Trinity Wolf's EroticLit

Shrinking the Dick

2010-08-08T05:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a while my naughty peeps. Here's an old short I wrote....

***

Shrinking the Dick.

She knew she should have put on panties this morning. Whenever Martin Toscana walked into her office, she felt her inner thighs become moist and hot. She made sure to not schedule any patients directly after him; she made herself come over and over for a half an hour after he left each week. Not very professional, but necessary if she wanted to focus on her other patients the rest of the day.

He sat down looking agitated, and Dr. Jillian Holt, PhD, smoothed her hands down her thighs. He followed the movement with his green eyes.

“I had that dream again.” He lowered his head, maintaining his gaze. “I was on a case somewhere in the boonies. Casing out a cabin where a witness was stashed. The people who hired me wouldn’t take it well if I didn’t make sure the job was done.”

“And you’re the PI again?”

“Yeah, yeah” he waved his hand, “I’m always a PI—in the dream.” He glanced down at her legs and could almost feel them wrapped around his head.

“Martin, how about we talk about your real job, at the bank?”

“No, I—I’d like to talk about this. See, in the dream I’m hired to find her because a mole in the FBI snitches her out, and the guys I’m working for want her…quiet. But instead of telling them where she is, I turn in the guys that hire me. This witness, she’s—well, it’d be a shame if they killed her. Let’s just leave it at that. Anyway, after I turn these guys in to the Feds, they come after me. Most likely the mole tells them what I did. See?”

Dr. Holt stood and walked over to the bookshelf near him, squeezing by him to reach for her book on dreams. He could smell her. She was fragrant, musky, the scent of a woman when she is aroused; the scent right before he plunges his tongue in her—

“Martin,” she turned away from the shelf, looking down to him, “have you considered that this recurring dream is symbolic for your desire to rescue someone? A desire to do the right thing in your waking life, perhaps?”

Her pussy was in front of his face and she felt like hiking up her skirt then and there, professional ethics be damned. Her breathing became heavy as he stared into her eyes.

He lost all of his reason about then.

“Martin—“ She whispered as his hand slid up her thighs and between her legs. He found her wet, ready, swollen. Her legs almost buckled and she shook her head, “No, we--I can’t...oh God...”

As if from a dream, he pulled his hand out from under her skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips. She moaned audibly. He placed his large hands on her ass, pulling her to him, burying his mouth on the outside of her skirt. She held onto his shoulders, but simultaneously pushed away. She glanced at her degrees on the wall. That sobered her up. This guy was married, a banker, living in the suburbs. What did she think would happen?

Jillian pushed away from him and smoothed her skirt, breathing loudly, trying to gain some composure. She walked shakily toward her desk and sat down. Her face was flushed as her pussy pulsed with the warmth of his fingers. Three more minutes and she would have been there. The benefits of being 37.

Martin whooshed his breath out and ran his hand through his hair. “God, I’m—I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I guess it’s because I won’t be in to see you anymore.”

“What?” No! “Why—I mean, it’s probably for the best, now, but—“

“No, it’s my insurance. The bank’s changed providers, and well, look, I’m sorry. I--I won’t be back.” She watched as he grabbed his long leather duster and walked toward her. Her legs fell open slightly, knowing that if he knelt in front of her, buried his face in her, she wouldn’t resist again. But he didn't.

He pulled her up by her shoulders gruffly and kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth, causing her hands to course through his thick wavy hair. Her own dark hair tumbled out of its bun, and she grabbed her glasses and yanked them off. She brought her hands down to caress him. His hard cock strained against his black slacks. Before she could undo his pants, he pulled away and walked out of her office, glancing back only once.

He didn’t look happy to leave.

She sat panting in her chair. When she could stand, she locked her door and hiked up her skirt.

She felt her slick wetness where his hand had been and her other hand pulled her dress shirt out so she could snap open her bra.

One hand played on her taut nipples while the other rhythmically stroked her clit, her legs splayed out in front of her. Her hips danced up from her leather chair, and she shimmied herself to the floor, not caring what noises her assistant would hear. Not this time. When she came, she groaned loudly, calling out and thrusting her hips up. And she couldn’t stop at just one.

Outside in the alley, Martin’s hand rapidly stroked his cock, pulling the last of his orgasm all over the building’s wall. It was the same place he always did it. His disappointment was bitter as he watched her this one last time, knowing there would be no more Tuesdays to watch her flushed face go taut with her climax. He’d taken a chance today, but he couldn’t leave her without saying goodbye.

He parked his car around the block from his building. He looked up at his apartment window. The light was on. Shit. They had already found where he lived. And there was no way he could go back to his office, ever. He hoped his secretary had gotten the message. She was a nice gal. He would have to compensate her later. Unfortunately PI’s only got paid half up front. He doubted the other half was coming. He was running out of money and time. He was once again glad he had never told Dr. Jill who and what he really was. Let her think I’m a banker. Let her think I’m a cheating schmuck. Better she think that than be dead.

He got back into his black Spyder and headed downtown to his emergency hole-up. He brought his hand up to his face and smelled her again. There wouldn’t be any time for fantasies. He had too many people after him, now. He would have to go get the witness, get her safe, then disappear.

The morning was caressing the sky as Jill sat nervously at the edge of her desk tapping her leg manically.

The FBI scoured her office, already disheveled from the night before.

“Look, Dr. Holt, I can get a court order.”

“Then you’ll have to. I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not a patient is under my care.” She had honestly never heard of the man, but she couldn’t tell them that, one way or another. What it had to do with her office being broken into last night, she didn’t know.

“Okay, okay, so why is it that only one file was stolen, huh? This ‘Martin Toscana’?

“I told you, I’ve no idea.” She shifted uncomfortably as the agent’s eyes bored into her.

“Uh huh. Let me remind you, Doctor, that you called us to investigate this burglary. You ain’t bein’ too helpful.”

“I called the police, not the FBI.”

A young, fresh faced agent came in quickly, “I got it, Agent Stringham. I got Talbot’s photo.”

The older man took it and shoved it into Jill’s face, “Okay, Doc, are you tellin’ me you’ve never seen this man?”

Jill gasped. The man they were calling Marcus Talbot was none other than Martin Toscana.

“He’s—that’s not his name…”

“Oh yeah, Marcus Talbot’s his name all right, and we’ve been tailing him here for weeks. He’s in deep shit with some very bad people. Now, you wanna tell me what you know, or do you wanna see him dead?”

Jill swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head. “Court order.”

If he lied about his name, what else has he lied about?

His cell rang and he planned on ignoring it again, but something made him check out the number. He recognized it, vaguely. On impulse, he picked up.

“Yeah.”

“So, Martin, do I call you that, or Marcus?”

“Shit. Dr.—Jillian, what the fuck are you doing calling me?”

“Who’s after you really? Did you know the Feds have been tailing you? You aren’t a banker, are you? Holy shit. Someone has stolen my file, everything on you! And if one shred of what you told me is true, you’re in it deep. Martin—Marcus… I can help you. Where are you?”

“We can’t talk now. Meet me at the bar in the Rivers Hotel on 83^rd. I’ll be in the very back.”

He hung up, and Jillian’s hands shook as she hung up her phone. She inhaled deeply and then shuddered. Abruptly, her inner thighs became very, very wet.

He was all the way in the back of the smoky bar, head down, eyes cast up. A familiar look to her. She swallowed heavily and walked toward him. The band played a jazz tune three beats slower than the original, giving it a morose, gothic quality. The Naugahyde chairs in black and red bore tears in all the seats. Her heels clicked on the bare spots in the filthy red carpet runner, and she hoped she wouldn’t trip on the shredded holes.

She stood at the table awaiting the invitation to sit, but without a word he grabbed her hand and briskly strode out the back, dragging her behind him as she protested. He burst through the kitchen, a cook shouting at them in Indian. She resisted, becoming alarmed. She really didn’t know him after all.

“Hey, wait! You may be a--a tough guy, asshole, but you can’t just—“

Marcus pulled her outside into the alley, wheeled her around and pushed her up against the brick wall. Steam poured out of the exhaust near them as he locked his mouth on hers. It isn’t what he’d had in mind when she got there.

