The Brazen Man (Sin2)

Sin 2

The bronze skin of the brazen man radiates the golden sweat that treads his scarred hand.  The open wounds peaceful neighbors with the healed precursors of pain log lost to him and his body.  The nerves, like the rivers of his home, weave in and out under his skin which glistens golden brown like that of the dirt beneath his humble feet.  The hand shakes ever so modestly, to not to give away his joy and fear…and the signs of ailments that starve to plague him.  Oh yes how his hands shakes with such modesty and docile demeanor as oppose to the man who is anything but.  The man who waged the war of sins against his own flesh only to have lost to his conscious…or whatever it maybe now, only the open wounds can tell, the healed ones have since long forgotten…it has been too long for them, they are now only inks of life etched upon a peasant canvas.

The lonely, insolent drop betrays it’s heard and trickles down to the fingernail.  It is racing with fervor most would fear.  It is racing faster than it realizes but to what avail….it’ll only become another drop among the tears of the towering darkness whose hand shakes in delight.  Another drop to have been forgotten and yet the deed is done.  He felt it; he felt it more than he felt his own heart stabbing inward.  He felt that drop shimmy down his finger and oh what a joy it was to the man.  To feel what he had been denied.  To feel the cool drops of the desert heat invade his vicinity...perhaps that is why his hand shakes, he has begun to feel and the resulting rapture is of ungodly delights.  Delights his dry eyes long to stare upon, delights that will only be the beginning.

SIN

Another short I wrote with no clear purpose in mind


Stutter and flutter all about she did, oh how much a rattled thought she embodied as she stuttered and fluttered all about the cold, steel, room. Yes she did, yes sir, she went discombobulated all about as she tried to find the cold hand of the door to let forth the freedom, freedom she so badly desired at the her present state of discomfort. The pain, oh so sweet the sensual pain that wrapped all about her as she gently scratched away her, once, porcelain skin. Scratching and peeling off the sins that burned her mind with the fires of the never ending pain of regret and hate, oh how sweet her vile hate brewing inside her. Such luscious delicacy of feeding on the beautiful hate.

She tried harder now to wash away the sins, harder and harder and harder, oh such sweet blood flowing away from exposed veins. Veins that glistened bright red drenched in the blood of her attempts at heavenly penance of her mortal sins, oh such sweet sensual penance, almost orgasmic in its heathen beauty...a virgin sinner bound to penance.

Oh my beautiful one now fluttered about the steel room washing away the sins one scratch after another.....her arms, now not knowing the shelter of the skin, flew in the air free of judgments from heaven and hell, she flung them around carelessly because by now pain had become her slave, a pathetic, sensual, desperate slave that needed her. She didn't fear pain, why would she fear such an abhorrent whore, oh such a putrid whore begging to be fingered at will, as harsh as she could finger her sorry body.

Now she was past the bludgeoning of the arms, now she moved on those oh so luscious legs. Those long towers of lustful intents being caressed by the warm sweat being birthed by the maddening heat stemming from penance....oh how she loved the sweat of penance, nothing much sweeter than the sweat driven form the bowls of penance.

She tore off the bounding chains, chains in the visage of clothes thrust upon her by her captors. She stood now as she had entered this existence, nude, in all her glory, blood dripping from every pore....oh silly me, blood and sweat poured. Blood and sweat intertwined in a most exotic of relationships, so exotic it was, oh yes, I shutter at even imagining such love her blood and sweat shared at the pinnacle of her penance. She threw herself on the cold steel ground....shaking and fluttering like a captured bird cut in her prime.........oh but dear me she wasn't over...oh no never... she could not be done with the task at hand until the task became no more than meager rock but as it stood at the moment the task was anything but a meager rock....more resembling of a feared mountain but she was no average nomad treading the grounds of such mountain......oh my humble readers she was the god who would bring this mountain to it's begging knees.

Betrayal

Short story I wrote a long time ago.


What is the price of betrayal?  Is it worth a friendship, is a worth a commitment made to a friend of long years, a friend who has been there against all odds.  What is the price you would pay?  A simple physical and momentary joy?  A slight bout of ecstasy riddled in betrayal and dishonesty? Is that what long friendship is worth to some of us?  


In the frigid cold of the winter’s contempt 3 friends will caught up in tangle of lies and dishonesty.  Two of them long friends who considered each other sisters; the fact that they shared no genetic similarity never stopped them from presenting each other as sisters to strangers and to each other.  A friendship so deep rooted and well taken care of by time and the need to be loved and accepted, and that’s just what the sisters did for each other….loved and accepted each other’s faults and talents……but not always.

