Sunday, April 29, 2007 eat of the apple (if 14 was 28)

My heart feels like a jackhammer inside my chest. There's a roaring in my ears, a cacophony of sound that accompanies the thump, thump of the blood pounding through my head. My tongue scrapes against the roof of my mouth and I'm unable to swallow. The night is bright with a million stars. A slight breeze whispers through the trees, rustling the bushes into swaying forms. A shiver runs down my spine as I sit in the darkness waiting for her. She promised she would be here. Would she keep her promise? Has she changed her mind?

Earlier that evening as the sun slowly set, we sat together in the garden going through my homework as the two kids she was baby sitting ran around laughing and playing before being called into the house by their mother. Left alone in the gathering gloom, sitting close to each other, there is a mixture of awkwardness and reckless exhilaration between us. The mounting urgency has been simmering for weeks - the casual touches, the furtive glances, and the spark of electricity about two days ago when her breasts casually grazed against me. I remember well the breathless heat that prickled my skin as I caught a flash of her thighs between the slit of her dress. Now as the soft glow of the house lights throw long shadows in to the garden, my heart racing so fast that I’m afraid I may pass out from the strain, I take a deep breath and place my hand on her exposed thigh.

Her breathing deepens instantly. The swell of her breast brushes lightly against my arm. Her skin feels silky smooth and my fingers tingle. Shaking with fear and heightened anticipation, I start to move my hand upwards. She does not move or say a word. My breathing is as ragged as hers and it is the only sound above the constant chirp-chirp of the crickets. My hand pushes against edge of her hemline and yet she has not reacted. Holding my breath, I push my hand further up her leg, her dress folding up before the edge of my palm fingers meet the resistance of her other thigh-and then her legs widen.
My heart jumps and my cock stiffens instantly. I am having difficulty breathing freely, head dizzy from the emotional overload but I keep moving my hand upwards. Finally contact. So soft, so hot, so wet. The soft prick of pubic hairs tickle the edge of my palm.

She finally moves. Her hand is on my leg now, reaching through my shorts to grasp my fully erect member, slightly wet already as the pre-cum begins to leak, smearing the tip. Softly wrapping her fingers over it, she begins to stroke me gently. We don't look at each other. My little finger is partially inside her, nervously exploring the soft spongy lips of her cunt. Nervous excitement prevents me from moving my hand any further. Her hand is hot and sweaty as she continues to fondle me. I feel my balls contracting. I think I’m going to climax.

Suddenly a voice from a window calls out for her, snapping us out of our spell. She pushes my hand away and stands up abruptly. A look of dismay washes over my face and a moan escapes my lips.

"I'll meet you here at 8", and then she is gone, beckoned inside by her evening chores leaving me almost doubled up in pain from the anti-climax.

Saturday, April 28, 2007


"What...! Now?!" The look on her face is a picture of incredulity with a suggestion of stubbornness mixed in.
"Now would be a good time, I'm not doing anything else". Placing my hands behind my head, I sit back on the couch, the leather groaning beneath me.
She glares at me, petulance creeping into her green eyes. I smirk. She drops her gaze and begins to slip out of her shirt pulling it above her head, her breasts falling free, bouncing slightly as they're released from the confining material. She gathers them up in her hands to briefly fondle them, flicking her thumbs across the gradually stiffening nipples. She grunts, pouting, her eyes smoldering with a mixture of turbulent passion and disobedience.
"Now what?". Her voice drips with indignation.
"Pick up the candle"
"It was not a request my Precious. Pick up the candle, please"

Turning with a rebellious slowness, she gathers her unruly hair, tying it back. Her eyes have not left my face. She picks up the carved pewter candle holder, the flame flickering in protest, a small black tendril of soot twisting upwards, wraithlike.
"This is going to hurt". Her voice has taken on a plaintive whine, the corners of her mouth turned down in a child-like pout.
"We've been through this before. You'll be just fine. Would you rather I did it?"
"I think I can manage for now"

She raises the red candle up before her as if for sacrifice, the flickering tongue throwing dancing shadows against her pale skin. She draws in a deep breath, bites down on her lower lip and tips it over. I take in an equally deep breath and hold it. She squeezes her eyes shut. I stare with fixed intent at the bubble of molten wax that grows mercilessly ever larger, smirk as it looms inexorably over the edge...