But seeing her, he had to taste her, had to fuck her. She held his face in her hands as she ate at his mouth, moaning as his hands wandered over her breasts, finding her nipples and clamping them between his fingers.

They tore at each other’s clothes, and she panted in his ear, “Fuck me, I want you to fuck me…”

Her skirt was long and soft and again, nothing kept his hand from her soft, wet folds. He stroked her, and becoming impatient, thrust two fingers into her until she cried out. Letting him support her weight, she moaned into his shoulder. His other hand freed his cock, already pulsing and moist, and he rubbed it against her stomach. She buried her face into his shoulder, biting him, moaning aloud for him to take her.

He brought her face back to his, devouring her mouth, wanting her amidst the smoky darkness of the alley and the chaos of the city noise.

“Where?” She asked, looking around. He answered her by lifting her up on a low window sill. The brick scratched her ass, and the pain brought a sharp breath from her. He roughly spread her legs and did what he’d wanted to do the very first time he saw her. He knelt down, plunging his tongue in her slippery-wet folds. She tasted like she smelled, all perfume, musk and sweet-honey. His tongue worked her clit, his mouth covered in her juices as he drank her in. She held handfuls of his hair, pulling him into her, moaning as her orgasm spilt upward and out of her. His moaning coaxed her waves.

He stood, holding his cock at her opening and pushed his way into her tightening pussy. She was already coming, and he hadn’t even penetrated her.

He worked his way inside, her tightness increasing with her climax. She spilled over him again. He thrust into her, feeling her hotness encase his shaft. He slammed into her as she made helpless noises, digging her nails into him.

He felt himself pulse into her, his orgasm spilling out, his legs shaking with the force of it.

“Marcus? It’s ‘Marcus’, isn’t it?” He laughed into her shoulder and pulled away.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s my name.”

“Why did you come to see me? Why all the bullshit about being married—are you married?” Her eyes were wide.

“No, no, not married. And as you probably guessed, I’m not in the banking business either. What happened with the Feds?”

Jill pulled her skirt down and stood, shakily. She felt the wetness trickle down her soaked thighs and sat back on the ledge. “Uh, I need to clean up a bit.”

“I have a room here; let’s go upstairs and clean up.”

“What? You have a room here and you fucked me in an alley?” Her face was incredulous and he smiled slyly at her.

“I like alleys.”

His room was sparse and dark. She walked in and listened to him run the shower.

“So you’re a Private Dick, huh? You sure had me fooled. You are either a consummate actor, or completely psychopathic.”

He poked his head out of the bathroom and smiled, “Maybe a little of both.”

“Great. That makes me feel so much better.”

He walked out of the bathroom nude. His muscular body swayed confidently and he leaned up against the door jam. She wanted to touch that salt and pepper hair again. His green eyes looked her over and she felt herself getting excited all over again. He saw the look on her face. “Look, Jill, I can’t see you after this.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as he came over to her and began stripping off her clothes. She shook her head, “I don’t understand. If what you said was true, then can’t the Feds put you in protective custody? Can’t you go into some kind of hiding?”

“Someone in the FBI is in on getting rid of this witness.”

“What? That was true too?”

“Yeah. That’s how the guys that hired me found this witness in the first place. An FBI mole. No one knows who he is, but wherever I go, they’ll find me, too. I gotta get her to a safe place, then I’m gone. I have to disappear. You are taking a huge risk being with me now. I shouldn’t have had you come here. God, I have wanted you for so long.”

As the water tumbled over her curvy body, he took in her striking face, her hair trailing around her shoulders, her breasts.

Her eyes looked wounded, then. She looked up at him, “Marcus, I can’t accept that I can’t see you again. Technically, you were never my patient, Martin was. We could—we could wait until all of this blows over, we could—“

“No, Jill, we can’t. You’re in it too deep already. The people who are after me won’t stop until she’s dead and me along with her. If they think you know something, you could be in danger, too.”

“I can help you, hide you. Tell me where you’ll be; I can help you hide her. I can’t live with not seeing you again! I have to know you’re okay.” Her eyes became red and she sniffed loudly.

He kissed her again and this time, it was soft, languorous. He knelt in front of her, suckling her nipples as she tilted her head back. He made his way down, and she stopped him. “No.”

She helped him up and then knelt in front of him. She maintained eye contact with him as she licked his balls, already taut with anticipation. She stroked her tongue all the way up his shaft, and took him in her mouth, down her throat. Her tongue worked the tip of his cock as he felt her moving him in and out of her yielding mouth.

“Oh, God…we don’t have time….”

“Tell me where you’ll be, how I can reach you. I know people that can help you. Then I’ll stop if you really want me to.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

She got a playful look in her eyes and smiled. “Well then, I’ll keep going if you tell me.” With that, she engulfed him in her mouth, and then roughly let him go.

He stared in her eyes and knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without her. He pulled her up and kissed her. He realized at that moment that he’d never had anyone with whom he had been more intimate. He’d told her his deepest, darkest desires, his most intimate dreams, his real nightmares. If he could trust her with all of that, he could trust her with this. He whispered in her ear and she smiled.

She took him in her mouth, moaning as she suddenly took him deep. She sucked as she brought her lips to his head, licking off the slippery juices forming there.

“What do you say we go to the bed? The water isn’t staying warm.”

His vision cleared long enough to nod in assent.

He dried her off, then himself. These shitty motels never give you more than one towel. He opened the door and walked out, stopping short.

“Hello Marcus.” The man sat on the bed, the .38 sitting benignly in his lap.

Marcus wanted to throw himself on him, kill him with his bare hands. He didn’t want Jill even near the son of a bitch. “Look, I met her at the bar. Let her out of here and we’ll talk.”

Jill held on to Marcus’s shoulders from behind, then moved him aside. She walked around to the bed.

“What the fuck?”

Jill turned and recited the whereabouts of the witness as she got dressed.

The man on the bed smiled and picked up his cell, dialing.

Marcus looked at Jill, shock replaced by rage. “You bitch. You fucking bitch. You work for these assholes?”

“So do you, Marcus.”

Marcus shook his head. “Not anymore. You just killed an innocent woman, you fucking cunt.”

Jill smiled. “That ‘innocent woman’ was going to testify against Vince Velarde, my boss. She seduced him, stole from him, then turned on him. I was protecting mine. Tell me, did she fuck you too, to get you to protect her?”

He thought of the woman, her petite, delicate beauty, vulnerability… “None of your fucking business.”

“Fine. But know this. Whatever you may feel for me, I just saved your life.”

“You think so? I’m a dead man either way.”

The man on the bed shook his head. “No. This witness goes away, you’re free and clear.” The man put the gun away. “The Feds want the mole. They could give a shit about your witness. Free and clear, my friend.”

“Right.” Marcus stared at Jill, her dark beauty mocking him.

The man on the bed stood, “You don’t get it, asshole. Do you know who her boss is?”

“No, I don’t and I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well you’d better give a fuck. Because he’s the guy who’s gonna take care of your little blond bitch. Then you, my friend, are clear on both sides. Just keep your nose clean and your mouth shut.”

“Oh? And what’s gonna keep your guys from taking me out anyway, huh?”

He jerked his thumb toward Jill as he walked out the door, “The boss’s little sister. Have a nice day.”

The door closed behind him and Marcus stared into Jill’s eyes. In the deafening silence, Jill smiled. “Now, where were we?”

END

Partnerships

2010-07-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

Trinity has found a friend.

Now, I'm not saying I have absconded the idea of F.R.S. (Female Recreational Sex); no indeed, but I've found that I enjoy connecting with my female lovers in ways I never did when I was younger.

Last night was no exception.

S and I went to dinner together and spent time laughing and sharing, talking, laughing some more....then we got a room.

Suddenly, expectations and awkwardness ensued. We both covered for these feelings nicely by laughing even more. And we were a little toasted--not much, just enough to be giggly. I love to tease her and she has this deliciously dry sense of humor that makes me warm in all the right places.

