snare - Chapter 4, Part III

The story so far...
Walking home from a late night out with her friends, Rebecca made the decision to cross the local cemetery. Both as a shortcut and to satisfy a hidden dark desire that had haunted her ever since she lived across from it. Halfway across, she bumped into a figure and against all common-sense responded to his greetings. It was a moment, she was to soon find out, that would have a profound effect on her life and change her forever. She would never really know what kink in the thread of time that caused her to invite this mysterious man with dark fathomless eyes into her house. Would she regret this decision. Would he open doors that had been firmly sealed for many years, or would he tear her soul apart...

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REBECCA STOOD UP SLOWLY TAKING HER TIME TO AFFORD HIM A LONG LOOK AT HER FIGURE. She was proud of her body, her slender neck, her full breasts, the way her hips accentuated the deep curve of her waist. She was tall for a woman, and once she slipped her feet into her high-heeled boots, she tended to intimidate most of those she encountered-especially the average woman. With deliberate slowness she smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, the material sighing underneath her hands. She realized that she was stalling but she needed the time to gather herself and her thoughts. What was it about this man that pulled her out of her element? First, she found herself engaging in conversation with a stranger that had just finished pissing against a tree for god's sake and now here he was seated in her living room drinking tea. And she had kissed him too!
Her heart pulsed steadily along the vein in her neck. Her head hurt with the myriad of thoughts that clashed within. Her thighs tingled with longing and desire. The lips of her pussy prickled deliciously, moistening her with raw lust.

He was looking at her, no make that staring at her with those unfathomable deep dark eyes. She felt almost trapped like a bird inside a net fluttering helplessly against the nylon webbing. She tended to freeze every time he locked his gaze at her. Just like now. Her feet felt like steel, magnetized to the floor. A chill ran down her arms, prickling the fine hairs to attention. Suddenly, the wind outside shifted, rattling the windows and she started, a small gasp escaping her lips.
Dirk smiled at her, flashing those perfect ivory teeth. Rebecca blinked. Were those fangs along the corners of his mouth or was her imagination getting the better of her. It had been a long day and even longer evening. She was tired. She was beginning to see things.

"Do I make you nervous, Rebecca?". Her name rolled from his tongue like velvet on skin making her shiver.
"Considering the events of the evening, I would have to say yes.
What is it exactly you want from me?"
"Why do you say that?"
Rebecca smirked. "You certainly didn't follow me home for my tea"
"You didn't stop me"
"Look, that moment against the tree...that was...was impulsive on my part". She touched her lips as the memory flashed behind her eyes, "and stupidly reckless".
He leaned forward onto his knees, his sincerity almost genuine. "That would apply to myself too".
"I'll accept that as a form of apology"

She turned away before he could answer, heading towards the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?"

Tell me you didn't just say that! She liked to call the little voice of her conscience Common-sense Susan. And many a-times good ol' Susan had saved her from some rather precarious situations. Standing by the sink, Rebecca stopped to think. What the fuck was that? do you want something to eat? you hardly know this man. First you kiss him, then you invite him home and now you want him to stay! He could be a serial killer or...shit! it might even be that rapist that's been all over the news lately. Fuck! what was his description again...I really should've paid attention...too late now isn't it? Now your rambling...

Her skin tingled as the fine hairs along the back of her neck slowly arose. She spun around. Dirk was standing in the doorway. How did he get there without the floor boards creaking? She leaned back against the counter unable to move-trapped once again by his eyes as he walked towards her.

©two bucks, inc.

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.

