Console

Such an endless day. Like all of late.

The sun rises, hangs in the sky and sets. But it seems that I am facing a blank clock with no numerals, no arms but steadily clicking off the seconds.

I hear it but my eyes are blinded to the variations that truly mark the knots of time.

Like the cicadas  that I hear as I leave, as I return.

Here in the perpetual dusk, broken only by the yellow glow of lamps, give me sanctuary.

*

Open your mouth.

Take it away.

Take away the phones, reports, email, chatter, beeps, chirps, reams of paper that dog me.the voices, the shapes, the smells of people who inhabit my space yet really are only cogs in the eternal machine.

Enclose me, take me to the root.

Let me stand, leaning in the doorway, as your lips take my head away from the running numbers and into dead space. Let the hairs of my bush brush against your nose, as I feel my dickhead slip into the constriction of your sweet throat. Let my fingers rest in your silky hair, as you grip my weary thighs, sucking steadily and then fiercely.

Let me flinch from the gentle graze of your teeth.

Do I taste as silky to you, as your mouth feels to me? Does the slight musk of sweat clinging to my tightening sac inspire you to hum so gently as you suck me faster?

Look up at me, take me into the velvet darkness of your eyes.

Your tongue swirls, as you draw me deeper and deeper.

Until I fall into a momentary oblivion, gliding on a series of spurts that push the breath out of my chest.

*

Take me away from everything that is not you; your mouth, your lips, your hands, your skin.

Until I drop my head onto the pillow, only to rise and go back to the ticking, faceless clock. Marking off the path of the sun, in a rhythm that I cannot master.

 

Power

You have been recalcitrant.

Itchy, antsy.

He knows how to soothe.

*

Wrapping the blindfold over your eyes, plugging your ears.

Placing your flat, feet in stirrups.

The purr of the machine hums gently, purring so sweetly.

A gasp you can’t hear escapes your lips. Floats in the air then dissipates slowly.

Followed by another and another. As the oiled dildo slips between your eager squirming pussy lips, the gasps solidified into moans that only rise briefly in the air and fall to the plush carpet.

15. 20. 50. 70. As the number of thrusts per minute increase, so does your resistance.

80, 90, 110.

Until the fiercely vibrating metal knot reaches your clit.Held firmly in place by his fingers, as the machine blindly and obediently does the job it was created for.

Back arched, hips thrust forward.

Shakes you out of you security of obstinacy.

The rhythm drags you along.

Vibrating.

Plunging.

Until you are no longer coherent, solid or liquid.

You have become a state of being–orgasmic waves the pulsate from the place where your body should be.

And then…

Nothing.

Who remembers anything while unconscious?

*

Waking up, cradled in his arms.

How soft and relaxed you feel.

The itch gone, anxiety healed by the aloe of fucking.

You ask him if you looked divine, cumming and cumming.

He smiles and turns on the TV screen. Hits ‘play’ on the remote.

Tells you to watch for yourself.

Now

Waiting.

Not long now.  You will be walking in the door.

About 4, I thought of you and got hard. It hasn’t gone away, just alternates between raging and a mild throb.

You are here.

Unzip my pants. Take it in your mouth, get it wet.

Trace the veins with your tongue, your fingers.

Lick my sac, take it into your warm, wet mouth.

Bend over.

Don’t talk to me. Obey.

Hold on to the table, as I hold on to your hips and fill you.

Your sighs and gasps are subsumed into my moans.

It delights you.

It hurts you.

To be used.

That is your purpose.

For now.

Lucky pieces

Fortune finds me. I shy away, turn my face, shut my eyes to it. But I hear it walking up behind me, feel the subtle kiss left behind on my cheek.

Right after, you appeared. Sunlight encased in skin, glowing. Warming.

Lips parting in a smile that caused me to close my eyes. Rays seeping out of you. Your hand lightly brushing my arm, leaving a gentle sigh, a brief memory of summer days.

Do you know that you must illuminate the night sky?

Breathing in the air you exhale, I taste jasmine on my tongue.

Once, I neatly refused. Twice brought a promise for later.

*

Watching the sky-soft violet, streaked with rose, fading to plum. The wind was tired and packing to go home for the night.