But there was an interesting specter, maybe even two that hovered near-by:

Our husbands were both home, awaiting us with baited breath, hoping ours was baited as well. And I found that as much as I wanted S, as much as I enjoyed S, I wanted to be close to her, naked with her, ravishing her....the more I wanted to share my experience with Bent, my beloved. I wanted to experience the moment with her with him, too. I wanted him to know how wonderful I think she is, how funny, how beautiful, how her roiling sexuality affects me. I wanted to share her and I wanted her to share me with her beloved. I wanted all of us. For some reason, it felt incomplete.

And I'd never had that before. I don't think it has anything to do with S; on the contrary, I think it has to do with my relationship to Bent. We are so in-tune with each other sexually, that doing anything without him now seems lop-sided and strange. But I still yearn for women, S in particular.

So we decided to stop kissing and laughing and to include the men later, of course.

What I wanted to say but couldn't was this: "S, you are beautiful and I am so aroused by you both sexually and mentally--we are kindred spirits in so many ways. I want to experience you in every way. I thought we could do that first, then perhaps include our partners; but I realize that this was backwards. We are both in primary partnerships and in order to feel comfortable, I think we need to present ourselves that way. In short, I want you, but I want all of you, whatever that means. I want your partner there to experience me through you, and vice versa. Most of all, I want to 'keep' you and not lose each other because we didn't honor our feelings.

I believe we will be able to experience each other in a total way if we open ourselves to the possibility that we are inextricably a part of a whole in our partnerships. You turn me on. You make my "burneth"; most surprising, you help me feel a wholeness that I want to share with the most important man in my life. Thank you for your beauty and friendship. Until next time, and make it soon--for we mustn't "try"--we must "do".

But I couldn't say it last night because when my tongue wasn't tied with hers, it was laughing, enjoying, feeling the possibilities, one lick at a time.

paix,

Trinity

Trinity's Back x3

2010-03-31T03:35:00.000-07:00

Trinity has neglected her blog....

Mostly because my name--Trinity, is a pen name and I use a different one now. I go by the name Vice and I'm part of the duo Bent and Vice.

But on this blog I'll stay Trinity.

Now onto more important matters.....

What has she been up to, into? Who has been into her? Ah.........

A picture's worth a thousand words....or is it sighs?

More to come my dears.....

paix

Trin

Treading Lightly Forward

2008-11-08T06:29:00.000-08:00

I am winding my way down a dark corridor

one that has no drop off, but perhaps a wall...

And the trick is to see

what's on the other side....

what resides in the shadows beyond what's real

(c)RayBaycliff

and what's only tinged with real.

And he has his mouth on mine

then in my ear

and hot breath singes me inside

as he tells me about her

telling him about me

and how her mouth met mine in a flurry of sighs

and her musky cunt left perfumed rings around my mouth

and how I bathed in her and she in me

and I'm tumbling and he's with me and we don't know when to stop

or where

until that wall--

the wall that has awaited us all along

comes into view.

and I brace for the impact

his body stiffens as he penetrates me with a last cry

warmth engulfs me and molten, dulcet fluid sprays us

as the wall envelopes us,

taking us deftly to the

other side...

but the lack of collision leaves me craving--

craving the pain;

all the while the corridor deepens and continues...

Ahhhhhhhhh Back Again

2008-09-30T05:33:00.001-07:00

Trinity has been a busy little bee.

Doing exactly what the picture depicts. If you have followed my blog at all--ever, you'll notice many-a bitter-sweet poems about lust, love and broken hearts. I don't know what to say to that--the fella who broke my heart is now mending it within the parochial and provincial confines of marriage. Ha.

But don't worry...

my libido is alive and well.

And I'm coming......

back.

paix,

Trinity

* * * *

Just Talk

I heard a little bird tell me

that naughty little thing

right in my ear last night.

and while the folds of skin between my thighs

shot out the creamy flood of

atonement

for all of those wild, dark things

whispered into the wild, dark spaces-

I called out an inextricable vow,

a declaration, if you will

to stay here

be here

wander only within the confines of my words

your words;

and they throbbed through me,

stroking the inside of my cunt like a syrup

trickling down my slit.

as I open my ears to receive you

I close my mouth to possibilities

nestled in the copious cinema of my brain,

that place where it all happens;

that cinematic wink of something passing through me

like silky musk,

creamy and slick

only to be devoured

by my closed and aching mouth;

only to be devoured

with my words.

Opening

2008-03-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

Pandora's opening her box

and what flies away with the dawn

is no simpler than mere lust and fancy...

catechisms sung in the dark

hips resting on thighs resting on legs resting on

you resting on me

and confusion as the opening is unravelled

to expose the deft touch of my lover's

fingers;

underneath the spying moon

her hands wander past and through

my opening

my wanderings

all fade away when she touches me

there, just there

stroking the softest way she can

circles and ringlets like dancing

beams on smooth lakes

only the water is much deeper here.

The dunes turn red with the heat

and the earth shudders as I tumble down the apex

legs quivering

arms reaching, clawing at the stones

hot liquid gushing in a harmony so refined as to

humble even the most auspicious of saints....

a finale to end all,

be all

and it all happened in the rose garden

of the gods.

Lilith--A Short Story

2008-02-01T03:09:00.000-08:00

Lilith

“I need you to bend over more; I’ll warn you before I put anything in, okay?”

Laurel hid her smile. Even through her nervousness, her mind could only go to her crotch.

“This is my first tattoo.” She made idle conversation as she felt him slither her pants further down. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get winked at.

“Uh huh.”

Mr. Personality wiped something cold and wet on her lower back.

“You sure you don’t want to do this with color?”

“I’m sure.” Laurel didn’t like tattoos with all of those God-awful bright colors. They looked like someone had thrown up Fruity Pebbles on their skin. “Nope, I just want the dark ink.”

“She’s gonna be beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Better with color.”

Sigh.

Laurel had been obsessed with the Tarot ever since she was a kid. Her favorite card was the Enchantress. So much power, so much feminine wisdom, sexuality. Her Enchantress would be standing just above her sacrum and the tendrils of vines emanating from her cauldron would swell across her entire lower back.

“She gotta name, this lady?”

“Well she’s ... ” She really didn’t want to go into the Tarot with him. “Sure, yeah, uh her name is ... Lilith.”

“Huh, that’s funny. That’s my great aunt’s name.”

“Funny.”

“Okay, I need you to hold real still, now, K? I’m pressing the drawing onto your skin.”

The cold tacky paper caused her flesh to tingle and gooseflesh to travel up her arms. She hoped he could work on her if she had gooseflesh. His fingers wrapped around her waist as he held the paper; his fingers were warm, so close to her. She wondered what Mr. Personality would be like in bed, with all of his gauges, tatts and piercings. How would she ask him?

So do all of your piercings and tatts improve your fucking performance, or are they just something to look at if one gets bored?

“K, here we go.” The sound of the needle startled her a little. She hadn’t expected it to be so loud. Her heart thudded in her chest and her hands turned icy as she braced for the pain. And pain it was.

At first it was like a lit match being held to her skin. She wasn’t expecting the burning sensation. She wished she’d taken her friend Abby’s advice and popped some pills beforehand. Now, along with burning, she felt the sting. Her mind went to the sheer size of her tattoo; her heart sank. It was going to be a long session.

He wiped her skin to remove blood. She noticed that when he began again, the burning stopped.
Endorphins must’ve kicked in.

When he took the needle away, she craved it again. She missed the tingle, missed the way it prickled on her skin. She wanted more.

He did the sides first, the vines snaking and interlacing, ending at the base of the cauldron. He came to her sacrum; he said it was more sensitive there.

“The endorphins kick in, then I do the spine. That’s where it gets really tender. More nerve endings.”

She felt the needle anew right smack in the middle of her back. The burning lasted only a moment, and then she relished the sensation again, now more pronounced and sharp. Time slowed as she smelled smoke and listened to the vague screeching of Mindless Self Indulgence in the background. She also had an odd sensation she wasn’t quite expecting.

She was getting very, very wet. She could feel the seam in her jeans slippery and moist. She tried not to move, but found it irresistible.

He leaned into her and she felt him press against her ass. His cock was stiff.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, “but you gotta hold still.” His breath shivered along her ear. She decided she wanted another tattoo after this.