Monday, April 23, 2007

communion III [submission]

“An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.” ~Charles Dickens

...Come with me".

I reach out my hand to her and she takes it without hesitation, her gaze cast downward. A jolt ripples through me like a single drop of water breaking the surface of a whispering pool as her fingers entwine with mine. My heartbeat quickens. A tingling sensation runs across my scalp. She rises with a slow regal grace, the rustle of her dress seemingly the only sound inside this ancient church. There is a stirring deep within me, a dark desire in the pit of my stomach awakening to feed. I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through flared nostrils.
Eleana holds her head high, shoulders straight. Her full breasts pushed together by the tight bodice of her dress strains against the laced edge of the neckline. The ornate dirk nestled comfortably within the deep regions of her cleavage, once again catches my eye. The sharp edge pointing straight down towards a place that I wish to drag my tongue across. I want to drink in her scent, to be intoxicated by her smell. She runs a hand down the front of the dark green full length dress smoothing out the velvet with a whispered swish. It is a stunningly captivating dress, regal in it's simplicity, accentuating every curve of her body. Cinched tight at the waist, by a belt of midnight black, it billows gently downwards to drape and flow around her feet that are encased in dainty black slippers. It seems as if she has just stepped out from a rent in the fabric of time, a vision from an age long past, a time of kings and queens, of courtesans and jesters. Perhaps her emerald eyes had borne witness to opulent nights and languid days, gilded furniture and over sized ballrooms. Did she traverse darkened corridors where servants scurried. Was she witness to bustling humid kitchens where butlers ravished kitchen scullions, taking them from behind, food stained skirts bunched around their waists.

"Where are we going?" Her voice is soft, lilting with a slight hint of an accent that I cannot quite place. It is a rhetorical question, posed simply to break the tension. Her hand is firm within mine. She has already placed her faith in me. There is no going back now. I lead her by the hand and we walk towards the front of the church. Outside, the wind has picked up, howling through the tattered leafless branches of the trees, flinging snow against the small windows like fingers scrabbling desperately for a hold. High above us, amidst the rafters, bridged together by giant cobwebs that are almost as old as the structure itself, something large scrabbles and I feel the weight of dark phantasmal eyes follow us as we head up the aisle. We stop in front of the rack of pale white offertory candles, each glowing flame undulating like tongues whispering a wordless prayer, each shape contorted by the melting wax. I step silently behind her. Leaning forward, I gather her long bountiful red mane in my left fist to move it out of the way and place my lips against the nape of her neck. With teeth slightly bared, I extend my tongue to drag it across her cool flesh, to kiss her softly, nipping ever so gently as I close my mouth. I bring my right hand around to place it against her throat, my left hand now around her waist drawing her backwards to me. Eleans leans backwards her weight pressing against my chest. "Pick up a candle. Any candle", I whisper into her ear, my lips brushing the soft edge. Being this close, her scent surges through me like a drug, heady and strong. My cock twitches in response.

On the wall directly above us, a lovingly detailed effigy of Jesus Christ, nailed to His wooden cross, looks down on us with an expression of infinite sadness as His life flows out in eternal forgiveness from His wounds.

