Reality in the Twilight Zone

His hands grabbed handfuls of her cool hair in a tight grip and he thrust deep and deeper into her mouth until she had milked him to the point of explosion.

And so he did . . . he exploded with glorious vigor into her mouth, crying out lustily, and nearly choking her with his self absorbed need. Her finger inside his asse could feel his heaving and pulsing, the spasming of his muscles gripping her finger in back as he came like hot lava from a volcano into her mouth.

She drank down his potency, his life fluid . . . and fed herself heartily and with pleasure. She wiped a small trickle of semen that had spilled out onto her lips and chin with her fingers, and licked them clean.

Neshe dropped now to his knees and they together held each other there on the floor.

Snama nibbled on his earlobe and murmured lovingly "mmmmm....so good."

_____________________

The Blue Sari

The unwrapping of Snama, was a slow, almost agonizing process. With each little movement of his hands as Neshe unwound her sari, he rained kisses and nips on her as she dawned from the silk.

Her neck, her shoulders, her arms, all received their share, some small and flitting, others wet and long and lingering. His hands denuded her of her blouse. Her breasts grew proud and heavy under his hands and mouth and lips and tongue, her nipples hard and then soft with his suckling at them.

His lips kindled a trail of clinging sparks across her belly as he unwrapped the sari from her waist, his hands tarrying, his fingers teasing on the sweet swell of her hips as he slid the belt of her petticoat past them.

His lips and mouth followed his hands and fingers across her thighs and calves, small, butterfly kisses here, lingering, laving kisses there, little nips in between, right to her well formed ankles and the sweetly pink soles of her feet.

With the petticoat out of the way, Neshe simply turned her on to her belly. And for a moment he was just transfixed. Hennaed scrolls on either side of Snama's spine, gently curving down and inwards, beckoning his eyes to the cleave between her warm, inviting woman mounds.

With a sharp, loud exhalation of breath, he pulled her on to his lap, her legs he parted wide, either side of his waist.

That was when Snama's agony of pleasure transmuted into an ordeal.

He didn't do anything, didn't say anything. The only sign of his life was a slight shortening of his breath, and the palpable heat of his gaze.

Snama wished he would do something, make a move, say some of the words he'd taught her, but he just was there, immobile except for the shortness of his breathing, his focused gaze burning into her.

It took all of Snama's strength of will to stay still, not to squirm, or to slide away from his lap, to cry out. She closed her eyes to obviate him, herself, them.

The only result was a heightening of the sensation of heat wherever there bodies touched, an even greater searing heat from his gaze which she felt was boring into her, penetrating her shamelessly, inexorably.

Neshe's breathing and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds she heard, along with the heavy thudding of her heart, which she felt beat somewhere between her buttocks.

More fire was added to the already engulfing flames. She could sense his manroot throb now, underneath her thighs, regaining its strength from the visual feast Neshe had made of her.

She broke.

Her body trembled, her hips quivered, her buttocks clenched and unclenched repeatedly, she felt her kuss pulse, and spew out a thin, sharp stream of her juices on Neshe's cock and thighs.

__________________________________________

So intense was the orgasm she experienced that she went totally limp, almost unconscious. Neshe lay beside her and fell off into dreamland.

______________________

Neshe's Diary

Neshe's Diary: 23 August 2003

Shy, simple, sweet Snama; simple and sweet she is, and the shyness ingrained. Yet, at the proper time and place, with the person right for her, she becomes a sensualist's wildest dream.

She has taken me into herself repeatedly. She has given herself to me unreservedly, given me the freedom of her yoni and her mouth. She wants me to take her as she has never been taken before. And yet she has not shared a bath, a shower with me, I have not seen her sitting on the throne, have not seen her relieve herself of nature's calls, haven't heard the cute little tinkle a mature woman makes when spending a penny. She hasn't seen me spend one either.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, said Shakespeare. There is a high tide in mine these days. Where will carry it me? I don't know. Frankly, I'm not even interested. The rhythm of it, the incessant beat, the movement itself is enough. Whatever direction it takes, what shore I touch, will be safe harbor as long as Snama is with me.

Dylan said "Love is all there is." He wasn't talking about the love one has for one's mother or one's parrot. He was talking about attraction, intimacy that wonderful feeling of following your heart to someone who makes you feel complete. Your heart bursts out of its cage and takes off in the direction it bloody well wants to take you and drags your head along with it.

That is what has brought Snama and me together. Brought her here, across the seven seas.

With me she is, at present - though the present itself is a mirage. Becomes past sooner than we can pronounce "present". And the future flows from the past. Muddled thinking?

No. It is very clear and precise. The present is a mirage . The past a beacon. The future is a dark tunnel one has to light with luminance from the past.

The past is also the night become morning, as she sleeps, sated, in the living room. There is an innocence about her that is heart rending. A trusting that is so untutored, one is afraid that one may unknowingly hurt her.