The needle whirred to life and the pain was sharp again; she felt it up and through her, a velvet glove reaching into her pussy, fingering her. She laid her forehead down on her arm, concentrating on her breath. His one hand was on her back, the other holding the needle. She knew this in her logical mind. So why did she feel someone stroking her crotch?

She held very still, did what she was told. The stroking became more pronounced, more rhythmic. She heard him whisper again.

Hold still, don’t move.

She wanted to thrust whatever was touching her deeper, wanted it to sear through her while the needles pulsed through her flesh.

As if her pants had been around her ankles, a warm touch ran down her ass and found her cunt wet, dripping, slick beyond anything she’d felt. She realized, with alarm, that his one hand was still on her back. Was someone else in the room?

She was beyond caring as the strokes ground her clit in circles; she breathed in staccato, whimper.

Hold still, hold still...

The needles pricked her with welcome distraction, just enough that she couldn’t collapse. She felt herself tighten, felt herself being entered. Whatever it was became instantly thicker, longer, touching her in that place that was as much pain as it was pleasure. The sensation throughout her whole lower body gripped her, and she felt moisture soak her upper thighs. Her breathing was rapid as she fought for control, fought to stay motionless as the whir of the needle became louder, pulsing through her body. The music blasted as she lost the fight, groaning and quaking. Her breath huffed out with moans as her pussy throbbed, spurting hot creamy liquid, completely soaking her jeans.

She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, legs quavering. The faint music was now a strange mixture of modern-twenty’s-style music. Squirrel Nut Zippers. They were singing about Hell. She must have fallen asleep. But her jeans told her what happened while she slept.

Oh my dear fucking God.

“K,” Scott, a.k.a. Mr. Personality said in a blasé tone, “It’s gonna be red, but you can see the ink. It looks totally sick.”

She found her voice, “Sick?”

“Cool. It looks fucking cool.”

Her lower body still throbbed as she watched him pick up a mirror. She watched his face; it held nothing for her but pride in his work. Had he not noticed she had fallen asleep and had an orgasm?

He moved near her. “Take a look.”

He held the mirror up and tilted it so she could see. Upside down and from where she sat, it was intricate and amazing. The dark ink was surrounded by bright pink, swollen flesh. She thought of her wet jeans and she pulsated anew. It was the most intense orgasm she had ever had. Her whole body...

“It looks ... wow. I can’t see it that well yet—”

“Yeah, the swelling will go down. I’m gonna put some ointment on it and cover it. Take the covering off in about three hours. Keep it moist. If you don’t, it’ll scar and look fucked up. Got it?”

“Yeah.” She stood shakily and looked at him, searching. The thought crept across her mind with an unwelcome start that maybe she’d been molested while she slept. What if he’d let someone fondle her? What if he DID that sort of thing?

“Were we alone this whole time?”

“Yep.” Scott was busily cleaning up the bloodied tissues and tidying up his tray. “I fell asleep ... ”

He smiled and nodded, “I know.” He looked amused, the little fucker.

She was pissed and humiliated and had no idea what to say. She was positive her face was redder than her back.

He looked at her with deep blue eyes framed in dark lashes. “Look, don’t worry about it. Happens sometimes. Pain and pleasure aren’t so far apart. Your secret’s safe.”

“Great.” She smiled tightly, her ears burning with her back. “Thanks again.”

“Yep.” Mr. Personality stood. There was no sign of anything hard in his pants. He caught her looking and smiled crookedly, “You okay? You didn’t take anything before you got here?”

“No ... I mean, yes I’m fine. No I didn’t take anything.”

“If you decide to color her, I can do it for you in a week. I’ll give you a deal. I can make it subtle, not clownish.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Laurel wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there.

Thank God her jeans were dark.

Abby couldn’t stop laughing.

“You done?”

“Almost,” she sputtered, doubled over.

“It’s not funny, Abby! The guy worked on me and I creamed my fucking jeans! How humiliating is that?”

Abby took a deep shuddering breath, “So how was it?”

“Which one?” Laurel held her face in her hands.

Abby giggled, “Both.”

“The ink was fine. I obviously liked it, and I came harder than I’ve ever come in my life. How’s that for fucked up?”

“And he knew it?”

“He said ‘it happens.’ As if that made it better! God!”

“Well, it looks amazing. I love how she’s smiling. It’s so seductive and secretive-looking.”

“Smiling? What are you talking about?” Laurel hadn’t looked that close, but Enchantress didn’t smile.

“Yeah, she has this cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smile.”

“Lemme see that ... oh my God, she does! Why’d he do that?”

“Maybe you twitched.”

“Very funny.”

“It looks good. I wouldn’t worry about it. When’s your date with Bryan?”

“Seven. I‘ve got to shower. That water’s gonna sting.”

Abby snickered, “Well, use your shower massager¬—that’ll help.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She had way too much to drink at dinner, but damn the wine was good.

They stumbled out of the taxi and into her front door, barely shutting it as their mouths furiously ate each other.

“Oh ouch!”

“Sorry,” he panted, “forgot about the tatt.” He peeled her shirt from her and unhooked her bra.

He knelt in front of her and covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking as his hand rubbed the front of her jeans. She and Bryan had only gone out four times, but the heat between them was a succulent living thing, taking away her reason. She knew tonight was the night—and tonight, of all nights, she had a new tattoo.

“I, uh, can’t lie on my back.”

“You won’t need to.” He whispered and took her other breast in his mouth, leaving the last one throbbing.

He peeled her jeans and panties down and kissed her stomach. She stood in front of him as his mouth clamped on her pussy, tongue finding her swollen clit. He stroked it slowly, then spread her legs slightly to cover it with his mouth.

She helped him slip off his shirt. His hard body made her vow to go back to the gym—immediately.

Her trembling fingers couldn’t undo his pants; he helped her, pulling them down to reveal himself, leaning to the left, rock-hard and ready. Laurel moaned and got on all fours, taking him in her mouth. He sucked in his breath sharply.

She worked his head, letting the silky underside of her tongue glide on the underside of him. She could taste his salty sweetness: musky, male ... she groaned as she took him deeper.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?” he whispered.

They stood and grasped at each other again, walking and then stopping to devour each other. After what seemed like forever, they reached the bedroom. She sat in front of him and began working him with her tongue while her fingers slid up and down her clit.

Her tattoo began to distract her as she sucked him. It was itching and little pin-prickly sensations became stronger, as if the tattoo artist was drilling her right there. She tried to ignore it as Bryan pulled his fingers through her hair. She lapped at him, her mouth enveloping his head, drinking him, sweet fluid already seeping.

“Oh, God, fuck, Laurel ... fuck!”

She felt him tense as warm come shot into her mouth. She rolled it on her tongue, swallowed, and gently pulled her mouth away. His hand stayed in her hair as his other hand stroked her cheek.

His eyes finally opened, and he ordered her to turn around and kneel. “Your turn.”
She knelt and again—the pain. She wondered if she needed more ointment on it. “Bryan, wait ... I think I need to put more stuff on the tattoo. Sorry.”

“No worries. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

After she lubed up, she walked out to see him smiling lazily. “Come to papa.”

“My pleasure.”

She crawled across the bed and kissed him, and he turned her around. She was on all fours and he kissed her ass; his tongue found her moist opening, swollen, ready. His finger penetrated her as his tongue worked her clit. The ointment had soothed the pain at first, but now it was really hurting. She would never be able to come like this, but his tongue and fingers felt so very good. She thought about her orgasm earlier and that was all it took for her pleasure to override her discomfort. She escalated, and Bryan began to moan into her. He was rubbing himself, getting hard again.

She arched her back and felt his fingers go deeper. As her orgasm pulsed through her, the pain in her back intensified and she felt herself slide over the edge. The gush of warm fluid spurted and Bryan groaned, covering her whole throbbing pussy, drinking her. She came and came again, but her burning back caused her to call out as much as the pleasure. He moved his mouth away and entered her, slamming into her swollen opening until she shrieked. The pleasure and pain caught her in an agonizing, final climax.

He called out as his body stiffened. She collapsed on her forearms, and then she felt him become very still as he pulled out and away from her.

“Bryan, you okay?”

“Uh ... I dunno.”

She looked over her shoulder and he sat on his heels, staring at her ass. Great, is he just noticing now that my gym membership’s lapsed?

