Toothbrush, my Nipples Tingled Which Brought A Smile to my Face and Caused Toothpaste to Run Down my Cheek Which Reminded Me of the Time when…”, well you get the idea, but can you say that in 3 words or less AND retain your dignity? I didn't think so either.

But back to spammers….so sometimes I will sit for hours trying to come up with a catchy little title. I will have the blog all written up ready to go, but the title will elude me for days. And so it struck me, as I held on desperately to my bright yellow Cuba hat, that I need fret no more. Help is at hand. Literally. All I have to do is open up my Junk mail folder. It’s like a little slice of heaven. It’s like opening up your Christmas present and finding a remote-controlled vibrating egg. While you know it’s decadently sinful, it’s licentiously delightful in a recklessly wicked way.

(Just for the record, that Christmas, I asked Santa for a remote-controlled Monster Truck. Those fucking elves...!!)

So what does this have to do with my shrinking head? absolutely nothing. It was simply a punch-line, an intro, just to make you read all the way to.....................

And now that you have indulged me, thank you, I feel better now. There's one less thought crossing inside my head.

Wait, wait! don't go yet. I got it!! yes, yes.....this.............this has to be why my head is smaller.

OK I'm done, bye

Thursday, October 4, 2007

vixen - Chapter 3, Part I

Know me broken by my master
Teach thee on child of love hereafter

~Alice in Chains (Would)

As she turned on her heels to walk away, the beast sprang to life. Her words caustic and defiant, scythed through him like a blade and struck a nerve deep inside. No one dared speak to him this way. No mere mortal had ever summarily dismissed him like this and lived. He had reduced those frail pitiful creatures to quivering masses, devouring on their souls as they prayed to be released from the depths of their agony. He remembered well how they had submitted to his every whim, if only they were allowed the chance to die. For death was sweet relief from the torturous pain that shred their souls apart. And yet, as he launched himself towards her, there was something about her that gave him pause. A voice of reason that had never spoken before, whispered urgently into his ear. It took him by surprise, the shock causing him to almost stumble. Biting down on his tongue to repress the raging demon that was now fully awake and aroused, he struggled to wrench back control. In an instant he found himself walking beside her. Metallic taste filled his mouth, warm fluid flowed down his suddenly dry throat. Breathing deep to suppress the anger that filled his head and the carnal lust that groped at his loins, he forced his voice to remain steady.
(Grab her hair! Drag her back to the tree! Use your teeth! Put your hands to good use! Do it now!!)
"That's no way to treat a gentlemen My Lil Vixen".

She stopped to look him straight in the eye and that's when he acted. With snake-like speed his left hand was entwined in her hair, his right hand about her throat. With his face so close to her lips the flowery aroma of her lipstick assaulted his senses as if he had walked into a funeral parlour.

"In fact", he sneered, his breath rustling a few wisps of her red mane that strayed across her face, "I would dare to venture that your disposition is down right rude, don't you think?"

She dragged a deep breath between clenched teeth, which was the only sound she made. Every muscle, coiled tight to deal with any resistance that she might put up, screamed with tension . Her lack of resistance came as a surprise, caught him off-guard.
(Fight you bitch! claw at my wrists! bite my hand! kick and struggle! make this enjoyable!!)
She remained still, head crooked back at an angle, her body rigid and composed as she glared back at him with slanted eyes that smoldered with brazenness and open impudence. His head hurt with the roar of the beast inside. It had been denied and it was not happy. The rush of blood pounded his ears with a muffled din. A shadow crossed behind his dark eyes. His vision began to swim, knees almost buckled beneath him.
Screaming flesh ripping from the inside out, coagulated vessels exploding. Fibrous muscles split apart. A howling pain that wrenched from deep within the darkness. With agonizing slowness, as each jagged claw scrabbled for tenuous grip, step by torturous step, the malignant spirit broke free from it's malignant hollow.
In an instant, he had dragged her backwards to the tree where only a few moments ago he was enjoying a satisfactory piss, lounging apathetic in his boredom. And now he had a fistful of a long tangled red mane attached to which was a woman that he wanted more than anything else in this world.
He wanted to taste her. He wanted to feel her skin quiver and ripple under his palm. He wanted to hear her whimper, moan, sob. He wanted to fuck her as she whispered his name over and over again. He slammed her against the knotty bark of the tree. One hand against her throat, he pinned her hands above her head, jamming his knee viciously between her thighs using the weight of his body to hold her firm. Leaning in, he growled, extended his tongue and flicked it across her half open mouth. Her pulse raced like a trapped butterfly under his hand, tiny wings beating desperately for it's life. Her breath came in short gasps and her breasts heaved against his chest. And yet she did not make a sound. She did not scream nor even speak. Her eyes remained rock steady, locked with his, rebelliously wide and challenging.