Water pulling away from the shore, as geese were shadows breaking free and flowing jerkily across the sand.

Then, night descended. First the smell of leather, smoke, vetiver.  Then your voice, coiled around my head. Sitting next to me, the heat of your body singed me.  Dark, dark you are. Inside, outside, every layer.

I was told sulfur stinks. Yet your breath is redolent of cloves.

You ask for later. I pretend that I have it to give.

*

Home

Mundane things. Washing dishes, rinsing dirt from front stairs, cleaning clothes.

Under the hum of the whirring washer, you slip behind me, arms curling tightly, face in my hair. Words of urgency, of alleviating the fullness in your groin tickle the edges of my ear.

One arm still tightly wound, the other moving. Hand goes to my neck, brushes hair aside, for your lips.

Softly, they trace.

Then your teeth graze, making a shiver bolt from my brain to my toes.

The tracing becomes gentle gnawing and sucking.  Your other un-snakes and dives, fingers right into my panties, a heat seeker seeking the fleshy wet target.

Harder and insistent, your mouth, while fingers increasing speed.

You are hurting me, my neck tingling, the skin abrading. I hear the moist sound of your lips.

In my head, the good and the great are mingling, until you bend me over and fill me. Turning  it now into grand, colossal, momentous.

Deep. Hard. Repetition.

I breathe through my mouth, at the roughness. Trying to mount the falcon before if flies away and drags me.

I cannot. I am dangling, by one strap.

Then I let go, as you let go.

We both fall, spasming and crying.

A hard thud. Leaving me bruised, you less so.

After the landing, I hear your breath. I feel my hair flutter past my ear, with the bellow of your lungs.

You lick the skin on my neck, where you have worn away my defenses.

Wincing, I pull you to my face, kiss you.

Taste my blood on your lips.

