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