With their lips so close that they almost touched, their breaths collided against each other twisting like wraiths before vaporizing into the chill night. Slowly he began to move his hips back and forth to grind his engorged cock against her crotch. His fingers began to stroke her neck, squeezing gently, thumb pressing down into the pulsating vein that carried her life blood.

(so easy)

He licked his lips, a smirk curling along the edges. He opened his mouth to speak, and she chose that moment to lean forward and clamp her lips against his. Her tongue flicked out and pushed between his lips, penetrating like a proboscis deep into his mouth.

©two bucks, inc.

Thursday, September 27, 2007


"Wise temperance of the stomach is a door to all the virtues. Restrain the stomach, and you will enter Paradise. But if you please and pamper your stomach, you will hurl yourself over the precipice of bodily impurity, into the fire of wrath and fury, you will coarsen and darken your mind, and in this way you will ruin your powers of attention and self-control, your sobriety and vigilance".
Russian Bishop Ignatius Brianchaninov (19th century)

The drone of the vibrator lulls me. Her occasional hiss, breath drawn sharp between clenched teeth, arouses me. Delicate vibrations pass through me from the back of her naked thigh sprawled across my leg. The ripples caress my loins like gently waving anemones in the dark. The room is lit by a single kerosene lamp. Shadows dance and gyrate along the wall with every flick of the small flame. Beside me, she shudders and moans, writhes and contorts in unison. Her head digs harshly into my arm. Her breasts rise as her back arches. Tool plays in the background, the music rising to a crescendo, urging her on. Time spools outwards and I ride it like wave. On wings of gossamer memories, backwards I fly, arms outstretched, head flung back.

...she had slid down my length, scraping her long fingernails down my chest, my belly. Grasping my already hard member in a velvet fist, her tongue had slid out, serpent-like to flick across the moist tip. She stroked me across half-closed lips, once, twice, who's keeping count and slipped me into her mouth. A nip, bite, stroke, tug, suck, flick, suck, pull, lick, suck, a whimper. Teeth, spittle, tongue, hands, fingers, lips, drool. She fucked with me with her mouth. She made love to my cock driven on with every moan. Her lips rode my hardness, slick, shiny, swollen.
Cacophony of lights twirled and swirled behind my eyelids. Explosions inside my head. Ragged breath held for one mellifluous moment before spurting, gushing into her eager warm mouth. Her fingers exploring, caressing, cupping. Soft kisses as my erection had slowly subsided, liberally coated with my cum and her spit. Giggles and whimpers in between each swallow. Gentle strokes, impish licks, my cock drained and flaccid, helpless in the palm of her hand. Lips swollen and coated with remnants. Panting, desperately grasping for breath, jerking spasmodically with each flick of her tongue.

...a change in pitch draws me back into the darkened room, pulling me from my reverie. I know with instinct that she has inserted the shaft into her wetness. I find myself stroking my slowly hardening cock, the tip still viscous and slick. Her breathing has deepened, each breath shorter and closer together. I sit up, pausing to gaze down at her beauty. Passionate fervour is written across her face, etched into the furrows of her forehead. Swollen lips slightly parted, hard nipples perched atop deep pink aureoles. My fingers twitch as memories of the small buds clamped between my thumb and forefingers tickles along the corridors of my mind. Her hands are clenched tightly between open thighs. Restrained back and forth movements of her dainty wrists as she fucks herself with measured strokes. Lust gurgles to the surface of my fingers and I run the back of them down the middle of her body. Finally clamping my hand over hers, squeezing with subtle demand, I slow down her movements. She whimpers.

