The Melodies of Suppressed Oppressed flowers sang through the night. Her smile begged for acceptance. She wore “Like Me” like a cardboard sign taped unknowingly behind her gold brocade dressing gown. It was the Ceremony of the Dark Light that took me there.
Petite frame. Jet Black hair. Skin so pale and translucent that one could see blood coursing through arteries and veins. She was more of an artwork museum piece than a living soul. One that men were driven to possess but she slipped through their hands like sand betwixt toes among the ebb and flow of sea tides.
On a fortnight Vulvagenda engage modulated paroxysms of unadulterated pleasure mixed with pain.
Suffering along with Melancholia of the Mind every word she wrote became Life everlasting.
She an Elegant Mess. He heaving swollen engorged gonads seeking release of phantasmagorical fractals. He began to manipulate himself even more vigorously as a shit eating grin spread across his vile features. Wet dreams saturated his paper thin gown. Splattering innocent garden earth. His odious noxious acid seed ferment and fizzle with No eggs willingly breed another of his kind. Cheated once again of progeny his fertilizer wasted.
They came as scavengers. Lords of the night. Removing yet another carcass done in by the Dolly-birds, skeletal dollies, whiskey, scotch & club soda mix. Down the drain into the sewer.
I shall sleep well tonight said satiated She whilst licking remnants of his viscera from her stiletto talons. What a delectable delicious dinner guest was he quipped She picking bone fragments from betwixt her jutting fangs.
Swooning ruby garrets swell laughter at Lothario Humpty Dumps pungent odors. Open ravine burials for vultures avian and human. His body now a sieve oozing blood nurturing all anger and pain. Come ride Old Dobbin. Ride home with our silent linen shroud limp passenger into the night.
Listen as a Baroque dirge permeates the fetid night air. Requiem for Blood-lust ~~ The Final Mysteries.
Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.
His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member. His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animalistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.
His sonorous speeches gave way to animalistic grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.
During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project. He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town. Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.
Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.
Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.
The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent. Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane. Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration murky perfumes.
His favorite of the entire harem was Sophronia whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes. She was a looker that one with her Almond shaped eyes hazel eyes and burnished skin. Sophie was an African/Native American fairytale goddess with her sepia toned complexion, deep burgundy magenta twisty curly Nappy mane that spiraled out from her head like leafy tree branches reaching for sunlight, and full lips that had a natural purple tinge over a set of perfectly formed teeth.
“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”
This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from a wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn. His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks. Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.
Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body. I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing. Thankfully he was done in under five minutes. The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!
Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys. Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty. My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many patrons who pass through these palatial doors.
During the week I was spared from my licentious duties but come Friday, payday once again I had to endure filthy spotted old men with dragon breath, bodies smelling like rancid meat who peeled away phosphorous shit breeches from their narrow wrinkly asses. When my luck was especially bad I dealt with the twins Geeky and Gimpy. One classic faced bumbling Nerd and the other though having no malformation of his lower limbs seemed to bang into every piece of furniture in the room no matter how far apart the furnishings were arranged. I grinned and bared the fumbling’s and false starts because they paid well and the other Odalisques either refused to service them or found a way to disappear when they entered the bordello. Though both were fairly young, perhaps in their 20s they did no better in the stamina and endurance department than the old coots in their 70s and 80s. You went in expecting volcanic emissions and received only a little smoke, a few burps and many farts. Dribblers all.
Damn my twisted back!! Relegated to porcine misanthropes and brachiocephalic troglodytes!!
Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services. I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men. But then again where does the Sycophant stop and the Courtesan begin?
I came here from a rural backwater village after a disastrous arranged marriage. Truthfully there was no consummation on my wedding night once my betrothed disrobed me and began screaming and cursing in horror and disgust at my Quasimodo form tossing me from the matrimonial bed, calling the town elders who made preparations for me to be sent back to my father’s tent. My father who was always ashamed of me and who found himself disgraced not only within our tribe sent me away into the wilderness with only the clothes on my back and what few possessions I could gather whilst trying to escape his stormy anger.
Good fortune did smile upon me as I traversed the dusty road away from the only home I had ever known. Angels in the forms of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine. Once he entered the land of intoxicated snores my weeping women saddled horses, loaded them down with as many provisions as they could hold and interception my journey. We hugged, cried and mourned my passing knowing a rejected woman is as one dead. A Jepthah’s daughter placed upon the sacrificial altar never to be seen or heard from again.