That slight metallic mixed with your honey tongue.

~~~

A few days later. Routine things, daily movement.

You are away. Maybe thinking of me, maybe not.

But I look at the bruise that is healing. Shudder as I lightly touch it, as I cover it in aloe.

More days.

That bruise.

A mottled rose, fading back into oblivion on the soil that nurtured it.

It is leaving.

My need for you, not so.

Shadows

By the candlelight, you embrace me. Enter me.

Turning my head to the wall. Looking at our shapes, they way we block light.

A beastly form, double heads. Waving arms. Thrusting pelvis. Thighs spread. Backs moving at a piston speed. Tits bouncing. Nutsac swinging frantically.

Throwing shapes, as we grind our way to completion.

The candle sputters, leaving us in darkness. Wax cools, hardens.

Hotter and hotter is our skin, the sweat sizzling as it falls.

Our screams bounce off the wall, where our shadows have been dissolved.

Silent

The drive over is quiet, only a few souls slipping past in the dark.

Headlights sliding over you. Wheels crossing the damp streets.

They may as well be shadows, for all you care.

Your mind is full of me. My skin, my form.

~

A soft slight jingle of the keys, as you let yourself in.

Snap goes the door latch, closing.

Creak is the sound of your steps, crossing the gleaming floor boards.

The door whisks as it glides open across the carpet.

Your heart catches with a click in your throat, as you see me, turn on the bed.

My breath settles softly around me. Yours is slowly escaping your flared nostrils-steam under slow pressure, seeking release.

Whirr is your zipper descending, followed by your belt buckle hitting the floor.

Faster than the moonlight falling through the window, you are naked.

A bead of sweat trickles down your strong back.

How many times has my tongue traced that same path?

~

The springs moan gently as your weight settles on the bed, as you creep into position.

Your cock is so erect, you hear it throbbing and wonder how the thunderous noise does not startle me awake.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you pull the thin blue sheet down. Exposing my firm smooth splayed thighs.

Yet you do not let your eyes linger, or your fingertips.

Your eager tongue reaches in, tastes the warm moisture.

The bud awakens, which pushes my eyelids up.

I know your scent, you shape.

I open my legs wider, as your fingers spread my labia, allowing my clit to be enveloped by your soft lips.

My hair makes a buttery sound, as it hits the pillow in time with my tossing head.

Sharp and quick, I come.

Just as fast, you come into me. Sinking down to your base, grinding the root of your tree into my soil.

~

Digging into me, I hear the slap of your slippery skin, the squelch of your cock jabbing in and out.  The wet panting our breath mingling in the cool night air streaming through the open window.

The bed groans and shudders with us, as we spiral over the edge and drop into the abyss of incoherence.

We hit bottom.

~

Leaving me there, you regain sanity.

Dressing, walking.

Closing the door behind you.

Anchored by the keys in your hand, the only thing that keeps you from floating off into the star-bright sky.

Trace

Like the all beasts that creep stealthily across the earth, you picked up my subtle scent before the stabbing pain emerged.

Distracted but concerned, I wondered of your persistent pacing, your fingertips twitching against your damp palms.

Then I knew.The cramps enveloped me in a tight fist. A trickle that signifies my membership in the triune club raced down my leg. I am still in the dream that is the Mother.

Maddened by the smell, the sight, you leaned against the wall and begged  silently for strength. But your mouth watered.

You thrill over dead blood. You debase yourself.

God likes it fresh, pushed by a beating heart, spurting from a sliced neck. Hot and wet, as the soul unhinges from the body, eyes clouding.

You have fancied yourself Him. Imagined that I love you as much as Him.

Yet you delight in the decaying things, at the wrong time.

See why you do not compare?

Ruins

Touch me.

Run your fingers up my things, my skirt giving way to your forearms. Your eyes slowly closing to half-mast, you lips dripping with honeyed flashes of your thoughts right up to this moment.

Slide a finger into me, as the voice tumbles from the radio, wrapping us in the ticker tape of things we need but cannot control. The percentage points,  fall of the index,  rise of the fund, the quarterly earnings.

I sigh as your fingers reach in further. You swap my tension for pleasure, betting on the future soon to be mature that I will melt, flow away. Profit from my give, not your take.

Differentiate my demand. Push me back, those slips of papers, coded with data that signals the rise and fall of society, spilling out of your briefcase on the carpeted floor.

Nonstop goes the voices, the dings and chirps, the exclamations from the voice , joined by others on the radio. Jumping accents, skipping time zones, they all speak of the same thing.

Make that thing, the chasing of that thing, your fulcrum. Lift me from here to there, right there, where nothing matters but the way I feel.

The way you cause me to feel.

Underlying all of this is the pressure that builds, to stokes you, propels you between my thighs and into the heart of me.  There is never a risk that you will not satisfy the obligation that you promised me the day we met.