"That's enough My Precious"
"No! Please!", she implores with child-like petulance. "I don't want to stop"

I pull back on her hands and the toy slides out with greased ease, riding along the white flecks of her desire. The buzz growing louder in the small room as it emerges from her lubricious depths like a birth.

"You've had enough", I repeat, patiently admonishing her.
"But I am greedy. May I please have more?"

I kiss her into silence tasting myself on her lips.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

vamp - Chapter 2, Part III

Peering up at him, her fingers that tapped atop the eroded and pitted stone of some obscure mortal that had lost their life, went idle. A command perhaps that whispered inside her head. She was amused at his name for her. The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. She tried to gauge his next move at the same time attempting to sum him up.
Distinctive articulate actions. His voice, surreal, not of this earth or so it seemed, played tricks upon her mind, for the underscore of his voice carried an almost commanding tone . She also detected a subtle growl so cleverly hidden beneath his well spoken manner. Did something sinister lurk? What in god's creation had she met up with on this night? The wind picked up suddenly. The creaking groan of the bare branches moaned out eerily into the night. She grunted, giving a shrug as though she cared not what he had called her.

"Time?" she sneered now. "Whatever do you so mean by that...Dirk?" She dropped a pause just before his name and it splashed in the space that separated them like a pebble into a pond. Tension rippled between them and she bobbed along the waves. A boat steering towards a distance shore. She tensed slightly, her stance slightly more defensive, green eyes narrowed to slits of distrust.
"I am afraid I do not have the time to dally; the hour is late and I am tired. The longer I am kept from a warm fire and my glass of wine, the greater my impatience grows"

The corner of his lips curled upwards in a smirk, a natural act that bespoke centuries of contempt and scorn. It touched a raw nerve within her and indignation flowed out, tinging her words with an acidic tang.
"Be gone with you man, you are not worthy of my time and effort". Her head snapped back, her slender alabaster neck stretching to it's full length as she mocked him, each word enunciated clearly as if speaking to a child. "Take it to some filthy subservient slut or wench. For that I AM NOT!"
Her small house sat alone on the other side of the cemetery. It was a small affair, unpretentious on the outside, surrounded by abundant gardens of flowers, landscaped with love and countless hours spent on her knees. All she wanted now was to be within the safe confines of it's walls. For inside was her true sanctuary. Impatience surged through her veins and she wanted to turn away from this man. She wished to simply stride purposefully away from him. To walk with measured clipped steps. Let him drink in the sight of her ass as she placed one foot in front of the other. But she couldn't move. Curiosity had her gripped in it's cold vice. Excitement trickled through her in feverish palpitations. She took a deep breath.

"As you desire then."
He had still not spoken, only had shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She forced her tone flat, nonchalant even, One hand still resting on the tombstone, the other now at her waist, the black leather trench coat flapped open in the gust of wind that suddenly swirled about her feet. It parted revealing to him thigh high black leather boots that ended just below the hem-line of her red skirt.

"Since you suddenly appeared to have lost control of your tongue, I will be taking my leave now...sir".

With great effort, she twirled to her left, tossed her hair over her shoulders and begun to walk away.

©two bucks, inc.

Saturday, September 22, 2007


Her soft hand enveloped in mine is warm to the touch. The sun is bright overhead. Gulls screech and pirouette over the bright blue water of Horseshoe Bay. Out here even they look cleaner. Whiter feathers from feeding on fish. Next to me she sighs. A sound so soft that I almost miss it, but it is a sound that is ingrained along the bead of my soul. It plucks a string and my heart sings in harmony. She places her cheek upon my shoulder and loose strands of her golden hair flick across my face, tickling my nose and lips.
The chatter and laughter of would-be passengers and tourists swirl around us with the breeze blowing in from the Bay. A few cast furtive glances overcome by curiosity. But I don`t care. We don`t care. Right now, we are the only ones that exist in this fleeting pause of time. I have waited a lifetime for her.

