0 comments/ 8521 views/ 0 favorites Reality in the Twilight Zone By: Odeee [This little erotic novella is a collaborative effort between myself, and another, who has fleshed out Snama in more ways than one.] Part one . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone Perhaps it was a gentle, anemonic caress of his manhood sheathed inside Snama's yoni that had awakened Neshe. Or it was just a sleepy stirring of the angelic form spooned against his chest and loins that encroached upon his sleep. Maybe it was a combination of these two. Or was it . . . He was not clear. His eyes wandered to the Spartan face of the phosphorescent clock. Four thirty seven it said. "Almost daybreak" he thought. His mind meandered to when they had actually slipped into the realm of sleep. He clearly remembered it had been exactly the stroke of midnight when his white hot signet had first kissed Snama's delicate, almost translucent skin. He had branded his initials on the small of her back, just above where the cleavage of her buttocks began. It had taken him barely four minutes to indelibly inscribe his mark on five points of Snama's quiescent form. The first brand had seared the small of her back. The second and third ones had settled on the peak of each perfectly rounded buttock. The fourth and fifth brand he placed on the velvety smooth inside of either thigh, almost kissing the rising swell of either outer lip of her yoni. He had not been surprised that she hadn't uttered even a sob as the white hot gold had five times seared her soft, delicate skin. As a matter of fact nothing had surprised him about Snama. Right from the moment he had first set his eyes on the reality of her late in the afternoon -- at the airport, where, courtesy of one of his friends in the Customs, he had been able to receive her on the tarmac. He had positively known, ever since the day she had responded to his Valentine with the picture of a hennaed hand, that if he ever met her, the first time Snama would be in a sari. Though he had seen just two small pictures of her, he had recognized her instantly. And in a sari she was, pale golden pink brocade in a very complex filigree pattern . . . as complex and as beautiful as the online relationship they had developed. Snama stirred almost imperceptibly. Her haunches burrowed another hundredth of a millimeter into his groin, as if there was still room to be united more than they already were. In the gentle prison of her yoni, his manhood throbbed. Once again his mind meandered, in a "slow, smooth, sweet mind fuck" on how they had become so close. ___________________ They had met on the net, in a chat room famous [or infamous] as a blatant sex chat site. Their interchanges, though, had always been short, and philosophical. So far as he was concerned, they had left him always thirsting for more. Over time he had come to know that Snama also thirsted for his company. And when she had responded positively to his invitation that she vacation with him in India this year, he had known. ___________________ He had complimented her on how her form beautified the sari she had donned, and her slightly diffident, just this side of shy smile had emblazoned itself on his heart. In the car, he had only uttered three sentences to her in the hour long drive to his home. "Welcome to me, and welcome to India." "I knew you'd be in a sari . . ." "I also know, there's just you under the petticoat." His left hand had found her lap, slid comfortably into the gold silk "V" formed by the juncture of her thighs. Snama had just uttered four simple words . . . "I knew you'd know." ___________________ Her flight had been long but not tiring, she had told him. He had wanted to show her around what little his city had in the way of cultural and historical interest, but she had gently demurred. "There'll be time for that later, there's so much to explore in us here first." Dinner had been early, and a simple affair. It was embellished only by Snama's glowing presence in the muted candles between them in soft rose tinted candle holders. A shashlik on boiled, white aromatic rice, kebabs, unleavened bread . . . no wine, though later, some time after dinner, some cognac in exquisitely etched, warmed balloons. Those softly sparkling glasses in hand, he had guided her to the roof. He knew she would be charmed by the view of the already half somnolent city, the shiny domes and turrets of the Temple a burnished gold in the glow of faraway focused spotlights. The soft night breeze carried the waft of her scent to him again and again, almost as if insistent. But instead of obeying the impulse that impelled him towards Snama, he took a step back, standing almost at a right angle to her body, his eyes taking in her soft profile. He watched her with half closed eyes, sipping his cognac, his gaze following the darting of her eyes on the darkened horizon, knowing that she'd turn to him . . . And turn to him she did. "This place is beautiful" she said "More, because of you being here" Again that almost shy smile. "Let's go to bed," he said "So soon?" she asked "I didn't say let's go to sleep..." ___________________ Snama stirred slightly again, intruding for a moment into his reverie. Then she settled down, and his mind again meandered. In the subdued light of the bedroom, her looks, her form gained a new softness, a subtle accent to her womanliness. There had been one soft kiss, and then his fingers had unwound the brocade cocoon of her sari . . . in a moment her blouse, bra and petticoat had gone too, revealing the golden wealth of her ripe womanhood as he disrobed. He had been as ready for her as she had been for him. A step towards was all he needed to close the gap the gap between them. A simple extending of his arms was all that was required to pull her close. His hands had themselves found the roundures of her buttocks lifting her up to him. "My kuss, my yoni, my cunt." He had whispered into her mouth as he had effortlessly impaled her on his impatient manhood, flashing onto her mind an instantaneous playback of all they had said and "done" via the chat messengers. Snama's arms and legs entwined around his body. For a lifetime he held her crushed unto his chest, then in a couple of loping steps crossed over to his bed, gently lowering her underneath himself, his lingam still sheathed in her heat. Of themselves her legs flexed, retracted, her knees finding a place on either shoulder of his. Their need was totally mutual . . . it had not needed any assistance of motion to impel them into nirvana. ___________________ Part 2 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone To be or not to be was a question with Hamlet. Beyond being is becoming, and that, somehow was the path being traversed by Neshe and Snama. Becoming one. An enfolding, encompassing, a melding on the part of one. A dissolution, a surrender on the part of the other. And such is the beauty of the quest that distinctions evaporate in the face of the ardor. The seeker becomes the giver, the recipient becomes the beneficent. Where to give is to get, to get is to give. ________________ Part 3 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone Neshe had no idea how long he would have remained atop and within Snama, his pubis crushed to her, his fingers embedded