“Bry? What’s—”

He pushed his hand through his hair. He looked pale, “You know, I think I had too much to drink. I’m gonna get home, I don’t feel very good.”

She swallowed back a lump in her throat, “You know, when you have sex with a woman, you don’t just up and leave.”

“Laurel, I’m sorry.” He looked into her eyes, “You’re amazing and I—I just don’t feel well. I saw something that—I don’t know if it was the wine or what.”

“What? What did you see?”

“Your tattoo ... it disappeared.”

She wrenched her neck around and saw the ink on her lower back. She glanced up at him, eyebrow cocked.

“No, it—it disappeared while I—it was gone and then I saw it come back on you, like someone was drawing it—” He looked ill.

“Bryan, slow down ... what’s wrong with you? My tattoo? Are you going to bolt out of here with that story? Look, I’ll make us coffee—”

“No, I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She sat on her bed as he stalked from the room. Tears threatened as she heard the front door slam. She’d never pegged him for a dog. She should have known with all the rippling muscles.

Goddammit. She lost her fight with the tears as they coursed down her cheeks. Her tattoo began to burn anew.

Abby was insistent. “No, Laurel, he’s not like that. I know him through Ben, and he’s no dog. Ben told me that Bryan saw something seriously freaky. Like, he’s in a fetal position.”

“Oh my God! What bullshit. He regretted fucking me. That’s it.”

“No Laurel. He is freaked out.”

“Jesus. In this together, are you?”

“Laurel! I’m your friend. Why would you say that? He’s freaked out!”

Laurel hung up and tears burned in her eyes. She hadn’t gotten laid in months. Figures she’d fuck the poster boy for histrionics.

She took the bus downtown and it passed the tattoo shop. Mr. Personality was smoking out front. He locked eyes with her. Her clit awakened and she had a sensory memory of pain ... pleasure. After shopping she would visit the shop again. To see about color.

“Back for more huh? Addicted?”

“What? Oh ... I guess.”

He smiled and walked close to her, “Notice any peculiar sensations?”

She swallowed, “Like what?”

He shrugged, “Itching, pricking sensations. Sometimes it takes the spine awhile.”

“Well, something’s peculiar, but I don’t know what,” she grumbled.

He tilted his head. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I—nothing, it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” She found herself getting angry all over again, and the last person in the whole world she wanted to tell was Scott the Tattoo Guy.

“Okay ... ”

She blurted, “I was with a guy last night. He said he saw the tattoo disappear and then reappear. Then he bolted like he’d seen a fucking ghost. Okay? That’s the only peculiar fucking sensation I’ve had!”

Scott stared at her unperturbed.

“I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about my fucked up sex life. I should go. Sorry.”

“Wait.” He took her arm. “Wait, I want to show you something.” He pulled her to the back room.

Great, he’s going to show me his giant knife and leave me for dead in a dumpster.

He pulled his shirt off. On his chiseled chest was a tattoo. It was in full color, and she knew it from her deck—it was the Enchanter.

“My God, I recognize ... that’s—”

“Yeah.” Scott moved like lightning and thrust his mouth on hers. She pulled back and responded, all at once.

“What the hell—!”

He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes, “Shh, wait.”

“Wait for what? This is—” before she could finish, her back began to tingle, the prickly pain a welcome sensation. As the feeling spread throughout her whole body, she felt moisture spread down her thighs.

Her body came alive, every inch quivering, as he pulled down her skirt. He backed her up and claimed her mouth as her whole body pulsed with sensations she had never known, pleasure she had only felt yesterday as she slept on his table. Pain, pleasure, energy, all swirled between them as his hands found her dampness and stroked her. She instantly exploded in wave after wave as she had the day before, her whole body convulsing.

His eyes clenched shut as his face shone with sweat, his hands on her, in her. He kissed her neck, clamping down on it and biting so that she felt herself throb again. His pants were still on and she reached for him, but his hand caught her and held her wrist back. On and on he brought her and her vision blurred as she stood, half propped against a table.

She adjusted her eyes and a scream caught in her throat. Her Enchantress splayed across his chest, moving, as his colored Enchanter covered her. Laurel fought to get away, shaking her head, pulling his hands away. “No, no—oh my God! Jesus Christ!”

“No!” Scott gripped her. “No, please! I’ve waited so long!”

Her orgasm spilled up and over her again as she watched Lilith writhe on him, felt wave after wave rush her, her pussy ejaculating against his pants, his cock straining until dampness seeped through the front of his faded, torn jeans.

A sob caught in her throat as her back tingled again and the tattoo from his chest melded into one again.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered, quaking.

He brought his hand to her face and whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? How did this...?”

He placed his hand on his chest and held it over the Enchanter, dressed in purple and black, holding a staff. “I haven’t been able to be with a woman until you.”

She stared at his chest, and then looked into his pain-filled eyes. “Why?”

“He gets angry, my chest burns, he moves, women scream ... run.”

“Are you telling me that he’s been waiting—for her?” She reached around, felt her back, hot and tingling.

“I haven’t been with a woman without scaring the shit out of her for five years. Until you.”

“Oh hold on! You’ve absolutely scared the shit out of me! Didn’t you see it ... them?”

“Yes ... they belong together.”

“But we don’t!”

Scott swallowed and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I’ve just waited so long.”

Laurel walked into the street, the cool air rustling her skirt, her legs still not steady. She turned as Scott stared at her from the dirty window of the shop.

Pain again, prickling, a sensation of dampness as she reached back to feel warm droplets of moisture emanating from her middle back. She tasted it, and salty liquid played on her tongue.

Sadness. Pain.

Apparently, Lilith had been waiting a long time, too.

Make Me

2007-12-21T05:28:00.001-08:00

i told her what to do

and she said

make me

her eyes teased in such a way

that thunder bellowed angrily in

my belly and

between my legs a pulsing wetness

trickled...

her mouth was a flower petal

scented like strawberries and vanilla

an undertone of musk and heady spice

hair spilling over me and hands touching everything but what

needed touching

make me

my head rose to meet lips

that were not as hungry as mine

she was patient

securing nubby flesh between my teeth and

caressing my captive lightly flicking

across its tip

enveloping starry horizons in one gulp

tasting mother earth

through divine openings

bathing

plunging into the core, center

molten flesh and impossibly soft

crevices...

and she cried out

she begged

she wanted to see god

she finally uttered as the last stroke came

make me...

What Does It Take

2007-12-16T04:46:00.000-08:00

What does it take to fuck without reason?

fuck reason;

it's the only thing that doesn't make sense when it comes to cum

I had reason

once

shooting out from between my legs

I had reason

banging me like a piece of meat

slapping time

with a country rhyme

and no one here to dance in line

anymore...

Oh yeah I had my share of partners in crime

but the best was...

the best was....

the ghost,

my demon lover;

He came so unexpectedly that my hips quiver

even now.

strange how in one second, I knew who he was

and he took me

everything

placing his head between my legs

I arched my back and prayed

making no sense, nonsense

speaking in tongues while he did all the talking

it had been so long...

so long...

and he didn't stop licking me up

he didn't stop until I begged

until my legs were off into orbit and

my inner thighs were swimming

only then did he stop to introduce

none too politely

his cock

He went so deep

writhing through my limbs

and I screamed in pain and pleasure

when he took me without a word

but the real slippery slope was after

when he made love to my thoughts

like they were candy and he was

an eager tongue...

he fucked me

raw

like no one ever had

and I lost all reason

I loved him

as my demon lover vaporized

into the night

what does it take to fuck without reason?

it takes no reason at all.

Thousands of Words

2007-11-27T05:05:00.000-08:00

Thousands of Words

There are thousands of words in your trilogy

the three distinct parts of you

that melt onto me

The first was like any other

with roiling passion tilting up its head

a hungry lover

you

its soul source of nourishment,

sustenance,

feeding the beast with your heady flow of

silky liquid;

dancing on the tip of my tongue

caressing the crest of my breast

softening the blow into my cunt

a ravaging beast reaching the end

of me

And the middle

more mundane but more tender

undulating hips and eyes that meet

posturing complete;

we now engage in more

than button-flying, panting, erratic

fucking

it's more now...