Fuck me, here. Amidst the carnage, you extract the viable and precious metal. Trade what I need for what you want.

Condense the hours into rough minutes, as somewhere, a man rises with the flight of the sun, joining a flood of similar minds, to do battle with the monster that is never full.

Kick at the briefcase full of promises of dreams, let those wisps of what will be flutter away to what is.

What that is:you inside of me, plunging, extracting and filling, pushing for the final closing of your day.

Exchange the the heat for the coolness of release.

There, you fall and rest. Like the end of the day numbers.

The sounds of cars gliding past penetrate the smoked evening air, as your sweat, salty and tangy, provides a slick glaze along your spine.

Fingers brushing your ears, I softly sing your favorite song.

And the voices still run over and around us. Testament to the edifice that you never can avoid or truly scale.

Count them-those voices- like sheep my darling, as you surrender to your loss against the monster.

Yet you conquered me.

As always.

Enumeration

Count them.

3 sets of lips, moist. 3 tongues, eager to dip in, to trail along.

3 minds. 3 hearts. 3 libidos burning burning bright.

One woman, 2 men.

Single goal: Ecstasy.  Via tearing through the boundaries of skin and feeling that separate, makes us discrete organic forms.

and so

2 breasts, 2 sets of pinching fingers, double shocks of delirious pain spooling.

Those nipples, hungry to be touched. To grow, to be seen.

To be.

and then

3 pairs of legs, tangled.  3 pairs of toes, digging into the sheets.  2 pairs of buttocks flexing, pumping. One grinding upwards, ever upwards.

2 hard dicks, 2 sets of tightly clenched balls, need to be drained. Along with the psyches that whispered more more more.

therefore

One pair of smooth thighs, held open.  1 hand on each side of the moist juicy cleft, spreading it. 1 dick plunging in deep. 1 finger on that hard hard clit, until it pulsed.

A cunt, weeping  joy.

One cry of pleasure. 2 pending.

and that means

One hole is filled-hers that wept. As well as her wet, sucking mouth.

3 bodies in rhythmic motion. Each straining.

Until the veil begins to unravel.  Warp letting go of weft until it becomes a gossamer pile of  thread.

Floating floating, 3 floating.

3 bodies, releasing sweat. Releasing tension.

Collapsing.

Just as those 2 pairs of tight nutsacs did.

finally

3 limps bodies. 3 hearts, losing extra beats.

10 relaxed fingers.  6 limp legs, 6 tired arms.

3 pairs of eyelids fluttering closed.

One huge sigh.

Primer

You cannot speak of it.

Without a word from you, I proceed.

Kneeling over you, I sink down on your erect dick.  You did not need to touch me, for I want to moisten and lubricate and let it run down the length of you. To tangle in the silky dark bush that covers your nutsac, that swirls along the root of you and creeps towards your stomach.

The sharp pain of my barely warm cunt encasing you makes us both gasp.

So, I proceed.

I move, slightly. Those are my hips.

My mouth moves at a faster pace. That is what you want.

Reading to you, words from my past. Words that no one else knows, but me and the dawn or the dim candlelight that saw them born.

As I read to you, you relax and yet you go deeper in to me. I receive more and more until I feel you pushing against the mouth of my womb.

I try to angle away but you push me down firmly, causing me to stumble and lose my place along the words that you need so badly to hear.

The words  are coming at a rapid pace, tumbling out of my lips and cracking against your eardrums.  You clench your jaw to keep the sounds in but they are leaking out, like smoke from a chimney on a cold, cold day.

For every story I share, you give me an orgasm.  You hold tightly to my wrists, so that I keep my place and do not drop my book.

My book. A secret journal. The thing that binds us to your fantasies and my heart.

Because you cannot speak, I do.

I use my mouth to push sounds from my reality into yours. My pussy talks to you, as it gets wetter and wetter, coaxing you to get harder than you imagined you could.

I cry out, as you make me come more and more.

You feel my hair brush against the tops of your thighs, as I bow backwards.

The serpent that I have heard of but not seen unwinds and shoots up, it head pushing out of my mouth. My breath pushes past it, bees buzzing as they are released from the hive of my soul.

Because I must, I pull back from the eternity you flung me into and keep reading. The words are blurry to my eyes but I can recite them from the memories craved in my skull.

So, I proceed.

I must push you to where I just emerged from.

I proceed until you are there, trapped;  my name steaming in the crisp air of the darkened room.

Unity

I was taking too long, I suppose. But that is what girls do. Hair, makeup, daydreaming.

Then, a sharp knock. Followed a three insistent ones.

Irritated, I opened the door. And closed it, as it is only L. My useless stepbrother.

He knocked again and when I did not answer, twisted the knob and stuck his nosy head inside.

“When are you going to be done?”

“When I am finished! Close the door, creep.”

“Who are you  calling creep?”

“You, asshole. Not talking to myself.”

With a satisfied smirk, I went back to my beauty rituals.

For some reason, L is back. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him, as I squealed in irritation.

“I am not dressed. GET OUT OF HERE! You moron!” I was in my lucky red cotton bar and matching boyshirts. Not for L to feast his eyes on me, that was for sure.