in her dark tresses, but for the phone that jolted them both out of their trance like state. It was a dud call, but it awoke both of them anew to each other. Snama was sitting up by the time he was done with his cell, a slightly bemused expression on her face. His gaze followed hers, down across his own body. "Wondering why I keep myself shaved?" he asked her. "Also that your lann is still rampant" she answered, bringing a warm smile to his eyes, by giving his member the vernacular name he had taught her. He took in her entire body in a sweeping, lingering gaze before saying, "That's a tribute to Madame." Her smile was dazzling bright, yet shy. Neshe stretched languidly, rose to a sitting position, took both her hands in his, kissed both her upturned palms, said "You're so worthy of such a tribute" adjusting himself he stretched out, laying his head in her lap "I've often imagined lying with my head in your lap, like this." As if with a will of their own, Snama's hands found his face, the fingers of her right hand combing through his hair. "You look so boyish right now," she said. "I am boyish" he replied looking up into her eyes, "even babyish, if you will . . ." A golden pink bathed Snama's face. Neshe rolled half onto his back. "Your scent and mine have mingled beautifully" he said, nuzzling his cheek against her thigh, then parting both with his hands. Snama braced herself, but he suddenly uncoiled himself up into an upright sitting position, forcing her down on her back. "Let me look at you part your legs, part them Lattaan khole . . ." Time seemed to have stood still. Snama felt his gaze on her center as a palpable caress, felt its warmth gradually transform into a searing heat. It took all her self control not to close her thighs, not to squirm, not to roll over, not to take her eyes away from his face. He was stock still, his eyes riveted in a fixed focus on the entrance to the core of her. She felt herself melting, liquefying under the intense heat of his gaze. She felt herself very naked, totally exposed, and yet not vulnerable. More, that she was open and knowingly offering, her part of the act . . . his, to penetrate. Her own exhalation told her that she had been holding her breath for quite some time. And it dawned upon her that it was the softness of his kiss on her yoni that had triggered the sharp outflow of breath. It was a fleeting, butterfly touch, given more in reverence than in ardor. "No wonder you women rule." He broke her reverie, imposed himself in another dimension on her senses. She just smiled. When Neshe next bent, it was almost with animal lust, parting wide her petals with both hands, and thrusting his tongue in deep. Snama gasped. But the next moment he was sprawled half across her, his mouth hovering upon hers. "Taste us" he said. "Taste us from my mouth." Snama's mouth fused with his. The tip of her tongue traced between her lips, slipping first only partway between Neshe's, surely tasting sex; and on a second sweep, penetrated fully to meet his tongue. She allowed her tongue to dance with his, to tempt him, and when she was certain, she withdrew her tongue from his mouth slowly into her own, and his followed. Part 4 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone Fusion. Minds. Bodies. Hearts. Souls. Desire is like a beacon, guiding the eyes. Hands explore the body's truth. Mouths are hungry. The loins love, the hearts lust.. Sensation usurps the role of words. Skin communicates with skin. Fusion. Large, broad, slightly rough, warm male hands. His. Dainty, delicate soft female hands. Her's. Exploration that seems unending. Caresses. Kisses. Tangling, untangling. Neshe's body. Lean and hard from years of daily swimming, almost hairless yet rugged. Sharply defined planes and angles of chest and torso, nipples small chocolate isles, navel a sharp gash in the concavity of his belly, hard, solid hips and strong thighs. Snama's body. Soft skeins of dark silky hair, lush vales and hillocks proud with promise. Snama lingered most at his face, his eyes and his chest. Neshe's lips and hands tarried and teased most at the juncture of her thighs. He probed, delved, coaxed out secret after secret of her being. At a singularly excruciating moment of pleasure mixed with equal pain she cried out repeatedly, as supporting the small of her back on his left forearm, he explored her viciously, his right hand taking her yoni, the thumb stabbing in again and again, first one finger and then two battering into the cloistered recesses of her anus. In such torment he held her, heaving and bucking and mewling, till the sensations overwhelmed her capacity to bear them, and she fell limp on his arm, a rasping moan escaping her throat ... "Do you intend to kill me?" "Yes." he replied "And resurrect you again and again, with the need of my love." __________________ Part 5 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone He had mixed them a pitcher of an exquisite aromatic sherbet, telling her that it will revive her drained energies in minutes. It did seem to have a salutary effect -- enough to make her ask for another glassful immediately after she had finished the one he that had given her. Standing with one foot resting on the bed, he had poured her the second glass, brought it between his thighs, dipped the head of his half erect phallus in it for a moment and handed it to her, his eyes never leaving hers. Unflinching, she had taken it from his hand, and siphoned it away in one long draught, her eyes riveted to his. He stood, daring her with his eyes. She had to look away, lowering her lashes and tilting her head. Crawling now to the end of the bed, to the most inviting and commanding body standing statuesque before her she sought to meet her match. When she reached Neshe, she took his offering in her hand and looked up to him once again. In a small and teasing explanation of what would occur next she stroked him in her hand. An immediate power exchange occurred. The woman had the man in the palm of her hand. "The sherbet was so good, I want more yet. And there is just a little taste more here for me, not to be wasted." She smiled at Neshe, more with her eyes than her mouth. Snama's cool lips connected to tip of Neshe's manhood, and she smoothed it across her moist mouth. Her tongue trailed his length, and nibbled back up again in tiny chewing bites, until she reached again the glossy dark head of the wondrous erection she held. Parting her lips, and laying out her tongue, she drew him into her mouth. Descending and ascending, exploring, tantalizing then retreating, she took Neshe to a beautiful completion with her mouth. What he had begun with a cool dessert, he had finished with hot cream. The moment of Neshe's coming was given an explosive eeriness by a power outage. Total darkness immediately redirected all sensory reception to the active principle of both; Snama's mouth and tongue, Neshe's phallus. Both were hit by an intensity of feeling never experienced before. Snama felt her lips clamping at the base of his shaft as he pulsed with a demonic delirium in her mouth, his glans literally lashing at her throat. Neshe's thighs rippled as if with Herculean effort, his buttocks clenched, as bullet after bullet of thick, lumpy, searing hot semen spewed out of him