``You`re beautiful and you are mine``
She sighs once more. In the distance the blare of the ferry horn rumbles across the water. We start to walk back to the car with my feet 10 feet above the ground. Next stop, Departure Bay. This is my first ferry ride in eight years. I tingle with excitement. ``I love you``, she says quietly. I slap her ass. `Get in the car woman, I don`t want to miss the boat``

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

forever, not forgotten

With my love I walked in the summer weather,
When the dew of the morning like pearls hung high;
And the sunbeams sifted like gold, as together
We wandered the meadows-my love and I.

And the sky like a primrose bent and listened,
O’er the sapphire sea where the sunlight fell,
Till it thrilled at the touch-and thrilling, glistened;
And the mermaids wound their nautilus-shell.
~Maude Meredith, 1884 (Forgotten)

Sunday, September 2, 2007

the awakening - Chapter 2, Part II

He could have smiled or snarled, she couldn't quite tell in the dark. Lips pulled back, teeth iridescent and bared in the waning moonlight, his face still shadowed. And then she heard him laugh. A soft sound, ominous like the distant sound of thunder, yet with undertones of genuine mirth...

He watched as she took two steps forward knowing that her curiosity had finally overcome her fear. Drawn like a moth to a lantern, she had to see his face. He chuckled again at her words. Her voice soft as a plucked harp yet brimmed with arrogance, defiant in the face of the unknown. In an instant, he took a liking to this woman. He admired her resolve, and just as instantly resolved to take it easy with her. Easy prey indeed. He laughed as his mind went off on yet another tangent, congratulating himself on the silly word-play that came to him so easily.

'Cos I'm e-eas-ay, e-easy on a Sunday mor-or-ning', sang The Commodores inside his head.
With yet another effort, He snapped out of his reverie, reminding himself that this woman deserved his attention. As fleeting as it sometimes could be.
"Get a grip man, there is business at hand!", he snarled inwardly. He took a moment to assess the situation once more before he made any move. She was obviously armed and not afraid to use the little dirk which had disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. There was also the imperious manner in her poise, the graceful elegance in her stance. He could also tell that she was used to getting her own way. His first assessment of her was right. Well of course it was-he was never wrong. He wondered what kind of attire was hidden beneath the long coat -if there was anything at all. A vision flashed before his eyes, of her kneeling naked and face bowed, tears spilling down the cold hard granite of the gravestone she was pushed upon, her silken alabaster back violated by angry gashes slashed diagonally across her skin. Bright red droplets that marked it's angry trail filled his mind.

The beast awakened by the rude percussion, slowly raised it's head and growled, low, deep and long. It smelt her fear and her sex above the scent of her perfume - Lilac and Lavender. And the tattoo of her nails as it tapped atop the headstone, beat in perfect metre with it's cold dark heart.

The marked contempt in her voice coursed through his belly directly to the creature inside. It grated upon it's fevered brow. The beast stirred. It stretched out a stiff limb and flexed a claw craggy and knotted from an eternity of darkness. A hooded shadow crossed his eyes as the beast peered forth at this woman and he almost reached out for her. The urge to hook a talon along the top of her long coat - to hear her breath hiss with each pop of a button, to release her ample breasts, to rake a sharp nail along a soft rosy nipple, raged through his being like an torrent. He would bring her to her knees with a single command. He would slip his still moist cock from within his jeans, hard and throbbing. She would extend her tongue, eyes closed and accept the sacrament of His host with docility and submission. She will please him as he sees fit.

Deep within, the beast raised it's monstrous head and growled, it's loins aroused by the depraved vision. It's malignant heart begun to beat once again to push the malodorous blood through it's blackened veins. Parched scales stretched and cracked as it's body slowly uncoiled. A serpentine tongue flicked out to savour the moment as a longer, abominable growl escaped it's withered lips.

He cleared His throat, to mask the sound. Stepping forward into the moonlight, fighting back every carnal urge, his struggled to soften his features, lower his voice. Clearing his throat, he addressed her, "At the risk of sounding trite m'lady, what's a girl like you doing wandering through these grounds so late at night? You never know what lurks within these shadows"
He watched her start, a flicker of something crossed her face - eagerness perhaps, fear, or was it willingness?
He smirked, and his eyes flicked to her tapping fingers, long and slender tapering to perfectly filed nails. She chose not to answer. Tap, tap, tap, went her nails. Thud, thud, thud went his heart.
(I would stop doing that if I were you!)
"Very well then. I shall call you My Lil Vixen-for now. There is time enough to learn your true name"

©two bucks, inc.