Leanign back on his hells, he cocked his head tothe side and coolly appraised me.

“You do not have to be shy. After all, we are family now.” As if 2 years equaled ‘family’. But he said it in a voice that set my nerves on edge.  Just a bit. Not that I would show it.

Frustrated, I decided to ignore him. If I hurried, I could finish my makeup in my bedroom.

After about five tense minutes, I announced I was done.

“Move out of the way, idiot; show’s over.”

“Actually, it is just staritng,” he said, as he blocked my path. As I launched off on a tirade, it was cut off by his hand across my mouth, the other gripping my upper arm.

Temper rising, I fought him but being taller, stronger and possibly crazier, he had me. I was pushed againstt the door and there was nothing I could do but squirm.

Easily, he caught both my wrists in one of his hands and deftly yanked the front of my bra until the closure surrendered. My breasts spilled out, nipples hardening in the process.

I froze-shocked, horrified, appalled. What the hell was going on?

Leaning close to me, so close I could count the hairs of his silky dark eyebrows, he smiled.

And slapped me.

Five seconds later, I was being kissed and my tits encased in his big hands.  I tried to wrench away, but my nipples betrayed me.

His body planted steadily against mine, I could not only feel his hard cock but my fingers. Teasing, pinching, pulling my nips.

Sending a shameful squirt of juice to moisten my cunt.

“How long did you think I would let you play with me?

“Whhaaa..what are you saying?” I was truly stunned by his words.

” Always walking around half-dressed, cleavage showing. Tits hanging out, short skirts. You must have wanted this.”

“No! I did not want this! Let go of me. NOW!” And I renewed my efforts to free myself.

Then he dropped his smirk, his face went blank. His eyes matched the hardness of his cock.

In a flash, he reached in his front right pocket and  balled his fists, hiding what he had. The bad thing was that with his other hand,  he grabbed the straight razor out of the mug on the counter and held it in front of my face.

My smart words crumpled on my tongue.

“Present you tits to me, nasty girl. Do not play virgin. Hurry.”

Because he pressed the razor to my throat, I did as he commanded.  My knees felt weak; not sure if it was all fear or part desire.

“Look at your nipples and do not look away. No talking.”

He pinched the right one. And then the pain.  Of the clamp, of course. I bit down on my scream.

As the pain was ebbing, it was replaced by a fresh wave, as the left nipple was subjected to the same torture.

In my head, the pain was a concrete rose.

“I expect you to wear these until I take them off later. Nod ‘yes’

Barely, I did.

‘Look at yourself, “he said, stepping back.

Taking the place he held, I then turned toward the mirror. Saw myself, my fearful look, my wild eyes.

“I think you will do as I tell you for now on, won’t you?”

I nodded my head in the ‘yes’ signal but inside I was screaming “no no no you crazy fucker NO”.

I felt hope when I heard his Dad call out from downstairs “Anyone here?’, with a slam of the garage door.

In that instant it died, as he cut the side of my underwear and they half fell off me. With a playful slap on my ass, he grinned and said “Count to ten before you come out. BTW, I will be hanging on to this.” He waggled the razor at me.   And like that, he turned that knob-the one I should have locked-and left.

I heard him say, “I am up here, Dad. She will be out on about ten seconds”.  He kept talking but he was on his way downstairs, I could not make out what his receding voice was saying.

I coud make out my shame, my confusion. As I counted to ten, I watched my image blur and  shift  from my angry tears.

End of part I

Distance

Two of you.

Kneeling, waiting. Anxious. Afraid.

One is to be used, the other discarded. Left empty.

I take you, the male specimen. Lean, sinewy, slightly furred along your runner’s legs and arms.

You fail. Your mind rebels as your body hopes, struggles, begs to accommodate.

Your sphincter pushes against me, the strongest indication of how you are not worthy.

With a push, I move you, tears running silently into your mouth. The salt tastes sweeter than your defeat.

With the slightest flare of her nostril to indicate her contempt, she consumes the spot where you were. Her knees fit into the warmth yours left behind.

Made for this, eager for this, needing this.

I easily take her, the only sound is the smack of my hands settling onto her hips.

She is rounded, soft, silky. Shaven, as I directed.

We slip down , so deep, into the rhythm that is natural to us by birth, and is alien to you.  You are the subject, not the object by the rising of the sun and throughout the day. The verb, not the adjective.

Both of our eyes are upon you, cloaking you in derision and shame.

The steady gaze penetrates you, slowly turns your remorse into loud gulping sobs.

Faster than I entered her, you register the sharp crack of my hand against your cheek. With a slight shake of my head, I tell you to stifle your cries.

Chastened, you freeze;the shock binding to your disappointment, like how butter creams with sugar.

Then. There. How. Why.

I show you what a woman can do.

You cannot go the distance and it fills your heart and mind with gall. Coasts your tongue, ashes crumbling in your mouth, the acrid grit stinging.

What use are you to me?