and into Snama's throat, almost scalding the soft insides of her. But that was how their nerves responded to what was happening. In another, different, the emotional sphere, there was a most powerful, totally alien paradoxical perception. Both felt themselves totally in the power of the other, yet in total control. Therefore, it was an abandoned engulfing, absorbing on the part of one, an abandoned lunging, an erupting on the part of the other. The overwhelming impact literally drained both of them of their energies, and they collapsed on the bed, Snama's face still buried between Neshe's thighs, he himself grotesquely half sprawled on her, his legs a tangle on her breasts and torso, his phallus buried in her mouth, his upper body atwist on the bed. And at that moment, the power came back, once again with a blinding impact. _________________ Part 6 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone The first reaction of both was to immediately separate from the other, as if they'd been engaged in some nefarious pursuit. And then it was spontaneous, bubbling, side splitting mirth. And the uncontrollable laughter once again physically drained them. "We should fix us a snack," Neshe said, when he was able to coherently speak. Snama patted her belly expectantly, "I'm feeling famished" she grinned. "Despite the high protein dose you just got?" Neshe winked as he uncoiled himself. "Move, let's have a midnight picnic." The cleanliness and order of his simple, functional, bachelor kitchen impressed Snama. And she complimented him on it. "One of my Freudian friends maintains I'm obsessively anally clean, and that reflects in the cleanliness of everything around me" he laughed. "I'm not very sure of the clean business, but you do seem to be obsessed with the anus" Snama ventured. He laughed again, half seriously this time. "Aye Madame, that I am, I am, and I intend to take you that way." She turned a dark shade of red, turned away from him. He extended his hand caressing her exposed back, His fingers trailed down her spine, till he reached the small of her back. He let his fingers linger, sensing her tremble expectantly. He removed his hand, gave the soft, sensitive spot just above her buttocks a lingering kiss. "Bring your hands back Snama," he whispered "Part your buttocks, let me see your bundd" his lips bestowing soft caresses on her skin. Snama's hands were trembling slightly as she brought them back, parting her cheeks for his gaze. Neshe just sat there unmoving, and she could sense his fixed gaze. She felt more naked and exposed than she had ever felt before, a red hot flush bathing her from head to toe. She wished he would say something, do something, but he just sat there, gazing, till she could no longer bear it, and her trembling hands slipped away. "No." Neshe's voice was soft, low, almost inaudible. "Not yet, not till I tell you to." "I . . . I" she started to say something, but was surprised at her own acquiescence as her hands of themselves came back to the roundures of her buttocks, parting them, baring herself mercilessly to his gaze. "Thank you, my love" she heard him say, and after almost an eternity, "You may sit now, Snama." ________________ Part 7 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone A boiled egg each, toasted slices, liberally buttered and coated with pure golden honey. The "midnight picnic" was spare and Spartan, yet food for the gods. The time spent in the kitchen with him was a revelation for Snama on many counts, unveiling aspects of him, she'd never been aware of. First, the way he moved about and worked. Total economy of movement, total economy of time. He knew exactly where everything was, and in a trice he'd set the eggs for boiling on one burner, the tea kettle on the second, toasted the slices and buttered them while the eggs boiled, all the time keeping up a steady stream of conversation with her. He told her he hardly ever used the kitchen himself, except at such odd hours, when the live in help was asleep, but he'd trained his people to be organized and disciplined. In her forty four years, Snama had known quite a few bachelors, but none as good a "housewife" as Neshe. When she complimented him on this, saying she'd never seen a man work so efficiently in a kitchen, he'd responded "That my darling is because you've never known a man like me before" emphatically cutting off any further line of enquiry in this direction. Then there was the total ease, at his nakedness, and of hers. As if he was oblivious to the fact that both of them were naked. Soon they were washing down the rich golden toast with sips of aromatic green tea, of which he poured himself a second large mug, offering her another too, which she graciously declined. When she'd risen to tidy up the table as he sipped the steaming hot golden brew, he stopped her, saying he'll have it done in a minute, he just wanted to keep looking at her as she sat opposite him. Reality in the Twilight Zone And he'd done exactly that, tidied up in no time. Drying his hands with a paper towel after he'd washed the plates and mugs, dried them and placed them in their proper places, he suddenly asked her, "D'you remember once I told you that the nose ring Indian women wear is a physical mark of belonging, a sort of brand?" Of course she remembered. "And you remember what you had said?" She did. "I'll be a minute, I want to show you something" he'd said, and walked out, leaving her bemused. He returned almost immediately, placing a heavy ring on the table between them. Snama picked it up. It was solid gold, thick and heavy, with an oval face, the letter "N" in sharp bas relief on it in an exquisite gothic style. "What d'you think of it?" he asked. "It's beautiful. And quite expensive" "Try it, it'll probably fit your ring finger" Amazed, she tried. It fit. Before she could say anything, another bolt from the blue. "It's yours to wear. And I intend branding you with it." For a moment she was struck speechless. Then . . . "Bbb .. Brand me? me?" "Yes." His voice was soft, very low. "Just like I've branded your soul with myself, your body with my body, your kuss with my lann." Snama looked into his eyes for a long while, unflinching at his deep, dark gaze, then quietly said. "Just tell me one thing Neshe?" "Ask?" "What makes you so sure of yourself?" "You." There dawned a hint of a smile on her lips. When she spoke, it was almost a whisper. "And what makes you so sure of me?" "Us." He answered. She reflected on that for a moment. Then asked, again in a soft, almost inaudible whisper. "And what is Us?" For many a moment he just gazed deeply into her eyes, his own almost burning with a dark flame. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sure. "Remember the day I told you that if we were to turn around your name it would become "A Man's"?" She nodded assent. "What did you say?" Again, that hint of a smile. "I'd said that is the essence of me . . . for man, I'm woman, for my beloved, I'm comfort, solace, and warmth . . . for my lover I'm desire and satiation." "And you know for me you're all this" She suddenly burst out laughing. "You know Neshe, this is the most arrogant proposal I've ever heard" "I know." He said softly. "And I also know you value it." She looked into his eyes unflinchingly, for a long moment. Then she spoke, softly "You know . . . when we'd first met, I'd thought I'd penetrated this strange man in a far off land. I didn't quite realize it was I who was being penetrated." Neshe rose, took a step to close the distance between them, bent and lightly kissed her forehead. With his lips cool on her skin he whispered "I'll brand you on five places Snama, on the small of your back, on both your buttocks, and on either side of your yoni." A hot and cold thrill ran down her spine right down to her anus. Almost in a whisper, she said, "The decision is made." "Yes, it is made. It was made the day you told me you'd rechristened me Teags after I sent you that poem Succubus." Her arms went round him, she raised her mouth to his, kissing him viciously. Then with a surprising vehemence she said, "You frighten me with your knowing of me." Neshe just recaptured her lips in his mouth, hungrily. _____________________ Succubus You Who knows that many secrets are told untold Some mysteries, for certain minds themselves unfold Some moments often a lifetime within them hold Claim one's thoughts and make one bold Words can sear and brand one's soul Distances span, and make one whole You Who knows that while in their place the stars are set Me, you, and us you will never forget Never, ever, shall leave me behind Whatever else lives in your mind Your Lord to call me there lives no need Though each on the other, we do feed You Who knows that you have a found a way In the dead of night and heat of day To ever and anon, always be In my mind, and within me Your words, you know, make my manhood rise Though my gaze has yet to penetrate your eyes You Who knows that it's not only arms that do bind Imperishable bonds are created by the mind Words do touch, kiss and caress The body may suffer distance's duress You, sweet Succubus, you certainly know In my thoughts, my blood, you ever flow! Part 8 . . .Reality in the Twilight Zone The branding had been short, swift and painless. After desensitizing Snama's skin with ether, Neshe had marked her body with the signet in the five places, again spraying the spots with ether and then rinsing them out with chilled alcohol. Finally, a rinse of ice cold rose water, and the deed was done. The emotional searing, however, had drained Snama. When Neshe had given the brands the final irrigation with rose water, she had hidden herself in his chest, her body slightly atremble. He had soothed her with kisses, his fingers gently stroking her hair, till the trembling had subsided. "Do you feel any pain, any burning sensation?" he had asked. "No." She had responded firmly. "But I feel weak, exhausted, hungry." "Feed on me, " he had said, rising to full stature, his arms around her body guiding her to a kneeling position between his widespread feet. "Feed on me darling, and your strength will return." It had happened exactly as he had said. With his phallus in her mouth, Snama had felt connected to the sources of his being, partaking of him. Each passing second animated her more. Her ministrations engendered a massive upheaval in him. He thrust uncontrollably into her mouth again and again, his hands clasped on either side of her face, his grip hurtful. Snama, however, drew strength from the primeval pulsing of his lingam, and persisted till she sucked the vital sap out of him. Even then she did not let go, feeling him soften, and nurtured him back to a steely hardness with the warm and velvety caresses of her mouth and tongue. When she was certain she had returned him his power, she rose, lying down on the bed . . . "Now" she called him. Softly, in need... "Please. Take me Neshe . . ." It was then that he had entered her yoni again, taking her from behind, her buttocks fitting into his groin, his arms around her, and it was thus that both of them had drifted into a sweet slumber. __________________ Part 9 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone A sudden, frenetically insistent spasming of Snama's yoni around his phallus made Neshe withdraw and thrust back hard into her, again and again, his groin smashing against her buttocks punishingly. His hand found her belly, ascended on to her breasts, pulling at them at them roughly as he thrust into her again and again. Snama strained back at him with every thrust, moaning his name, her voice rising as the turmoil in her being spiraled into a crescendo. Neshe became even more vicious. And then something snapped. Snama became absolutely limp, still. Neshe continued thrusting still, wanting to immerse himself entirely into her. He pumped into her with increasing force, till he himself burst, his lips seeking her shoulder, his teeth sinking in. "Ahhh!" she cried out softly, gasping at the lust within her own flesh. Her head rolled first away from the pain, and breathing deeply, she accepted it, as a gift from her lover. For a moment in time, she was suspended; he was pushing her with his ferocity...pushing her, to reach beyond her fear. Under the pain of his teeth, she transformed, from prey to beast. He awoke the sleeping tigress in her. She turned her face to his mouth, his teeth brutally close to tearing her skin. She licked out, and touched his lips with her tongue. She licked them, softened his mouth, his teeth losing their grip as his tongue sought to meet hers. She kissed him using feline power, licking him, and loving him with her tongue. Here, her ferocity began. Her power first came from her mouth. She sucked it from his tongue, as though this tongue was the very organ that had just so ravishingly filled her. She sucked his tongue as if to make it cum into her. Her hands clasped his face in a tender grip. He became lost in her mouth, in the passion with which she held his tongue. He began to penetrate it deeper toward her throat, and she instinctively bit him. While he drew back in surprise, she pulled away quickly, rolling her body to cover his. Taking his hands in hers she stretched his arms out to the side. She hooked her feet around his ankles and parted their legs together. Her skin met his at every possible point. She was on top. She kissed him again, this time slipping her tongue over his lips. It was the sweet delicate kiss of satisfaction. Snama then took her mouth to Neshe's right ear, nibbled on the lobe, and whispered into it "Thank you. Thank you so much." Her hands pulled his flat and she stroked circles in his palms. At the same time she began to nibble and suck at his neck. She dragged her fingertips along the taut musculature of his arms until she reached his firm shoulders. Pushing herself further now down his body, Snama took an exploration of Neshe with her sensitive lips. Reaching his small hard nipples she sucked and licked as a kitten, first at the left and then quickly attaching to right and dining there. Once satisfied by Neshe's response that she had lit those two flames Snama proceeded downward, her hands caressing his sides, her tongue trailing downward, discovering his navel and swirling there in two sensual sweeps. Kneeling up now between his legs, she looked down to Neshe. He locked his eyes on her and she held his gaze. Indeed, her eyes did flare as she smiled at him and smoothed his abdomen with her fingertips, brushing the warmth of his naked skin -- over, and over, and over