Which brings us to the final chapter

of the final book of the

final

series

of our long affair of the cock and cunt and heart

the hearts don't make it, sadly,

one of them dies;
and the other rides off
without so much as a
goodbye.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Captivate

2007-11-26T06:31:00.001-08:00

You captivated me

with the first stroke

I felt rigid

then soft

couldn't move enough to get it

right

where

I need

Then rigid again

finding my center

molten heat draining

between my thighs

cheeks

rough against me

hands smooth inside me

breath

hot against me

make me scream

you captivated me

and you didn't say

a word.

Pole Power

2007-10-30T04:24:00.001-07:00

I had myself a good time.

Once again, no one paid no mind as I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

Oh but all of them were jones'n for me

I could tell by the hollow way they breathed as I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

I swirled my hips like honey rags

and made my tits jiggle

like jelly bags

I made my legs wrap around that metal tree and I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

I humped the air in tight

hard thrusts

in front of the face of a bald man's lust

with big ol' pores

and a sweaty chin

I roiled and bumped and made him grin

oh so wide, like he wanna feed...

and he slid them greenbacks on toward me

as I

stripped, danced,

got on my knees

Oh, you're my baby, my only one

can't you see it when your bid is won?

You're my only baby when the dance is done

You're my only sugar,

believe me for once

I feel your hand up and into me soft

and you impale me like a Christian cross

and with only you, baby, I beg, I plead

as I

strip, dance

get on my knees

stripped, danced

got on my knees

Them greenbacks sure do feel nice and

after last night you paid me twice

you left it on the bedside, in a crumpled vise

and your side of the bed was as cold as ice.

but I made my way to the dance floor again

and the sweaty man with his sweaty chin

had another prize for me--his key

as I dance, strip

get on my knees.

I never get lonely, I never self-doubt

I known all along what this ol' world's about;

it's about pussy and tongue, coins and fees

as I dance, strip

and get on my knees.

Senses

2007-10-08T06:50:00.000-07:00

i'm thinking of you

thinking of me

when i mold myself into clay

and open the door to you

slick, ready and eager

i drink you

i bathe in you

and you bathe in me

like an Earth creature feeling the sun warm

its face in the dawn of spring

your body is hard

lines and muscle, tense, overpowering

my body is malleable

gives to the pressure of your shaft

slapping me

helpless

controlling me

bruising me and I call for more

call out for more

bathe in me

your tongue encircles the places that shine with moisture

copious and moist

ready, hard, soft...

take me inside you as I take you

inside me

let me swim in you

no light or dark or tomorrow

just now

fuck me

and don't care how gentle you are

don't care how rough you are

just take me in such a way that I can't breathe

can't think past Now

i want to have my senses arrested, cuffed

shoved into the back seat of a car with no phone call,

no rights

no privilege

forcibly taken

so that no sight, sound, taste, smell

or touch is mine alone

swim in me

swim on me

because when you leave

the scent of you simmers on me

in me

like a volcano ready to erupt

when i finally get time alone

to conjure you again

and again.

And the Softness

2007-09-28T05:10:00.000-07:00

It was so not like her

to be so bold, but then again I was not expecting

the softness of her to feel

so commanding against me;

She was ripened fruit, giving way to the slightest

pressure,

She was an ambivalent stoicism within walls of pillow

clouds--

She was broken

And so was I

but we fixed each other, yes we fixed each other with

honey and glue binding us together within

our thighs.

But there was no core of strength in the way

her tongue trailed along my spine

and found glistening thunder

beneath folds of sky

and only then did I feel the quaking earth

die beneath me,

only then did I feel God...

But God, she said, has nothing at all to do with all of this;

So she was right again, spearing me like something stuck

on a spit,

fingers tasting my insides,

tongue caressing my outsides

on all sides

and I said it again, I called out and prayed to God.

And she smiled and told me that I must only pray now

to gods of love as her hands found my face;

gods of war as her knee nestled snugly between my swollen lips

and the gods of pleasure,

gods of the sea, as she lapped at my slick shores...

and I prayed to them all;

I muttered my prayers and thanked them

for slippery slopes nestled in between and mounds of

flesh to envelope in warmth,

of knees, and crooks of arms and napes and insoles

breasts so malleable and languorous in my mouth,

hot breath, insistent flesh...

but mostly I thanked them for musky warmth mingled with

soaked, slick bodies

and the softness. I can't forget the softness.

Ask for What You Get

2007-09-21T05:36:00.000-07:00

What I want.

What do I want.

Do I want?

I want....

...you to see me as I am, clothed, nude, in love, writhing under your touch; human, feminine, strength, beauty and tenderness.

I want you to start at the bottom and work your way up...

...but only if you started at the top in the first place.

I want you to mind-fuck me all week long

until I'm writhing in my chair, rubbing the phone on my breasts...

until the computer screen is fogged, yes, mind-fuck me all week long.

I want you to feel me when we're together, pay attention to the small sounds I make when you do something right; pay attention to the big sounds I make when you're getting me--feeling me, just right. Feel my need for you to overwhelm me. Feel my need by looking into my eyes and telling me through them that you know who I am and you want to be inside me because my insides are as beautiful as my outside.

I want you to know how you make my lower body feel when you write or say small things that tell me you want me. My legs become alive and what's between them shudders and moistens and has a tingling need to be touched by you.

I want you to pay attention to all the parts in between the good ones.

I want you....

paix

Lie To Me

2007-09-15T19:19:00.000-07:00

She knew he lied by the way he kissed her

because lying tongues

never lie.

And she felt his hands pull and push in the softest of ways

belying how hard his eyes penetrated

when she had to believe,

until she made it harder, demanding it.

Light blue skin hovered in a dish of heavy syrup,

caramelized lust wrapped in a box

with a bow;

a gift to her senses.

He turned her over and began at her feet

washing them with his mouth

edging his way up until he could part her

enter her.

She held the pillow to her,

imagining her lover

whispering all of the things

he could not,

the illusion of forever

tossed behind glass

the color of the ashes of roses.

He slid into soft wetness

copious copulation

with streams of honey glazing his face,

and he could not speak in his moment of truth

but she could always come with a forked tongue.

© Trinity Wolf

Swallow--a short story

2007-09-10T05:36:00.000-07:00

Swallow

It's like clawing out of a dream that you do not want to abandon for the light of day...

He liked to be on top. She didn't mind; she wanted to feel overpowered, taken.

But tonight, she took him.

Her mouth traveled to his belly and circled, slowly, while the tip of his cock moistened her cheek.

On top and in charge and helpless all at once.

The length of him filled her and her hands worked on him while he jerked his hips off of the bed. Tongue circling the tip, back in again; his hands in her hair, taste of musk and sex filling her mouth.

There was panic riding on this wave of lust, her mouth so full, her head moving in a rhythm she could neither stop nor ignore. Heart pounding, mouth moist and hot, all the while fighting the natural instinct to be overwhelmed with his cock slamming against her throat.

Focus, breathe, open, breathe--

She worked her finger frantically inside herself and heard him reach his end. She clamped her eyes shut as the orgasm ripped through her, and he spilled inside of her.

Helpless

Moving quickly, she raised up and laid herself on top of him. The look in his eyes was wary and smoky all at once, and she smiled as her mouth clamped on his. Forcefully she shot his cum into him and his eyes flew open; her hands were in his hair, holding him, moving him as he swallowed until his spasming throat took all of it in. She took him, took him with his own pleasure, and he let her.

Breathe...

La Cage aux Voyage---A Short Story

2007-09-02T05:35:00.000-07:00

It's idyllic, the way he holds her hand and caresses her knuckles with his mouth.

Hot breath, her hands tremble with her knees and so many questions brim at the very top of her mind; no words, though, for any of them.

The elevator is slow, gilded, and she is reminded of a cage. Her cage hovers over hundreds of feet of open space as if she were being strung up in the Moulin Rouge, her cheeks reddened and her dress flouncing as they haul her up, up. Her garter snaps as he lifts her skirt and disappears under it, his tongue finding her moisture and jerking out in time with the elevator's ascent.