Saturday, April 21, 2007 eat of the apple

"The morning sun when its in your face really shows your age
But that dont worry me none in my eyes you're everything"
~Rod Stewart

The damp wrinkled sheets are bunched and twisted at his feet as he leans back against the cool wall. Sunlight pours in through the half closed window, the drapes puffing out gently from the slight breeze that struggles to push through the gap. She is sitting on the edge of the bed her long black hair cascading down her back which still glistens with beads of sweat. She looks over her shoulder at the boy. The look on her face, partially hidden behind stray wisps stuck to her cheek, is unreadable. Her eyes smolder with a dark fire and yet within the chasms of each bright orb, lurks unfathomable emotions, swirling like a whirlpool.
He runs his hand along his now limp member, cupping his scrotum, still slick with the remnants of before, a moment in time that now seems ages ago. A bead of sweat trickles down the middle of his chest to pool along the crease of his belly.

They had had sex passionately, urgently, their bodies twisting and contorting awkwardly. "We must take it slowly", she had urged him as she slipped him out of her mouth and then used her hand to guide him inside her. He had fallen on top of her naked body, her breasts pushing into his chest, nipples catching briefly on nipples while he buried his face into the nape of her neck. With animalistic abandon, he had mounted her, driven by the aroma of her musk, pounding his bony hips rapidly against her, his motions jerky and spasmodic, like a new born calf finding it's legs. The woman had been patient, clamping her hands on his buttocks and pressing him against her, trapping him with her thighs slowing him down with soft whispers. She had coaxed him with her experience and mature encouragement. It was different for him. It was not the way they did it in those so-called blue movies he had once seen with his school friends as they gathered around in nervous excitement in front of a small television set. He remembered well the hardness of his cock. How the dampness of the fluid as it oozed out to smear against the cotton of his underwear that day felt cool against his fevered thighs.
Now here he was, dizzy from the rushing sounds in his head, almost blinded by the intensity of ragged emotions roaring through his body as his hard cock glided in and out of her hot hole. It had been all too much for him. Unable to control himself, he had ejaculated inside the woman, his small frame bucking in the throes of such a fierce climax. It felt like he was having a seizure. He could barely control his breathing. His head felt like it was going to explode. He thought he would pass out. But the woman held him to her, her hands soothing his back her thighs pressed against his sides, one foot stroking the back of his calf. Two bodies bonded together by the sweat that poured out of their bodies. She whispered the boy's name.

The drone and clack-clack of the small rusty table fan as it oscillated in a valiant attempt to push the humid air about the small room, is the only other sound above the thud of his heart against his rib cage. Time slowed to a crawl. A fly buzzed angrily, trapped between the curtains and the window screen. A gecko, veins pulsating through transparent skin watched from the sill, intently waiting for the right moment to strike. Outside, a murder of crows cawed in the trees, the branches scraping like fingers along the roof tiles. Bougainvillea swayed outside the window, lurking like a voyueristic shadow.
"What are we going to do?" Her voice is soft and husky from the afterglow, heavy with the burden of the illicit coupling. The boy is unsure if he should answer. She turns her head away to stare at the wall across the room, A long sigh escapes her lips as her body slumps over. Resignation tempered with a deep inherent hunger speckles her voice. "You better get dressed".
"Will I see you tomorrow?", the boys voice is laced with trepidation, confusion seeping in like a tide to wash away the awareness of the last few moments.
"Yes...", a stroke of hesitation, "...but we must be careful"
The boy grins as he bounds from the bed. The woman crosses her arms across her chest, hiding her breasts from him in an impulsive act of chasteness as he leans forward to kiss her cheek.
And then he is gone, slamming the door behind him, leaving the room suddenly cold and bereft of spirit. The woman takes a heaving sigh and bends to pick up her clothes. From the garden, there is a rush of wings as the crows take to startled flight.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Communion II [gathering]

“As in all the churches of the holy ones, women should keep silent in the churches, for they are not allowed to speak, but should be subordinate, as even the law says”.
1 Corinthians 14:33

They crowded into the shadows, huddled together amongst the rafters, their whispers filling in the hollows, trickling down the walls. Through the stained glass windows, the moon throws it's moonbeams in monochrome splinters to splash against the pews.