They also managed to bargain with the disgruntled groom managing to win back half my dowry which my mother tearfully entrusted to my outstretched hands. I was also given one strong yet steady sway back donkey. A fitting companion who mirrored my disability and temperament. My past I knew well but my future was just a cloudy day on the horizon.
DEPRAVITY, DEBAUCHERY, decadence
Vice ridden timeworn men who still sustain the impure flames of lust despite the chill of old age.
A worthy adage of a man on the cusp geezer-hood.
Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.
Within this underworld we meet our sardonic proprietors in sex trade, the mirthless dwarf called, BASTINADO BOOBYALLA.
Booby as he was affectionately known had the face of Peter Lorre and the heft and bulk of a miniaturized Sidney Greenstreet. Booby had the misfortune of being scurrilous and scrofulous. His rough skin was spotted with scabies and his body emitted a sepulchral odor. Spiteful
Booby was was the bodily opposite of his Partner in Crime Bumfiddler Clatterfart.
Bummy was six feet tall of bulging muscles, narrow waist and sculpted buttocks. His lack of moral fiber and somewhat limited intellectual faculties innate in most normal human personalities could be easily perceived in his cranial structure and his overall physiognomy. The shock of wild reddish brown hair closely cut on the sides of the head, the high sloping forehead, prominent brow ridges, receding nostrils and thin lips, these features put one in mind of a simian head attached to the body of Atlas. Bummy’s nature embodied the seven deadly sins from head to foot.
Booby and Bummy were the real owners of the bordello that Semper Fi patronized on a weekly basis.
Though the outer streets were rundown, garbage strewn and suspect inside the elaborate bedchambers fit for a king were divided into three sections one being the actual room where Semper Fi carried Bronco Busting escapades with an ornate Italian Renaissance canopy bed replete with seraphim, cherubim, and putti on the ceiling looking down seemingly blessing the lewd acts committed in that bed.
Business offices where the girls reported for inspection and assignments at first resembled an Italian studiolo. Scholarly books that were never read, save those dealing with what he felt was the “science of photography and videography” lined the bookshelves along the walls. There was a collection of opera records beside an ancient Victrola, which either Bummy or Booby played incessantly even during to block the sounds of various vigorous sexual acts committed in the bawdy house. Usually one or both of the duo would choose a woman for themselves and during those sexual gymnastics the music became louder more than likely to mask their grunts and groans plus the simulated shrieks of whatever sex worker was chosen to honor their illustrious owners.
Dagmar served as a type of governess to the young women. Their harem quickly became a zone of safety from streets of starvation, disease and death. They were bathed, perfumed and outfitted like odalisques in paintings from centuries past.
As time went on many young women passed through our heathen portals but one stood out from the others. She was literally abandoned at our doorstep. At first we thought the girl to be deaf and dumb because she neither spoke except to make nearly unintelligible sounds nor seemed to respond to our commands. Dagmar and I thought her a poor fit for our scandalous enterprises. Dagmar took her into the women’s’ chambers to be washed cleaned of the dirt and filth that seemed to encased her fragile body and discovered a note pinned to her grimy undergarments. Succinctly the note said her name was Sophronia and that she had just turned eighteen with her moon cycle having started three seasons prior. Dagmar was always good at persuasion and bringing out the best in wounded animals. Coaxing Sophie was no different. After a time Sophie as we nicknamed the girl responded to Dagmar’s gentle persuasions. A bond of trust developed between the two despite the fact that Dagmar knew the girls eventual destiny.
Many moons passed and Sophie as Dagmar liked to call her became quite the coquette. For some odd reason Eve became a favorite of Booby who outfitted her in dresses and skirts of silk, satin, lace, velvet. Many lovely cream colored fabrics some with lace trim others with glass beads and sequins. Before we knew it Sophie’s 21st birthday was upon us and Booby had a special costume made up for Sophie. It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as Sophie was when she donned the frock what pleased her even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. Sophie’s thick dark hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but she had the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.
As much a disciple of Bacchus as the god’s original followers neither Booby nor Bummy ever touched Sophie. Her chambers were the height of ornamentation and ostentation with elaborate sinks, tubs, showers and a bidet. Something the other girls could only dream about. Yes Sophie was a prize. And such an Odalisque could not be hidden from Semper Fi for very long………….
I can’t seem to steadily fix your face in my mind. It keeps fading from view.