again. Without removing her eyes from his, she let her hands slide onto the flats of his hips and down in between his thighs. She smiled into his eyes with a wicked playfulness, running her hands quickly under his thighs to beneath his knees. She lifted his legs forcing his knees up and apart. Never leaving her hold on his eyes, she slowly bent herself in half, lowering her mouth to his spent penis. Finally, she closed her eyelids. She expected no arousal; this was an exercise of completion. It was a finale, an absolution of his parts with her mouth. With him open, she was able to access all the reaches of his privacy and in sensory delight she lingered there, with her hands and mouth, chewing, licking and sucking on him like a toy. When she had finished her play, she, being so very satisfied, pushed his legs back to the bed. Curling up in between them, she nuzzled her cheek into the soft naked bed of his pubis and fell asleep with him gently stroking her hair. ___________________ Part 10 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone Was it one night? Or was it a thousand and one nights? Or a thousand and one nights encapsulated in one? This was the question that confronted both of them in the morning, each to their own perspective. It all appeared surreal, like a dream that had overstayed from slumber into wakefulness. Except that the brands on Snama's body were very real. And if possible, even more the brands on her heart and soul. _________________ Snama ON A PLANE TO INDIA She had never lost the hennaed hand with which she had entered him. It had been an unwitting penetration, an honest deliverance. The poem, she had destructed, in a fire cleansing, something she was wont to do. She could not remember it. But she could, perhaps, reconstruct it. Some words exact, some words new. All words appropriate. SHALL I? Shall I stroke your ego with hands adept, or hold restraint with words well kept? Shall I invite you close, bring your manhood to rise, or hold you afar with the blue of my eyes? Shall I hold myself open, reveal secrets untold, or leave you to watch my own mystery unfold? Snama knew it continued, and remembered the direction, in fact, the destination, but felt it best now not to recall. She did not need to, since she already had his response, in Succubus, engraved on her heart. _______________________________ It was the immediate destination that was on Snama's mind now, with the information from the Captain that it was one half hour before landing. Snama rose from her seat and took her bag from the overhead compartment, retreating to the restroom to freshen and change. She stripped herself completely of her comfortable travel clothes, and washed with the soft cloth she pulled from her bag. Once cleansed, she dusted with baby powder, then placed kisses of fragrance in her most sensual places. Never one for facade, she applied just enough makeup to highlight her features; darkening her lashes, shading her eyes, and lightly blushing her cheeks. Finally, unsheathing her lipstick, she stroked a soft pink glimmer across her lips. She stood naked, gazing at herself in the mirror. The next step would be an important one, a statement she wanted to make -- the donning of the sari. Snama put on her blouse and the petticoat followed. Lastly, she wrapped the sari around her body as the shopkeeper who had sold it to her had showed her. Her mind wandered to when and how she might become unwrapped. Once again Snama took in her reflection in the mirror. She had not pre-decided whether to wear her hair up or down, and played with it now both ways. Finally, she decided to pin it up. She could let her hair down later. _______________________________ Preparation [MANDALA: A schematized representation of the cosmos, chiefly characterized by a concentric organization geometric shapes, each of which contains an image of a deity or the attributes of a deity. A symbol representing the effort to reunify the self.] She had ventured across the world to seek the reunification of her self. Snama, not being exactly standard, had not checked travel guides before heading to India. Instead, she pulled off her book shelf her good memory of India . . . "Mandala" by Pearl S. Buck. Nothing along the way had disappointed her, nor surprised her. Neshe, was as intense and dark as she had found him to be in chats and correspondence. She felt an immediate captivation, or perhaps an affirmation of a captivation long held. Lusciousness. In him, and in his home. A delight to her senses, a splendid mixture of unfamiliar and incongruently strange familiarity. Strange, but so good. Looking out onto the rooftops, Snama could only think "Buck has written this . . . us. This moment." She inhaled the air of Neshe and felt a deep and blessed rush of timelessness. In such timelessness, and in order to reunify herself, Snama submitted to Neshe. He slowly and effectively prepared her. A proud offering her submission, and a daring trust to give it. * * * * * * * * * * * Perhaps that was it. He dared her. When she first met him in chat, she was charmed by his elegance and intellect. She had always enjoyed the opportunity to speak with him. She had a web site of writing he had read and discussed with her, and also sent her writings of his own. These writings were the basis of many satisfying conversations – and it was in these conversations he had revealed to her the sensuousness of his nature, as well of his native tongue, Punjabi. While these chats often included an insinuation or innuendo of sexuality, she felt it more the natural play that occurs at the meeting of a man and a woman; a gentle charming, to open each other and add enough intimacy for deep and honest discussion. But for that undercurrent, they were platonic, respectful and professional with each other. Then, he sent his picture. There it was, his first outright dare. His eyes black and connecting. His mouth promising both humor and passion. Thick raven hair, cut neatly, with a sweet stray lock at his forehead. The strong jaw and a chin that had just the hint of a dimple. A classic white shirt and golden tie. A picture of a most striking and handsome man. And to Snama, the vision of a predator...a tiger to her deer. Confirmed by the reality, the flesh of him. Looking at his picture, Snama could hear him thinking "Resist me. Try. I challenge you." The photo had immense and shocking power. The flesh and muscle and sinew blatantly asserted that power. Returning to his eyes she was captured. There was no speculation. Snama knew. "I would submit to this man" And that was how he did it. He cut her open, penetrated her first with his eyes. Slowly, naively, she bled feelings for Him. She did not realize, he tasted her blood and grew hungry. ____________________ REACHING ACINTYA (no thought) Mindlessness, the gift of pain. Mindlessness, sweet bliss, ah sweet bliss. I am grateful for you and for your sense of timing. You walk me down a path of darkness. You take me no further than I want to go. Tell me please how is it . . . how is it that you know? Snama took her fortieth year as a point of transition. As a renaissance. Feeling fully accomplished and well in need of cleansing of her soul, she took leave of her profession and went into retreat for one year. One year became