Friday, August 31, 2007


It's still dark as I crawl awake through the murkiness of sleep. Within the confines of the bedroom, the furniture hunch like ghostly silhouettes. Familiar forms huddled together in their customary places.
The voice is loud. My eyes snap open wider. I am alone on this large bed snuggled under the sheets against the cool draft from the open window.
Usually the voices inside my head chitter away incessantly like ninnies at a bridge table. Occasionally one of them will turn around to address me directly, but never this early in the morning. But today, in the cool of the morning, this voice which is as familiar as a lover's kiss, yet as fleeting as a butterflies breath, strokes the back of my mind like long delicate fingers.
The stereo clicks on. Diffused light from the dial washes the wall in a blue glow. Soft strains of violins and pianos float through the air. 6:00 a.m. The coffee machine gurgles and spits. It won't be long before the heady aroma wafts in through the open bedroom door to nudge me fully awake.

Coffee in hand, I open the door leading out to the back yard allowing the cold tendrils of a late summer morning air to slip through inside. The temperature gauge says 14C. Quietness and solitude hang like drapes among the trees. Dew twinkles along the blades of the grass in the waning moonlight. 6:14 a.m. Soon the sun will be up. I can almost feel her hand creeping around my waist. Soft breasts will be pressed against my back. Her warm breath will caress my neck. Today, work awaits.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

The Curse

Help me I don't know what I'm doing
Help me before I fall to ruin
And if I'm blind, I will lead you on
Come follow me now, before our time is gone

And as you're laughing at this fool tonight
Let me rid myself of any line that I might use to trip you up
And as I'm howling at the moonlight, don't you kid yourself
I will be your luck and never your curse

Help me I don't know what I'm saying
Sometimes this tongue can be betraying
And if I'm wrong, is that such a crime?
And if you want, you can set my words to right

And as you're laughing at this fool tonight
Let me rid myself of any line that I might use to trip you up
And as I'm howling at the moonlight, don't you kid yourself
I will be your luck

And if your eyes forget to well
And if your lies forget to tell
And if our paths forget to cross
It doesn't mean you're lost

So as you're laughing at this fool tonight
Let me rid myself of any line that I might use to trip you up
And as I'm howling at the moonlight, don't you kid yourself
I will be your luck

If you're laughing at this fool tonight
Let me rid myself of any line that I might use to trip you up
And as I'm howling at the moonlight, don't you kid yourself
I will be your luck
Cause even at my worst
I will be your luck
never be your curse

Words: Chris Cornell
Music: Audioslave

Saturday, August 25, 2007

buyer beware - Chapter 2, Part I

The glinting flash of silver disappeared into the dark confines of her right pocket. The dagger would not be needed. Her long slender fingers now bare, empty void of a weapon. Her nostrils slightly flared from fear but this was part of the game. She did well to hide the slight tremble of her hands from him along with the tremor that quivered up her inner thighs, like a jolt of electricity. She raised a bemused brow in his direction, green eyes fathomless in their depth stared intently at the figure before her. She flicked a tongue across her lips which curled with a small countenance of annoyance at having her 'short cut' interrupted. red, painted thusly so as the frown toyed deeper. With a deep intake of breath, her breasts swelled once again testing the confines of the tight black lace blouse. Her already sensitive nipples hardened as the air between them crackled from an unseen force. She knew instantly that this evening would never be the same again. Raking her eyes over him from head to knee, from what she could see; same height thereabouts, he did not seem to pose too much of a threat. But then again her Mother had raised no fool. One can not judge a book by its cover. She relaxed her features, though she appeared passive, the edge to her glare still said 'Beware.'

"Dirk indeed. And I hope sharp enough to get the point?" She couldn't help but poked fun at the reference of his name and what it meant. Perhaps here was one that she would enjoy toying with, like a cat with a new object of obsession. Hopefully he had brains as well to go along with that charming sneer. Her mind drifted back to the last one she had played with; was wonderful but Hades forbids, he had opened his mouth, and well, that was the end of that. She rolled her eyes in thought, as a caustic sarcastic expression graced her alabaster features.