The crowd cheers as she grips the bars. Her mouth opens in a perfect "o" while smoke curls past the golden cage where she sits, perched on an immovable seat. The crowd is pulsing as it watches her, the man under her skirt moves his head from side to side and so does she as her dress threatens to come off completely from the heat and fire in her cunt. He reaches up, and in a swift motion, rips her flouncing costume in two, revealing creamy white breasts, slick with her wetness. The audience screams and moans in one hot-wink burst; the applause heightens her lover's tongue as he grows impatient with her trembling legs. His fingers thrust inside and she calls out, head falling back to meet the bars painfully.

And the crowd...well, the crowd goes wild.

Naturellement.

The elevator's bell sounds and he stands, chin slick and glistening with her. He smiles, picking up their bags and grabs her hand.

The room, to her, is perfect. Even the room number is perfect; the numbers slide off of her tongue as he inserts the key, the door giving it's green light...to enter.

Flowers stand on the table heralding their entrance; their perfume mingles with the heady perfume of sex and anticipation. She is back in the cage, gilded and everything French from the milled soaps to the striped wall covering. Wine is chilled with glasses, cut crystal with the word Love in frosted glass.

The wine will look so pretty with "Love" in front of it, she thinks.

Music plays and lights dim and she knows how he had worked to make it all perfect, just for her.

He slid off her dress and attached his fragrant mouth on her neck as she moaned and collapsed on the bed. Hands wander her body and lips and teeth press into her; an ice cube from the bucket plays along her nipple and the melting issuance slides delectably down her torso like a stream to an aromatic lake. She wants him to swim in her, drown in her eyes while his cock dives into her.

She hears moaning and it isn't hers; she hears breathing and it isn't hers.

The other couple on the bed next to theirs make their own music and as she watches them she calls out with abandon and releases herself to her audience, high above the air. She is her own trapeze artist swinging in her golden abyss, her hands fastened to the ornate headboard as she sings her swan song. He coaxes her orgasm from her body, then from her lips through his own and suddenly, two pairs of eyes alight on to her as her climax shudders through her, drowning her lover's hands and face with her juices.

And the crowd...well, the crowd goes wild.

Today's the Day...

2007-08-30T07:31:00.000-07:00

Come chat with me tonight at Forbidden Publications author's chat at 7pm Mtn Time....

paix

trin

It's Coming, It's Coming....

2007-08-27T15:43:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 30th...

The Mediation: Initiation

Get it at Forbidden Publications and enjoy. The second book in the series will be available soon!

paix

trin

Pleasure

2007-08-25T05:33:00.001-07:00

Pleasures of the flesh...

Once and always denounced by those who believe in a god who would punish and repudiate those who partake of it.

We are driven by pleasure; it's in our biology. Why would it be there if we were not meant to enjoy, explore, bathe in it like an exquisite elixir? I remember a painful lesson as a child--as we all probably did--involving a rubber band and my big brother. If you stretch it and fight over it, he will let go; you will get stung.

SNAP!

The same lesson goes for pleasure. For all of the brakes that society and religion places on it, it has snapped backwards, stinging our psyches with unconscious shame, warping our ability to truly enjoy and immerse ourselves in what comes naturally. The dissonance that occurs because of the conflict of biology and pseudo-morality causes disenfranchisement; human beings who seek pleasure but feel shame experience a backlash. This leads to excess. This leads to guilt, betrayal of self. Shame. Unhappiness.

There are too many who can only enjoy pleasure in the dark. Think of the term "Guilty Pleasures." That term shouldn't exist. Why should we feel guilt for something naturally embedded in our biology, our psyches? So if you do believe in god, why would this god create bodies filled with need, but create 'laws' that circumscribe them?

Is it to somehow propel us into the Super Ego? We don't need laws and commandments for that. Our society and culture already have in place that which creates the Higher Self. Since when did denial of pleasure become sacrosanct?

Self-pleasure.

We have a need and our bodies call to us. Sliding our hands down our torso and cupping what is there, yearning to be touched. Moisture, engorged, quivering...breathing faster, pressure accumulating in complete abandon, merging with All and nothing and if there is a god or gods, you join them in heaven for

just

one

moment.

Tell me.

Tell me that's wrong. And I'll tell you that god and I...we disagree.

paix

It Is Here!!

2007-08-09T07:32:00.001-07:00

The book cover. Not as hot as the story, though. I promise you that.

paix,

trin

Some Body Like You

2007-08-07T05:47:00.000-07:00

Some Body Like You

You are warm flesh hot-slick with my sweat;
you are a dancer
with razor-sharp steps--
they slice into me,
every vein I possess
bleeding me dry till there is nothing left.
I gush helplessly
pale as the moon
no staunch to the flow
I’ll be gone by noon.

You are your mouth--it is all that I ride
a deluge of acuity from your tongue
I abide
it touches on me, on one tiny part...
the sensation engulfs me fully
save my heart.

You are the faceless one I see--but don’t;
You are the warmth I should seek--but won’t
your warmth is like his
your breath is like his
your body like his
So much alike
as to fool me to fantasy and a bare-lucid night;
with ordinary bliss
I take you to bed,
With ordinary breath
I keep your ears fed.

But you are not him, you’ll never be
He is not you and you’ll never see
that it’s his hand that strokes me inside and out
it’s his face
that burns my lids as I writhe and I shout
it’s his name that silently escapes
from my lips
it’s his finger marks I want
concaved on my hips;

grief slides across my temples
I feel the cold tears
they slip unnoticed,
back toward my ears...
but it’s his thrust that brings me over the edge
and it’s his shove that’s pushed me over this ledge;

He is not you
you don’t know me like him--
you don’t know what’s broken me
bled me within
it’s wrapped all around me
the suffering part
I’m a poet’s muse
With an abandoned heart
I am someone to touch, just a body to you,
and to me
well, you’re just some body, too.

© Trinity Wolf

Yearn

2007-07-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

Yearn

It was a story told with forked tongues

from the beginning;

He told her he loved her

and she loved him.

It was a white house

with tangled, wet sheets--

he was a stone statue, marble and hard inside

but soft to the touch of her silk-palms;

Flowers nestled at her feet

He said he loved her and she loved him,

and when he made love to her

he held her down,

a prisoner of her longing

she yearns...

The whispering moments when she felt God

a sunrise in her belly, out her wet opening

soaking his torso, her wooden idol--

Satin nights wrapped their silken arms around them,

lifting them into the mysteries;

and he said he loved her

and she loved him--

But when crashing seas washed away the temple

it started slowly,

tearing at the foundations

mutilating one stone at a time

patiently

until her love alone

could not sustain it.

What A Woman Wants

2007-07-28T07:38:00.000-07:00

This is the age old question: What do women really want? I can't speak for all women, but I can speak for myself and I'll wager a vast majority of them.

We want to know we're special. We don't want to know how hot the girl is on TV or walking past us. We don't want you to be a monk, but have some courtesy.

We want to be pursued. After we have established a relationship with you, don't stop chasing after us. Still send us love-emails and act as though we are something for which you long.

We want consistency. We like it when you keep your word, when you call when you say you will.

We like you to be the boss in bed sometimes.

We like to be the boss sometimes.

We want you to ask us what feels good and what turns us on--preferably in a hot-breath query right in our ear while we writhe under you.

We want to be cherished. We know we aren't the first or last to grace your bed, but we want to feel that we are valued for who we are and who we are to you.

We want you to touch us in public, we want to know that you are thinking of us in all sorts of compromising positions while we eat with our friends.

Women want connection--look into our eyes when you speak, make love, listen to her.

Women want tenderness. But we also need rough hands on us during times of sweaty, bumpy-grindy sex.

Women want to be prized for their mind; nothing turns me on more than a man who reads my blogs...

Women want appreciation for who they are, not just what they do.

Women want a man who knows who he is.

Finally, women want to melt into that longing embrace that encompasses our world and makes us forget about the laundry in the corner.

paix

Carpet Burns

2007-07-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

Carpet Burns

Rough bumps on my back
on your knees;
tender sting
as water drips over me.
Fingers
indent me
holding me,
small bruises

a constellationof pleasure marks
grasping, holding me still.
thrusting roughly
ecstasy, implode, explode
all over the carpet
Your hand under me
protecting my skin...
but my lower back still has a rough sore
my inner thighs tremble
when I slide into water
and the sting makes me hiss
all I do is remember
the taste of your kiss.