Yet my body remembers your hands on my thighs. Hungry eyes devouring my pheromone gaze.
Every day the beautiful lonely rosebud years for the stem eagerly awaiting pollination, satisfaction and release.
I feel the weight of your obsidian flesh keeping rhythm with my answering hips.
Geechie man where are you now? Are you favoring another with your charming 1000 watt grin?
Your imprint remains emblazoned on my mind, body and soul, Daily seeping into V-shaped orifice legs wrapped around your broad barrel chest.
Engulfing pleasure via penetration by the fire-tipped arrow of liquid bliss igniting climax, undulating quivering flesh cresting and falling waves beating against craggy muscular shores. Repeatedly the sword is plunged into welcoming consummation releasing the rapture seminal fluidity ecstasy. A Rhapsody of convulsions enraptures my being casting me into sensual oblivion of volcanic bursts of molten lava shooting forth from Vulvonic cores. Addicted to never-ending euphoria once again I levitate towards the Golden Flaming Spear scorched sweat washing into untamed grottos. Intensity of squeaks and yelps issue forth from formerly abandoned caverns answering the echoes of uncontained passion as a runaway beast charging, snorting and grunting smashing into the tight cavity taking command. A cacophony of primordial reverberations fill the bedchamber atmosphere exposing sweaty, grindy rumpled sheets infused with rainbow colors, orchestral violins and Angelic voices heralding the gale force winds of Solomon and Sheba eternal song.
Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my voice intoned the old Victrola.
Ecstasy, Passion — A Holy Orgasmic Release.
Leda began her hair color ritual in the usual way. She carefully laid out the tools of her trade on the bathroom sink and the top of the commode. Being a small bathroom there was not much space but Leda made do within her sanctuary. Hair color, towels, mirror, comb, gloves, check. Now Leda was ready. Using a wide tooth comb she divided her thick unruly curls into sections applying even amounts of color first to her roots then all the way through to the ends.
Pulling the comb through her mane Leda envisioned LeRoi’s rough hewn yet well groomed hands entangling themselves within the kinks and knaps of mother Africa all the while gently massaging her scalp and kissing the nape of her neck. Leda massaged the remaining color through her tangled tresses then set the timer for 20 minutes walking the short distance to her bedroom to meditate while the process worked its magic.
During the 20 minutes of meditation Leda visualized her lover LeRoi sitting next to her on the bed speaking softly and gently in his deep Country Kitchen flavored with hints of Brooklyn accent all the while kissing her brows, the bridge of her nose and finally her lips. He sometimes stopped to look deeply into her eyes mentally willing the both of them to become one flesh.
She could feel the bristle of fresh grown five o’clock shadow against her face all the while falling into a deep blend of mahogany skin intermingled with African, Native American and French blood lines. From his lips issued the voices of ancient Kings worshipping the Queens of Africa, Sheba and Candace. Raspy rivulets of Pleasure streamed down her thick thighs. His hands, His lips, His body emoted sucker cup tendrils adhering to every sensitive site on her body. Sighs and moans escaped softly parted lips.
Suddenly the buzz of the timer interrupted her reverie and off she went to turn on the shower preparing to rinse out the excess color treatment. As Leda stepped under the powerful flow of the water LeRoi’s spirit stepped in with her and they were transported to the thunder of Caribbean waterfalls, enveloped in thunder of the cascading streams. LeRoi’s hands were like the streams of water entering into every sensitive place of her temple. She could feel his lips and hands as they worked their way down from her neck, breasts to that soft mound of flesh above her pubic area where he loved to rest his head after a night of lovemaking.
He cupped her full derriere with his hands enjoying the firmness of a well developed ass pulling her in and closer to him.
Water and Burgundy ran down over the nooks and crannies of her curves. Fountains of scented oils sprayed anointing from the Seven Continents co-mingling with her own pheromone essence.
Water and Burgundy ran down over the nooks and crannies of her curves. Volcanic orgasmic waves shoot forth.
Ring, ring, ring, the sound of the phone brought Leda out of her fantasy and quickly toweled off and managed to answer before the machine kicked in.
“Greetings Empress of the Seven Lands. I just arrived at JFK. Taking a taxi to your place. See you in a few minutes.”
Leda rejoiced. Her fantasy was about to become real. Her Lover was almost home. Her thoughts wandered to a romantic tryst in the hot tub at their friends chalet.