two, two became three. In her life, Snama had accumulated enough pain to bring her to her knees. Her greatest pain was the abuse and suffering of children. The mother in her suffered as did her inner child. From her knees, Snama was able to draw strength. She asked her higher power to deliver her more pain, but to take it away from hurting children. She knew the pain must exist. Such is life. She truly believed if every adult accepted his or her share of pain, fewer children would suffer. In meditation, study and creativity Snama spent her hours. She also started dissecting her mind. She cut it all apart and examined it piece by piece, replacing every thought into a compartment. And when she had filed everything in her mind neatly she was able to access the fullness of her pain. She did reach mindlessness. She did enter onto a higher plane. From there, she did have vision. ____________________ The notions that all opposites are polar, that light and dark, winning and losing, good and evil, are merely different aspects of the same phenomenon, is one of the basic principles of the Eastern way of life. Since all opposites are interdependent, their conflict can never result in the total victory of one side, but will always be a manifestation of the interplay between the two sides. In the East, a virtuous person is therefore not one who undertakes the impossible task of striving for the good and eliminating the bad, but rather one who is able to maintain a dynamic balance between good and bad. [Quoted from page 146, The Tao of Physics, Fritjof Capra, Shambala Publications, Inc. 1999] It was from this confirmation of her own thinking that Snama took peace. Having stripped herself down of all the layers and labels she had gained through life she had a clean mind and was prepared for a new growth, in a second time. ____________________ Sexual submissiveness was in Snama's nature. She had not been happy about it, feeling vulnerable to any male who picked up on her need to be taken and to serve. She had therefore an armor. Desiring to spend the rest of her life being true to her nature rather than resisting it and fearing it, she began an exploration of submission, Dominance and power exchange. The more she discovered, the more she felt she had found her place. She could pronounce herself submissive, and feel happiness and pride in it. Reality in the Twilight Zone Her first public admission of submissiveness was made in the chat room. Here she was able to meet other submissives like herself, as well as meet Dominants. Neshe, was a Dominant. With any Dominant, Snama showed respect and courtesy but also stood ground not to be taken. She was sure that if she would show great strength and character she could only be taken by a Dominant of equally great or greater strength and character. This is what she desired; a King to her Queen. Neshe, was a King. He had a regal presence, strong enough to reach Snama via internet chat. In Neshe, Snama felt she had met her match, a man who could challenge her, mind and body, heart and soul. A man, she was sure, could make her Aman's. ____________________ Submission In submission, Snama felt the number one gift she could give was trust. Flying across the world, to a land unknown, to a man she felt equally that she knew and did not know at all, this took trust. Now, naked and before him she felt both powerful and submissive. In fact, she believed her feeling of power to come from her submission. Neshe had commanded her to part herself, and she did submit. "Part your buttocks for me, Snama" he had said " I want to see all of you. See your bundd." She had parted herself and burned with humility under his eyes. Submission was the flame that strengthened her. She had parted herself, and he had fallen into her with his eyes. His gaze seemed a penetration of rampant desire. She called to him with her gift. He knew he tortured her with shame. She knew she tortured him with lust. Two captives they were, each held fast by the nature of the other. ____________________ Des flammes d'enfer fortifier si vous danser vite et avec direction. Her branding, while trying her emotions, did bring her joy. He marked his territory and his territory was she herself. She welcomed him. He was Man, perfect compliment to her woman. She allowed him to stake his claim. She was signified, five times, in his name. The comfort and joy she received from her branding was almost inexplicable. She took it as a promise, a promise from Neshe to care for her as a valuable complement. She knew that in return for the gift of his name, his caring, his passion, she would honor him. She would act with a grace that met his gracefulness. She would return his passion and more. Neshe undid her. He stripped her so completely that she felt he could see inside her soul. He took her with intensity and she did feel ravaged. He delved into all of her entrances, with his hands, his mouth, and his male sword. Snama wanted it, him, in all ways, even those ways she had never before experienced. She trusted him completely. A man had never entered her back passage. Neshe made it clear that this was going to change. During their lovemaking he began to prepare her for this eventuality. Deeply, with his fingers, he entered the tightly closed door of her bottom. Shame was soon overtaken by lust, and she became wanton. She called out to him over and over in a soft but desperate cry "Yes! Yes Neshe, oh yes!". To his satyr, she became a nymph. Deep dark desire he unleashed from her step by step. ____________________ [It is impossible to go through life without trust. That is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself. GRAHAM GREENE THE MINISTRY OF FEAR] Neshe was off, away on his business day. Snama was left to her own devices. She wandered to his library and felt as though she was walking into a part of his mind. A man's library is an enticing place. She ran her hands across his books, stroking the spines of familiar and loved titles, curiously pulling down unknown titles of interest and fanning the pages front to back. At the back of the book she would stop and that's where she would begin to read. From here, she would quickly pass through to the front and slowly approach backwards and she would decide if this book held any potential to excite her. The leather bindings on certain books, the varieties of papers, the variety of texts, there was so much just sensually to enjoy, without truly even going to content. She breathed the paper of a modern textbook and experienced a schoolgirl shiver that raced through her like static from her nipples to her clitoris. Deeply she inhaled and allowed the feeling again, this time savoring it slowly, flipping the pages so the scent of the book could feed her. She smiled, closed the book and replaced it to its original position. Snama wandered to the table that stood in the corner and picked up a paper... Orientalism, Self Exoticism, and the Oriental Despot: Nasir ud Din Shah -- Ali Behdad My paper deals with Nasir al Din Shah's photographs of his harem and the ways in which such self representations are mediated by orientalist aesthetic modes. I will read a series of these photographs to address both the aesthetic dimensions of his work and the ideological implications of these