I pick up the small silver dirk, still warm from resting against her skin and the dark red stone set within the intricately carved hilt glints once like a winking eye. Eleana's breathing has deepened, each breath drawn through flared nostrils and slightly parted lips.

"Interesting choice for jewelry". A rhetorical statement, not expecting a response.
"Interesting choice for a meeting". Her voice, a slight quiver in her voice [fear? anticipation?] is yet strong and low. "I assume we are not here to pray?".
The vibrations from her throat as she speaks charges through my palm stirring something sinister deep within me. I laugh, momentarily breaking the tension. I sit back stretching my arms across the back of the wooden bench and exhale slowly trying to control my heart rate. A smirk curls one side of my mouth. "Actually worship has already started m'lady. It began as soon as you entered"

Slowly, with almost agonizing deliberateness, Eleana turns towards me. Her face is partially hidden behind her hair that drops like a veil straight down, but I can see her eyes glitter in the flickering light and this time an arrogance has seeped into her voice. "Then pray tell, who is the prey and who is the predator?"
Above us, there is a flutter of sound, something crawls in the gloom. Hoarse whispered voices are hushed as the watchers gather up a collective breath. Eleana glances upwards instinctively, almost as if she heard something, although I know she could not have. Her inner sense [innocence?] is not completely opened yet, concealed still by an obsidian layer of her chastity, untarnished by her purity. And yet, as I gaze into her dark green eyes, locked steadily onto my face, I know that deep inside her, there are darkened corridors, a gallery of passageways with bolted doors, behind which lay even darker dreams. If only I could find the key. Perhaps tonight I might be afforded a tour through some of those tunnels, explore the caverneous realms of her mind. Would she hand me the key or would I have to seek it out?
I choose not to answer her, instead rising up fom the pew to step around and stand in the aisle next to her. I extend my hand and she reaches out for me, trusting me explicitely. Her hand is warm and clammy yet steady and soft as newborn skin. The electric sensation of her touch crackles through me to roil inside my belly. My breath is thick and warm. I cannot help but notice the dark red polish adorning her fingernails, fingers bare of any rings.

"Come with me", I beckon to her softly, and she rises to obey. Outside, the wind has picked up and the icy tendrils of sleet hurl themselves onto the wooden sidings, rattling the windows, howling through the cracks and crannies to swirl around the ceiling. The night was getting colder, the moon ducking behind fleeing clouds. The candles brushed by the icy wind, waver in an undulating dance spurring phantasms into an enchanting rhythm as they sway and whirl, groping together in an unhallowed orgy of breasts, hands, cocks, cunts and tongues...

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Antipholus of Syracuse:

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears.
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote;
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take them and there lie,
And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die;
Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

Comedy of Errors -excerpt-

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

love binds

She lays curled and naked on the cold cement floor, hands bound between her thighs. Her matted hair, splayed about her face and shoulders surrounds her head like a halo. The tracks of her tears have traced her cheeks with blackened lines. A violet ring of bruises raise up from her fair breasts, surrounding the areoles like petals of a dark flower. Adorned only in a black leather collar and matching high-heeled slave sandals she whimpers quietly in the dark.

The rude creak of hinges breaks the silence. Light spills into the room as the door to the room is slowly pushed open .His First stiffens in anticipation and fear, her sobs silenced with a ragged gasp. A shadow darkens the doorway. She holds her breath as black boots walk with heavy determination across the floor towards her. She does not wish to look up at Him. If it wasn't for her caustic tongue and her vexatious attitude, she would not be in this present state. Her buttocks still stung and she was sure it would stay tender for at least a day or so. But beneath the contrite demeanour lurked an untamed siren. It was no fault of hers that sometimes words seemed to tumble from her mouth in an impulsive string. Besides, it was this very attitude which sparked the flame of attraction between them, like flint on dry leaves, kindling a fire that raged deep within their dark minds. He did not address her as His First for mere fanciful reasons.
The boots stop inches from her face. The laces are missing but she is very aware of their presence from the way they cut into the tender flesh at her wrists. A boot reaches out and prods her. Dirt from the under sole sprinkles down on to her breasts and belly. She cannot help but jerk backwards as a whimper escapes her lips. Tears well up in her emerald eyes. All she wishes for at this moment is for the touch of His hands on her face, His voice whispering in her ear as His lips graze hers. Instead, it is only the tinkle of the belt buckle, the sound jangling harshly in the quiet. Her ears pick up the sound of each button being popped with deliberate slowness.
Suddenly His hands are in her hair. She closes her eyes, wincing in pain as she is abruptly dragged to her knees.