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)

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

apathy - chapter 1, part II

There! He was sure of it, a quiet footfall. His head snapped to the left senses on high alert, the surface of his skin prickling with tension. There it was again, the crackle of high heels on the pebbled walkway. Someone was approaching.
Boredom had led him here, into the eerie yet comforting quietude of the Cemetery. These last few days he had wandered about listlessly, aimlessly, entertaining himself with mindless banter with the whores and trannies that habituated the alleyways of this desultory part of the city. Amidst the torn fishnet stockings, black leather mini-skirts, 3" spikes, eyes glazed over by the sheer apathy of their lives, detachment in every hobbled step, they were as worn down as the cracks on the pavement they stepped over every night. He felt nothing but pity for the miserable lives of these men and women that criss-crossed under the sickly yellow glow of the street lamps. Sneered with contempt at the wretched dregs of society that desperation dragged down here, seeking solace in a $20 blowjob. Maybe he was doing them a favour every time he was overpowered by this cancerous appetite which threatened to consume him -an Appetite for Destruction. Axel Rose had it right-Welcome to the 'Fucking' Jungle.

Now he found himself walking along rows of headstones, some stunning in their augustness, works of art and design, paid for with love and adoration. Yet others achingly beautiful in their simplicity, decorated with bouquets of wilting flowers, remnants of incense sticks even. Ground mist had covered the pathways and gravestones in an ethereal shroud, lit by the soft muted light of the moon making it seem as if the whole world was slowly floating away. It was a beautiful night. Yet it was not enough to lessen his dispassion. He had to piss. For an instance he even thought to defile Edith Hawser, 1867 ~ 1913, but with a smirk, decided that perhaps watering a tree was in better taste.
Now as a steady stream issued from his cock, footsteps! He was sure of it. Clamping his scrotum together stopping the stream mid-flow, he slowly pushed his member back into his jeans and silently buttoned up. Thank god
(there is no god!)
he wasn't wearing the one with the zippered front.
Barely noticing the trickle of piss that ran down his inner thigh to collect against the back of his knee, he crouched down and watched as the figure approached. She was tall, nearly as tall as he was. Her measured gait and a straight back spoke of high-society and perhaps nobleness. There was also no trace of fear in her walk, self-assurance and a quiet arrogance ruled every step. Her hair, a dark mane that billowed outward, full breasts that bounced softly with every step, she was a beauty indeed and he growled-a low bestial rumble as his bright red tongue flicked out to wet his suddenly dry lips. In a moment his night had improved with every gracious step of those black high-heeled boots. He grinned, his heart starting to thud against his chest, his breathing short and shallow. He cursed himself for not completely relieving himself as the urge to piss again suddenly filled his loins. He licked His lips again, running the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Come to me m'lady", he whispered, "come to me". His voice hissing snake-like, raspy with the visions of what she would do to satisfy his lust. His breath caught in his throat. Perhaps finally he had found the one to quench his desire. A deep serpentine desire that no mortal had yet to subdue. He stood up.

©two bucks, inc.

choice - chapter 1, part I

"Standing around,

wearing a crown of apathy"

~Stone Temple Pilots, Piece of Pie

The storm had ended, the night ripped open painfully dark. The moon tore through the black set night like shredded velvet, the wispy tendrils caressed the full face of the yellow moon. A faint echoing down the bare city street, a clicking of metallic boot heels against the pavement, as down the middle of the road she walked. A stray faint arcing of blue as the steel tipped heels found a pebble in the pavement. Attired in a full black leather trench coat, billowing out behind her, her gait was swift and even, hands balled to fists shoved into the front pockets. Damp red hair curled in tangled wayward waves down her back. She was walking home. The buses had stopped an hour ago, and well a cab would not be caught dead here in this part of town. To her left the Cemetery came to view. Silence wrapped itself icy fingers all around her. Not even a rat or alley cat ventured forth. An odd eerie luminescent glow game over her each time she passed under the street lamps that lined the road. She left the road and turned into the Cemetery, taking the short-cut home meant it would cut off at least thirty minutes off her walking time.
Into the Cemetery she traversed, without really a second thought pushing open the rusted wrought iron gates. Now her boot heels clicked and echoed through the sanctuary of the Cemetery. She had no fear of waking anyone up here, everyone was dead asleep. She snickered and disappeared into the darkness. The low laying mist grabbed and snatched around her booted feet as she walked down the narrow lane……………………………

©two bucks, inc.