representations. Among the issues that I will discuss is the notion of self exoticism, and oriental perception of oneself that enable the King to both empower himself as a King and fall into European ideologies of otherness. Snama took immediate interest in the paper and sat herself down in one of the comfortable leather chairs to read. While she attempted to remain focused on the topic, she found her mind wandering over and over, back to Neshe, back to his expressed desire and his confident determination that he would get what he wanted. Again a shiver ran through her; this time not a school-girlish tickle of pleasure, but the full out blatant rush of sexual sensibility of a newly maturing woman. A red hot blood rush and a tensing of her bottom, her anus, and the backs of her thighs. For how long she held this dark thought, held her breath, held her tension, she did not know. Eventually she laid the paper down in her lap and rubbed her tired eyes. Enough of studying. It was time to breathe....the exhalation especially important. Exhalation is the much undervalued, underestimated part of breathing. Laughter, sobbing, sighing, sex . . . these natural occurrences are often a well needed release of pent up exhalation of breath and emotion. Snama leaned back in the chair, not in a mood to laugh or to cry. But sex, this did not leave her mind. She was alight. She unfastened the tie at the waist of her loose gauze trousers and slipped her right hand down under her panties, laying the tip of her right finger on the aroused pistil nestled within her. She barely moved the soft pad of her fingertip. There was enough stimulation between the two connection points. The sexual build up was extremely quiet and effective. She moistened, and her finger reached into herself and trailed upwards into the hot crevice, picking up her own juices, and carrying them back to her highly stimulated bud, lubricating it. Tiny, almost imperceptible movements she made, but to her they were a wick burning toward a dynamic explosion. The explosion did not take long in coming. With the stimulation of the place, the promise and the threat of the man, the workings of her own hand; she achieved a heavy, pulsing, satisfying orgasm. And she sighed, a deep and needed exhalation of relief. ____________________ Snama accepted the luncheon offered by Neshe's staff, and sat quietly in his library enjoying the meal. As she dined, she began to think on Neshe. She thought of his hand in their entire meeting, his pursuit, and her slow fall. The trace of a smile crossed her lips as she thought of how the image of a hennaed hand had meant so much. Even still the impact of this gesture surprised her. The thought was a trigger. She'd like to surprise Neshe now. She'd like to present a new adornment, a new image, for him to discover. She wanted a graphic that said...You are welcome here. She did not know what she was inviting Neshe to, except that whatever it was, she would submit willing. Speaking with one of Neshe's household help, she described what she wanted to do. Quick arrangements were made for later that morning. Snama was going to make a surprise presentation to Neshe when he next uncovered her. A delicate gift he would find . . . her new submission. ____________________ The Hips of a Woman It was still hours yet before Neshe was to arrive back in his home. Snama had her gift ready. She took from her portfolio a sheet of her favorite writing paper, high quality and white. With a fine nibbed fountain pen and black ink, she wrote to Neshe an invitation to open her. "N, unwrap me, find what you will." Snama gently blew the ink dry, folded the paper. With a whisper of a kiss she attached an invisible seal. She asked one of the servants to please attach the note to Neshe's bathroom mirror. It was done. ____________________ When she slept They stood in the semi dark warmth of his den. Naked they were, face to face, his arm across her back, his one hand supporting her waist, the other hand plunged between her legs. She was arched trustingly back against his strong arm. Her left hand held his shoulder, her right his hip. Her head lolled back, her hair flowing down. He had his mouth to her left breast, attached there, suckling with such enjoyment she was maternally pleased. His finger fucked into her, effortlessly, with a rhythm mixed by hers as she rocked on his hand in time with the blue, oh so blue music infusing the room. She swayed in his arm so relaxed by the complete sensuality of sound, scent, sight, and touch. She was aroused too, by the wonderful selfishness with which he was using her body. She reveled in his enjoyment of her and his talent at teasing her. As he sucked her nipple she reached for his cock and held it, hard and weighty inside it's velvety skin. Her hand moved on him with the same rhythm as her sway. She became entranced. She could stay like this forever; nursing him, feeding his mouth with her energy, providing another dynamic by stroking his erection, and finally, completing the circuit, devouring his energy with the mouth of her womb. Soon, she felt a familiar tingling, a rushing of nerves beneath her nipple in her breast. It was the rush of her stimulated milk glands. As he sucked her and fingered her more and more her relaxation built and a sweet little taste of milk did flow into his mouth. A burning blush spread across her cheeks. He was clearly surprised and sucked greedily with an intense excitement for a few frenetic moments. She stroked him while he fingered into her, passion rising to its peak. She felt him build to an intense need, and before she knew it he had his hand on her shoulder and crashed her forcefully to her knees. He held his cock ...aiming it at her like a threat, ready to come. She reached backwards placing her hands on her heels, arching upward for him to target. She laid her head back submissively exposing her neck. It was immediate. He came in hot uncontrollable spasms, moaning out and splashing her throat, her breasts, the nipples. She gasped in delight. He panted in exhaustion and relief. She looked up to him and he down to her... She smiled, and rubbed him gently into her skin to her own satisfaction. Oh! If Neshe could see into her mind.... Seeded there in her private thoughts was a garden being planted by Neshe. Her dream flowering from so few words among so many..."even babyish if you will". She sank herself deeper into the pillows and covers of Neshe's bed. Against her naked skin she felt those same sheets that wrapped him in his unconsciousness. She slipped off into her thoughts and her mid afternoon sleep resumed. ____________________ Snama awoke to the soft knocking at the door that was her five o'clock wake up call. Arising from the bed, she raised her hands over her head and arching her back, stretched the sleep from her body, her jaw straining against a yawn. She drew up the sheets and remade the bed. Neshe was to arrive home in approximately one hour. Her heart beat faster at the prospect. He was not accustomed to arriving home to a woman. She wanted to be prepared, dressed, when he came through the door. Ready at his call. She felt this to be the style of the house, that all is clean, in place and ready for Neshe. Clean. There was a word that suited him in more ways than one. Naked