She had let his name roll off of her tongue, adding an almost tangible note that hung rigid and erect in the air betwixt them. She gave the appearance of being docile now, as it to throw him off her scent; he seemed like a wolf on the prowl on the scent of some quarry. An easy mark or victim she was not. Already the distance between them was charged with an unseen force that would make a mere mortals hair at the nape of his neck stand upon end. Taking her time in answering him, for it was proper to be polite, she was not rude. Uncouth perhaps, but never ever rude.

"Good evening, but You have not earned that right to know my name. Namesakes are a powerful tool. And in the wrong hands........". Again that tinge of an alien accent. She shrugged not finishing her sentence letting him come to that of his own conclusions. She felt aloof, hard to handle now. Her moods usually shifted like that of the weather, hot to cold, stormy to placid, if one did not like what they had, wait ten minutes she was bound to change. It changed now. She took two steps forward closing the distance and as she moved the breeze rolled over the forsaken earth. The long forgotten untamed grasses swayed and undulated at her merest of movements. With a slight look of askance tainted across her face as she held her arms akimbo taking an arrogant stance now with him. The bottom of the trench coat flickered and billowed gently in the breeze, showing long tapered honed legs from miles of endless walking encased in black patent leather boots. The striking stainless steel heels ominously caught the shifting moon light above filtering in through the canopy of twisted tree branches. He stood slightly taller then her, almost as if he was on a pedestal. She had to tilt her head back ever so slightly to see his shadowed features. She growled low and deep to her self, almost sulking at not being able to have a clearer view.

"You may call me whatever you wish Dirk, only the privileged know of my name. Perhaps you will. In time." The arrogant tone, the lifted chin, the upturned slightly hooded eyes daring him. Perhaps she was pushing limits, which already seemed to have reached it's zenith. She took two more steps closer. Now she was within his reach if he should lunge at her. But she already knew he would not. He was a charmer. Libertine. One that would twist and curve the words to his advantage. "I hope this does not anger you?" She said in a tone that at another time would have gotten her face slapped. The sarcasm, sheer insubordination and defiance barely scratched the surface. She almost hoped he would just sulk back into the woods with his tail between his legs. Yet half of her enjoyed this little encounter this night. She drew a breath and huffed almost disparagingly, still playing the part...

©two bucks, inc.

Monday, August 20, 2007


"Yes", her voice carried along the fragrant wisps of tea tree oil is soft and inviting. There is a pause in the sound of splashing.
Pushing open the door further, my eyes take a moment to adjust. The bathroom is lit only by the flickering tongues of candles placed strategically by the tub. In the darkness, her pale white body glows not unlike a chimera. She is seated upright, her bright eyes focused directly at me.
She invites me to sit on the edge.
"Have you come to wash my back?"
"I have other ideas, but yes I would wash your back as well"
She hands me the cloth. The strong smell of lavender rising from the bath water. I dip my fingers into the murky water. It's cool to the touch. She likes it tepid almost to the point of cold. I run the tips of my fingers up along the inside of her thigh all the way to the deep vee of her snatch. I brush the back of my fingers along the small hairs of her tightly trimmed bush. It's just the way I like it - I like the way it tickles my nose and scratches against the tip of my tongue. I remember how the ends glisten like twinkling stars when mixed with her juices and my spit. She jerks in reaction drawing in a hissing breath the bath water sloshing once again within the confines of the tub. I pick up the terry cloth...

Saturday, August 18, 2007

a longing

Winters icy tendrils slip through the open window to curl around the bedroom floor. It won't be long now before this city is gripped within it's cold fingers. He stretches awake, swimming to the surface of awareness with agonizing slowness.
It is dark outside, darker yet within the confines of the room. Rolling over to his left, he reaches out to touch the empty space where once a body lay. Her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her hair like a crimson halo upon the pillow. She would stir with him, tuned to every movement even in her slumber. She would turn to face him, mumbling some secretive words even he does not understand breaking the corona, causing it to ripple along the bed covers like a celestial stream as she turned to face him. Their lips meet. The taste of last nights passion, strong and sweet still lingers. I love you, in unison. She giggles, eyes still closed, one arm resting across his shoulders, nuzzled against his neck.