Short Story--Smack

2007-07-21T06:29:00.000-07:00

Smack

This is the last time. God help me....

She could almost hear the whoosh of his hand through the air as it collided with her ass. The sound disconnected from the pain and seemed eternally separate, both lasting interminably but in different ways.

Smack!

"Do you understand why you're being disciplined?" He allowed his hand to caress her stinging behind softly, exacerbating the pain.

"I haven't done your shirts--"

"Haven't done my shirts, dinner's been late every night this week, the downstairs is a mess...you know all of that. Do you know why I am doing this?"

"Because I deserve it."

"And because God wants you to be a better wife, a happier person. I love you, sweetheart..."

Smack!

She didn't want to whimper, but it escaped her lips anyway. Part of her wanted to stay silent and strong; but she knew the sooner she cried, the sooner it would stop. She could feel her husband's erection on her stomach as she lay prostrate over his lap like a child, a naughty child.

She eased her ass up higher, craving the end, not wanting the anticipation to drive her mad. She wanted it over with so she could burn his goddamned dinner.

But she knew it wasn't the end.

She felt his finger trail down her crease until it tickled the downy hairs between her legs. She swallowed, allowing her legs to spread as her heart beat frantically against her ribs. His finger entered her suddenly and she cried out.

Smack!

She bit her arm, muffling her half cry, half sob.

"You see, it's all about love..."

He mounted her from behind as tears welled up in her eyes. Love...it's about love.

She packed quickly as she heard him singing from the bathroom. He sang the song from Oklahoma. That's another reason to leave. He loved musicals. He would shower and come out to tell her about his day, like she gave a rat's ass. A pang of emotion hit her because she knew deep down she loved him. But the humiliation had to stop. The pain had to stop. And she'd be damned if she was ironing one more fucking shirt.

The suitcase was from her honeymoon. It was a gift from her mother-in-law; white with pink and red flowers covering it, like every dress her mother-in-law owned and wore to church. I'm buying a plain black leather case as soon as I can. Maybe tomorrow. God forgive me, God help me.

She stood with knees quaking and her whisky sour churning in her gut as he stood before her, dripping wet, beautiful, confused.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"Leaving."

He laughed only for a moment until her eyes told him to stop. He swallowed and blinked rapidly. "I--I don't understand. I--"

"I can't do it anymore."

"But we agreed that this was how we wanted...it to be. God--"

"God has nothing to do with this. You want to make that true, but you can't. Find it in the bible, anywhere, that says what we're doing is good for us, for me."

"Please..." he approached her and stopped, his face miserable and pale. She had backed up a step toward the door. "Honey, we can negotiate. We can stop, we can talk, we can do anything you like, just don't walk out like this."

"Anything I like?"

"Yes, I love you and I thought you loved me." The hurt registered on his face like a small child. She could almost see his mind piecing together where it had gone wrong, what had gone wrong.

She did love him. She did. The plastic handle from her case felt slick as her palms gave up their moisture and her knees wobbled with fear. She gently set the case down and walked toward him. He dropped his towel and stood naked before her, head down. She tilted his chin up to her.

"I can't do it anymore. Do you understand?"

"Okay, anything you want. Anything--" she held her hand up to his quivering lips and let it slide down to his cock. It grew erect with her touch, and he let out a gasp as she gripped him firmly.

"From now on, we're going to share in the household responsibilities."

"I--okay, I don't know how to iron--"

"The cleaners does shirts!" Her voice bounced off of the walls and echoed into the silent room. He nodded his head as his cock grew firmer and sweet, clear liquid eased from the tip.

She turned him around and pressed him against the wall near to the bathroom door. She stroked him as he closed his eyes and mumbled his apologies, his devotion. His words were interrupted as she brought her hand around to his face. His eyes widened as she raised it up--and back.

She expected protest; she expected anger, and all she saw was his eyes clenching shut, body stiff with expectation.

Smack!

He whimpered much sooner than she expected.

(c) Trinity Wolf, 2007

Bad Little Wifey

2007-07-20T07:33:00.000-07:00

This is inspired by fellow blogger, Slut, from A Whore in the Temple of Reason.

She, via her blog, introduced me to a site called Christian Domestic Discipline or CDD.

Oh.
My.
God.

The basic premise of the site is that men are the bosses, women are subservient to them, and if they get outta line, the man reserves the right to resort to corporeal punishment via spanking using hands, rods or whatever else comes in handy. Spare the rod, spoil the missus?

What is there to say about this other than "denial...is an ugly thing." If we were to get inside the heads of some of these people, I think we'd find what's in a lot of people's heads when it comes to BDSM: a desire to dominate and the desire to be dominated. Only these people are using the bible and God to sanction and justify the behavior. Why do they need to do that? Why can't they just enjoy the prospect of exploring each other's sexual shadow-side?

I think it has to do with the deep-seated belief that sexual feelings and acts are inherently evil in the sight of God, so the ideal solution to that is to take God's "word" and twist it to accommodate their desire for BDSM. The hysterical part is they don't use any actual bible quotes to sanction the practice. They gather quotes about a man being the "protector" and a wife being "subservient", but, and I'm gonna stretch a bit here, nowhere in the bible does it say "If she' acts naughty, lift her little skirt and swat her until she's red and wet!"

But there's another element to it that is disturbing. From the website it reads:

"What makes this model unique in the current times and culture is that the
husband, in order to love his wife, has decided to use what might be called
‘God mirroring’ or ‘practical godliness’ - in other words, a following of
God's methods of how He uses authority, and how God expects and tells mere
humans to carry out their delegated authority. This leads to
physical discipline to lovingly keep the wife accountable to her master’s God given authority. After these marriage relationships have been living
with the husband as head and the wife in subjection to his authority, the wife
always desires greatly to have this type of relationship with her husband,
feeling that the husband is showing practical love when he corrects
her with physical and painful discipline for sinful habits or other various
things. She wants to be in subjection and so obeying means allowing
discipline in any way her master/husband determines is necessary."

What's disturbing is that for many, BDSM is a sort of lifestyle choice at the most, a game at the very least. These Christians have formed a belief system around it that could easily get out of hand in the wrong... hands. I mean, what's the safety word for the wife in CDD Land?

"No, honey, stop! Stop! Uh...Moses!"

There is no safety word and there is no game. It is the real deal where no one cuddles after and no one feels like equals in the end. You are punished, humiliated and you are less-than.

Leave it to the Christians to fuck up the fun.

Paix

Have you found me yet?

2007-07-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

I finally have a permanent home for my writing blog.

God, what an ordeal. But here I am.

And now...more poetry.

Slow Motion

It was in that agonizing fashion
that she twirled the cube of ice on her tongue
before she crushed it playfully in her mouth.

A small droplet of water held onto her lips
Clinging to the softness like a
stubborn dew drop on a petal...
and in a perfect world time would still
and I would stand slowly and walk around to her.

I would release the droplet from her mouth,
Release her breasts from her shirt
And claim them all for my own.

In slow motion I’d kneel before her
I’d part her
I’d bury myself in her
While gulls flew overhead, wings fluttering
And their calls muted by daylight noise
All silenced in the moment when her legs
Shimmied on my shoulders.

Her little flight to the heavens would awaken All
And the feasting around us
would begin anew as I slowly stand,
Smooth out my skirt
And make my way back to my untouched
Afternoon feast.

© Trinity Wolf

Welcome...Hold on Tight

2007-07-18T05:58:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog. I hope we can build a long lasting love affair together.

I will try and titillate you if you promise to tell me. This is going to be my creative, sexual outlet (besides a certain someone--yes I am taken, often, but not often enough) I hope you enjoy the ride like I will. Here is a poem for your trouble...

Fucking in the Back seat of a car

We're fucking in the back seat
of a car
and lips press
thighs sweat
knees and elbows
sky and lights make noises
screams

cars light up pieces of sound and darkness
but not enough as widow fog
creeps a candle of light
illuminate
proliferate
supplicate

linear squash and humping bumping
and sound in a tin can echoes...
SSERP
is PRESS spelled backwards
indented in my ass

© Trinity Wolf, 2007