"No please", she implores, knowing well what is expected off her.

In response, the fist wrapped in her long mane tightens, knuckles grazing her scalp. She takes a deep hissing breath between clenched teeth and is instantly filled with the sharp smell of His musk. The aroma swirls about her, permeating her senses, hardening her nipples and tickling down her spine to finger the insides of her already wet cunt. She opens her eyes with slight trepidation. Her face is directly in front of His crotch, as she'd expected, her lips mere inches from a hard cock, the tip already glossy with moisture. How long had he stayed this hard? She had lost track of time in this cold dark room. The hand in her hair tightens again almost viciously, yanking her head sideways. Her mouth parts inadvertently. Finally, she flicks her smouldering eyes upwards, locking her gaze with him as a hiss escapes her lips.
His dark eyes are ablaze with a deep passion and unbridled lust. His mouth begins to move, but instead of words, she stares in alarm as a bubble of spittle appears from between His pursed lips - watches as it grows ever larger to finally break free and splash on his engorged member.
Her Master pulls her face closer to the dripping tip, runs it across her beautiful lips. He finally speaks in a voice that is low, husky and jagged with desire.

"Let's see you put this dirty pretty mouth to good use, My Precious"

Sunday, April 15, 2007

communion [meeting]

“All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream.” - Edgar Allan Poe

The Huge carved wooden door closes with a soft thud behind me, severing the icy tendrils of mist that swirled around my feet as I stepped inside. The frigid gust of wind that snuck inside with me, rushes down the aisles to caress the flickering tongues of the candles throwing the shadows on the wall into a phantasmal dance. I pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the low light before I start to make my way forward. My footsteps echo sharply within the great walls like the crack of a whip and I wonder if she is here, as promised. Drawing closer to the front, I make out a seated figure wrappd in a cloak, embraced by her long dark hair falling like a shawl upon her shoulders. Even though she knows that I have come, she does not move, instead staring straight ahead, back arched and rigid, her head slightly bowed. I slip into the pew behind her, kneeling on the bench and lean towards her.

"Good evening m'lady. I am glad you are here"

Eleana stiffens almost imperceptibly as her head bows even further, a stray wisp of her red hair folding gently across her right cheek. "I did not have a choice", she whispers, her voice low and breathless like the swaying flames of the candles that provide the only light inside this church.
My lips curl upwards in a sinister smile as I lean closer and with my left hand pick up her hair moving it away from her neck, exposing the black velvet band around her pale white throat. She draws in a sharp breath from between clenched teeth as my lips make contact with her hot flesh, just below her ear lobe. I growl, low and feral against the side of her neck bringing my right hand to gently wrap it around her throat. I can feel her pulse flutter beneath my palm like the thrumm of a small bird caught in a net and she whimpers softly raising her head, extending her neck, submitting to my actions. Her breasts rise and fall with every deep breath as a warm flush spreads across them and yet her hands remain clasped on her lap, her back still straight, a poise of demure docility.

On the walls a hundred spectral apparitions slowly end their tortuous dance to hover in anticipation, gazing down at the unfolding scene below them, soft whispers rising upwards to the caverneous ceiling. Still kneeling behind her, as if at worship, my thumb and forefinger graze along the edge of the collar, my palm catching momentarily at the small metallic dirk dangling against her jagular notch...