I miss you My Precious.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

to wait

...absence makes the heart grow fonder, it is told. Being apart is the heart's lesson in humility and fortitude.


Wednesday, August 15, 2007


To be thrilled at the touch of leather,

around by the sound of harsh words,
or satisfied by the security of rigid bondage
is the mark of a lover.

To be thrilled at the opportunity
to provide useful service,
aroused by a pleased nod,
and satisfied by the proverbial job well done,
is the mark of a slave.

It may sound severe. Almost ant-erotic.
Until you see two people, owner and owned,
existing in a complimentary relationship
where each suits the other
like balances on a delicate scale

~Laura Antoniou, The Marketplace

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

well met - Chapter 1, Part IV

Soft hair and a velvet tongue
Wanna give you what you give to me
And every breath that's in your lungs
Is a tiny little gift to me
~The White Stripes (Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground)

He watched her approach. His loins tingled from a long forgotten yearning. A burning hunger which had been repressed after many lifetimes of unfulfilled empty encounters. His heart began to thud in His chest, ragged breath puffing out of his flared nostrils in small wisps. The hairs at the nape of His neck tickled erect like fine-tuned antennae. A smile spawned from the carcasses of a thousand dead souls, curled across his lips. A shadow darkened his features. He flicked his tongue once more across his lips as he scrabbled forward silently, the sounds muffled by the soft moist soil of the freshly dug grave he was crouched on. The warm damp smell of the earth enveloped his senses. Buried memories scrabbled at the back of his mind.
She must have heard something for suddenly a glint of steel flashed in the cool night. His breath snared at the base his throat and he froze with the realization that she was armed.
"Shit!" He swore under his breath. This was an unexpected turn of events, but still within his control nevertheless. It just would not be as easy as he had hoped. His mind flashed back to the last time someone had tried to resist. She had put up quite a fight, impressive for such a petite little thing. He had picked her up up not two blocks from here with promises of a hot meal, a shower and $200 for an hour of his entertainment. She was pretty too, one of the better looking ones, long smooth legs, calves accentuated by high heels in that porn-star sort of way that he enjoyed - flowing blonde hair and small perky breasts. A shame about those breasts really - such pretty pink nipples too. She had finally collapsed like a rag doll in her own puddle, ruining the expensive stockings he had asked her to wear. He mused how her nipples had hardened, pushed out by the terror that had raged through her mind, how her pupils had widened as the madness of her death played like a jagged movie reel behind her eyes.

He shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. There was business at hand and this new woman was walking towards him. He marveled at her stride. Back erect, head held high, measured steps so perfectly in time. He could have composed a symphony

(perhaps a swan song?)

He snickered. But His composure was short-lived as she turned towards him and stopped not more than 3 metres from him. His cock jumped within the tight constraints of his jeans, all feelings of relieving himself again forgotten. An icy hand clamped across his chest, making it hard to breathe and his heart pounded so hard against his rib cage, he was forced to steady himself against the cold hard rock of a nearby headstone. How the fuck did she know he was here! Had she heard something or simply sensed him? Had he spoken out aloud? He cursed silently. His face prickled with anticipation and near awe at the sheer courage this woman displayed. She was different from the others. Stunningly beautiful, now that she was so close, her features were soft and delicately carved yet a hardness lurked beneath the surface. A long neck flowed downwards to an ample bosom that rose and fell with every breath. There was a glimpse of defined cleavage beneath her coat, and he knew instantly how he could use that tight confined space. He slurped at the spittle that almost escaped his lips trying to decide His next move-and then she spoke.

"Be you man or beast..."
The soft lilting sound of her voice, delicately garnished by a thousand years, accented by history, sent a bolt of bright blue electricity through him that he had never felt before. It filled His ears, heavy like honey, viscous as molasses, prickling his face and neck as it surged downwards through his belly to jolt violently against his loins. Slowly the Beast awakened. The rude percussion nudging it from it's deep slumber. It raised it's head and growled, low deep and long. It smelt her fear above the scent of her perfume - Lilac and Lavender, and the tattoo of her nails as it tapped atop the headstone, beat in perfect meter with it's cold dark heart. A deep hunger clawed at it's belly. It was time to feed again.