Magen, a precocious and beautiful young woman, had been a successful traveler in all of her journeys with the exception of her lust for what she jokingly called “choking the stick”.  As headstrong and tenacious Magen was, she had always succumbed to the pleasure of the “stick”.  Every boyfriend to any stranger in a club, this pleasure of oral fixation always found her in dark alleys, no matter how great the cold, or putrid bathrooms, no matter how rancid the stench…it all paled in front of what was the greatest joy for her.

Jane, her self-proclaimed sister, was a sight for sore eyes herself but she never considered herself the reigning queen of Cosmos and power lunch gossip unlike Magen.  Both successful and both young…no end of joys in sight for them except for the one thing that always bothered Jane: her sister’s disease, Magen’s need to succumb herself to, what Jane considered, vile act of attention and addiction.  They fought over Magen’s need to stop risking herself for this momentary joy.

..But Magen could never get her fill….

Present day:  The two self-titled “city sisters” had gathered in Jane’s apartment with her fiancé.  Between them both Magen was expected to tie the knot first but Jane turned out to set the precedent.  It had been 2 weeks since Jane had forced Magen to stop and the anxiety was riding strong in the rambunctious young woman.  Anxious, Magen ran up to the upstairs bathroom, put down the seat, sat down with her head between her knees to suppress the desire of “choking the stick”….that nickname for the act always did bother Jane.  In her tormenting desire to wrap her lips around the joy she forgot to lock the bathroom door. “CLICK”, the door opened and in walked Jane’s fiancé, a doe eyed young man who himself held much promise.  Surprised to find Magen so distraught, the young man opted to leave her alone but decided to stay after Magen swiftly replied “I am sorry”…she seemed in discomfort and almost in pain.  So the young man decided to ask her about her troubles.  Magen, in need to find any comfort, told him of her weakness.  Instead of saying anything back the young man just stared at her…..

….and all Magen heard after, in the dead silence, were the unzipping sounds stemming form the young man’s pants…..

She swallowed with pleasure as the young man pulled out the “stick” she had so longed for.  To her it was the most beautiful thing she may have ever seen and to the young man it was thrill which his fiancé would not let him partake in.  Both of their hearts raced, especially since someone they both loved dearly was downstairs and against what was about to take place….

…but both didn’t care.

Magen, gently held the lightly tanned bundle of joy and placed it softly around her lips….a wave of excitement and madness ravaged through her body.  Her every muscle tingled with the thrill of it all and as for the young man…he broke a sweat even in the dreary cold that invaded the house all around. She again swallowed with pleasure as she placed the stick gently around her wet lips, over and over and over again pausing only to take a mild breather.  It surprised her how much 2 weeks had made a difference.  How the arousal and the pleasure was so much stronger than before.  She thought to herself: if she wasn’t so weak she’d actually stop her self once in a while to get such a joyful response from her body like she was experiencing now.  The young man was equally thrilled, they both slightly moaned, as not to disturb Jane.  Magen sat affirm on the toilet seat, with her legs spread and shaking slightly from the build up release, the young man stood tall and close, right in front of her….it didn’t matter to Magen, she thought to herself that: he could have been lying on his back and she’d still “choke his stick”, she then proceeded to laugh inside from the thought as all was well in Magen’s ecstasy driven kingdom….

….she was getting her fill.

The stick consumed her, invaded her body, her mind, her nerves, her sense of self and her thoughts but Magen didn’t care.  She was getting her fill.  So insidious was her appetite for the oral fixation that she forgot to breathe sometimes….

…..and she forgot to hear the gentle foot steps of Jane.


SWUNG", opened the door from Jane’s force because she had suspected something when it was too quite.  Jane knew that a garish personality like Magen’s could never produce silence and she worried.  The door swung open as they both were busy in the act of betrayal.  Jane stood wide mouthed and stupefied because not only had her “sister”  broken her promise and not only did she see an ugly side of her fiancé she never dreamed was there but the biggest shock was that they both took responsibility in this act together and with each other.  Jane, distraught, shook her head and went downstairs without saying a word.  The young man stood in shock and horror while Magen just sat there with her head held in shame.


…But deep inside Magen knew she wasn’t sorry.  Jane had brought this upon herself and as the young man went down to try to console his love Magen quickly rose to her feet and shut the door before the young man could leave.  She slowly unzipped the young man’s pants, pulled out the “stick”, sat the shaken young man down and proceeded to do what they both had been doing before.  The young man didn’t want to anymore but even he couldn’t deny the urge.  Magen pulled her hair back, spread her legs again and said to the young man


“I tried, I really did…..I just can’t give up smoking”

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