still from her nap, Snama entered the inner sanctum of Neshe's bathroom. This was the place where his perfect grooming took place. She gazed at the glass shelves that attached at either side of the mirror over his basin. Here were the items he chose to care for his body . . . simple personal items and products selected clearly for their practical or sensual efficiency, not to satisfy egotistical needs. Neshe was simply confident. In the center of the mirror . . . her note, affixed there before her own eyes. The sight of it caused a rush of something quite undefinable. Inviting Neshe to interpret her, openly . . . the thought caused her to shiver and tense though the room was warm. She looked at the reflection of the flaming scroll she'd had hennaed on her hips, turning to see the back view, where the tips of the scroll turned curls around her brands then aimed to the center of her buttocks. What would he think? Snama exhaled deeply and turned from the mirror. She walked to the shower, starting the water to moderate its temperature. Below her feet the beautiful gleaming black marble floor risked spotting. She took a mat that hung at the edge of the tub and placed it outside the shower. With her hand she reached in, tested the water and finding it comfortable stepped under Neshe's shower, feeling for the first time the stimulating sensation of the very water that cleansed him daily. She faced into the spray, leaning her head back and feeling the sharp points of water against her breasts, her nipples hardening in reaction. The heat of the water stung the burns of her brands as if Neshe were there again branding her in five places at once. Gasping, she quickly reached and turned the water cooler to ease the pain. She picked up his soap, held it up under the showerhead to wet it and then slicked it across her breasts, over her shoulders, down her arms, around her belly. The masculine scent of the soap pleased her and she inhaled it as it rose in the steam. She closed her eyes and sighed. So calm, so private, so clean. She continued to smooth Neshe's soap over her body long beyond necessity. She was sensualizing. This soap had been shaped from the repeated caressing of Neshe's skin. This soap had traveled places on Neshe that Snama longed to visit. She did not dare to rub the bar between her legs. Instead, she lathered her hands and put the soap back from where she had taken it. With her hands, Snama cleansed her private parts thoroughly and then let the shower rain down and rinse her. His shampoo was marked clearly "For Men" but this did not deter her from using it. After the standard "lather, rinse, repeat" she turned off the water and stepped from the shower. She picked up a towel and bending so her hair would fall forward she wrapped it up tight. A second towel was used to dry her skin. When she was dried, she wrapped her body in the towel. Before the basin again, she took his talc (!baby powder! she smiled) and dusted under her arms and breasts, between her legs and buttocks and on her toes and the soles of her feet. She removed the towel from her hair and blew it partially dry with his high powered blow dryer. Looking about the room, replacing anything she may have moved...even wiping the finger prints she left on his blow dryer...she knew the space was clean, things were in place, and all was ready for Neshe. Including herself. She dressed quickly into her day clothes and slipped out of Neshe's room, up the stairs to the guestroom, where she would dress for the evening and await his call. ____________________ Snama's blue eyes tended to be accented by the colors of certain blues and greens. Knowing this, she had chosen her second and third saris in these tones. She had laid out on the bed the beautiful soft ocean blue/olive green silk, trimmed in gold. The ring of the cell phone caught her half naked. First startled and then thrilled, knowing it was he, she leapt onto the bed where she had tossed the phone. She rolled happily onto her back with a beaming smile as she heard the plans for the evening. She almost lost track of his words as she became enchanted in his charm. She remained so enchanted even after he had hung up the phone and took several seconds to realize she ought to get busy and dressed. Well that calls for a slight change, she thought after the call. She had assumed they would be at home for dinner. What Neshe described was something more formal, and she therefore would dress in her most formal of the three saris, a fine silk of twilight blue. At her neck, a medium gold chain with a pendant of sapphire surrounded by diamonds. At her ears, diamond studs, two in each ear. Her hair, swept up in a French roll and neatly pinned, stray trails of hair swept behind her ears. Snama had perfumed as usual with her floral scent before dressing, but noticed now something different. She thought "I smell like India". She brought her forearm to her face and inhaled the scent from her skin and warmth ran through her. It was the scent of her, and the scent of Neshe. His soap, their talc, her perfume. She felt suddenly enveloped by him, closed her eyes and inhaled again. Her thoughts were broken by a knock at the door. She opened the door and was told by the servant that master's car was waiting out front. Snama wrapped the silk of the sari about her shoulders, and with a heart beating for him, went down the stairs to meet Neshe. _______________________________ Part 11. . . Reality in the Twilight Zone It was just force of habit that awoke Neshe at his usual time. Snama was fast asleep, having rolled away from his groin, oblivious to everything now, in the abandon of someone who has newly rediscovered her shamelessness. For long moments Neshe just sat there, looking at her, flat on her back, one arm thrown to the side, the other crooked, the palm resting below her left breast, her thighs spread wide. The rose tinged brands on either side of her yoni were like guardians to her citadel, guardians he had placed to ever remind her of himself, no matter who entered that coral portal. He bent, quickly placed a soft kiss on her yoni, and left. _______________________________ She had been left to her own devices, without any intimation as to where he had gone, when he would be back, what they would be doing ...? And yet she found herself completely at home. She had no idea how the servant became aware that she was ready for breakfast. She had just dressed, and was thinking of going out of the room when she was requested to let know what Madam would have. The servant did not mention his master, and she did not inquire. She just asked him to serve what Neshe usually had, and she was. Crisp, thin loaves of unleavened bread, fried in butter, a rich, aromatically spiced omelet, a pitcher of freshly expressed carrot juice with a tangy bite, which she was later to learn came from a few wisps of ginger shredded into the carrot. And rich, creamy coffee afterwards. She made a mental note of talking to Neshe about the richness of his diet. When she was done, she was given a pile of local English newspapers, a cell phone, was informed that all numbers where Neshe could be reached had been entered into it, as well as the number of his doctor. And that if Madam wanted to explore the town on her own, a car was waiting.