He stepped out of the shadows on silent feet, the silvery moon cloaking him in a shroud of obscurity as he faced her.
"Good Evening m'lady. Please let me introduce myself". Glancing down at the small weapon in her right hand, his eyes flicked upward to meet her emerald orbs, bright in the reflective moonlight. He bent forwards at the waist sweeping his arm theatrically before him. The shadows did well to hide the smirk that crossed his face, the glint in his eyes matching the reflection of the dirk in her hands.

©two bucks, inc.

Sunday, August 12, 2007


A butterfly
The last to die,
Wings heavily by.
Weighed down with topor.
The air grows sharper;
And the wind in the trees, like some sad harper,
Sits and sorrows with sigh on sigh.
~Madison J. Cawein

Friday, August 10, 2007

the calling - chapter 1, part III

Her hands jammed into the front pockets her fingernails cutting almost half-moons into the delicate flesh of her palms, smooth of callouses, as soft as the petals of a rose. She walked with even steps, her hips rolling left, right, left right, each pointed foot placed perfectly in front of the other. The tattoo of her boot heels echoed amongst the masonry and trees as her passage took her further, deeper into the Cemetery. Iridescent green eyes from beneath long lashes, flicked to the left and right, as she eyed the looming head stones that carved surreal shapes into the rolling fog that enveloped the pathway.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood erect all of a sudden, her nostrils flared in warning as an icy tingle ran down her spine. She quirked a brow stopping, her right hand racing out of her pocket. She was armed. A glinting of silver caught the bedraggled moonlight above as the clouds flitted across the midnight sky. A lady-like dagger, the blade twisted to a fine honed point, the acidic etchings in the blade worn away from age. The hilt of white ivory, rolled fluidly in the palm of her hand as if welcoming an old friend. She continued her walk, her eyes wide open, penetrating the murky darkness that surrounded her, muting her senses, twisting her thoughts. She thought she heard something, her head cocked to the right her gait slowed slightly, but still self assured that she could handle herself. Guttersnipe, cut-throat, vagabond beware, she thought.
Unruly locks of her coppery hair twisted about her alabaster face in which reflected naught of her terror but of her own heightened amusement for she now knew she was not alone. What? Whom? She did not know, but she was going to make sure they got the point first. No pun intended, she sneered to herself. Nipples instantly hardened. Why? She knew not, but the fine points cut into the roughness of the black wool sweater, her breasts testing the tight confines, pulled taunt till the five glass buttons threatened to pop with the strain. Withdrawing her left hand she felt out for the head stones as she now left the path, her boot heels sinking easily into the soft wet earth. Bramble snagged at her legs. She was not as quiet as she wished. A low growl came from her red painted lips as her left hand snaked out onto a weather worn head stone. An Angel, head bowed, wings tilted inwards to shadow the Dead that lay below. Her breasts heaved as she breathed deep. A bitter taste came up over the back of her mouth. Fear. She stopped. Standing bold, upright, shoulders back, she's had enough of this! Her voice was soft as she spoke out, the words traced with an almost ancient lilt that wandered in and out of her words.

"Be you beast or man. Come out now and know outright that I bow to no man or god!"

Head up, chin level, the aristocratic poise was unmistakable. A wolf in sheep's clothing perhaps was she. Her fingernails curled over the top of a head stone ' I. B. Fine' it said in the dim light, the letters chiseled in Roman font into the granite. She began to tap those long tapered fingernails against the hard gray stone, annoyance in each cadence.Twirling the dagger in that of her right hand, the blade glinted silver with each twist.
Unbeknown to her, she had walked almost directly towards him answering a silent calling that had tugged her until she was mere yards away from his presence. There was someone or something lurking in the darkness, she was sure of it. She could feel it's eyes boring into her. She was not afraid. She decided to wait. For the waiting only prolonged the hunt. She waited. And waited...