I am mortally afraid.

She has said pleasure and pain are provinces of the same realm. She also knows that these do not have any defined boundaries. So do I. She and I have both stumbled from one into the other, repeatedly. But there is a difference between us. I am a cynic. She is an optimist. I doubt. She trusts.

You, who may someday stumble upon this diary, be aware that I do not talk of physical pain. In my time I have been through corporal torture of the worst kind. Snama too has the greatest possible tolerance for physical pain. Those five brands with the white hot signet that I placed on the most delicate parts of her body. She bore them with silence, with grace, with equanimity. So I do not talk of physical pain.

A fracture of trust, a sundering of faith is what I talk about. And I am mortally afraid, that unknowingly, some day, I may hurt her.

The total, blind trust she reposes in me is frightening. If I lead her into a pit, she will fall.

And if she falls, I will from grace with myself.

She has been here only two days? Only forty eight hours. It was a few to midnight the night before last that I said to her, I will take you in your anus too.

Today, when we got home after dinner and the theater, and were together, there it was.

"N, unwrap me, find what you will."

Her note, taped to my bathroom mirror. I didn't get the import and purport of it till I had disrobed her.

Hennaed scrolls on her back, either side of the brand I first seared into her tender skin, on the small of her back. Each pointing down and inwards, where the roundure of each buttock melted into the crevasse between the two.

The invitation, and the trust that birthed it, hit me with hurricane force. Snama, of course, does not know, what it would be, at her age, being opened there.

I was gripped by raw animal need to enter that small, tight, unplowed bundd of her's.. There was such an explicit, blind, unconditional trust in that invitation. The two had an effect on me I've never experienced before. A lust that impelled me to act, a tenderness that held me spellbound, immobile.

In my lap she lay, face down, her thighs parted to the full, either side of my waist, her buttocks sundered, her anus a target vulnerable in the extreme.

My eyes became fixed on what she had so blatantly, so trustingly offered. My heart thirsted to break in. My body, in the very intensity of its need, cautioned me not to.

I obeyed my body. I did not. It was just providence that her circumstance, her being thus open in my lap overwhelmed her and she broke, came, without being touched, molested, harmed.

The force of her orgasm drained her into a faint. I had to revive her by sprinkling water on her face, by kissing her back to a consciousness where she could feel and express pleasure and pain. I bit her on the neck, on the undersides of her breasts, and she retaliated. I knew she was safe from me, for the time being at least.

Her voice grew husky; the sent of her became more and more musky. Once again she was at my lann with her mouth. But this time my mouth had reached her kuss too. And when, my hands reached her buttocks, she, once again explored mine, once again probing my asse hole with that slim shaft of her middle finger, her mouth avid on my cock.

Bliss. It is Snama with me. Snama, my woman, my kuss.

When He Slept

He dreamt, and he got more than he bargained for. ____________________________

Just a single window was lit in the cabin. Neshe could discern a soft silhouette behind the frosted panes. He knew it was Snama.

This cozy little cabin deep in the Canadian highlands was Snama's idea. Not being familiar with the area, and as usual having succumbed to an all too familiar rush of blood, Neshe had said, yes, I'll be there. And here he was, late by more than 12 hours, and still a hundred yards away from her. Inside him, there was a strange calm coupled with ever increasing turmoil. The feeling was inexplicable. Just like the taste of something he had never savored before, and therefore, was unable to name, to categorize. He knew her, and yet, he did not. Very familiar with each other they were, yet complete strangers. This is the paradox of the Internet at its best and worst. Closeness in the extreme wedded to total unfamiliarity.

His step quickened, as did his heartbeat. He had been looking forward to this for a long time now. And the time now had come. Snama's picture is vivid in his mind. So are the many other meetings, the torrid trysts they have had. Like a wet behind the ear sophomore, Neshe had been thinking ahead, trying to imagine how it will be.

A gentle, almost timid caress to the door bell. A soft padding of naked feet inside. The door opens, a broad swath of light falls on the aged timbers of the verandah, her figure is limned by the soft light inside.

"Is that you, Neshe?"

" Yes. I'm sorry . . ." His voice trails off as she gives way, he enters.

Words, perhaps, were not created for such a situation. There aren't any.

It's the eyes that speak, and the tongue they speak is primeval, age old. Her blue, sapphire fire eyes on him, his dark, and deep ones on her. And then locked in an embrace, the eyes.

Somewhere, from the deep, dark recesses of his mind, something she had said, suddenly bursts forth on his consciousness, becomes the definition of the moment.

"It's a very hungry mouth . . ." She had once said of her mouth.

Neshe is seized by a hunger for this hungry mouth. He reaches out, pulls Snama to himself, his lips bear down on hers, to devour.

Who was the hunter? Who the prey?

He doesn't even recall how many times he took her mouth, doesn't even recall whether it was he took her mouth, or she who took him in her mouth.

The only recollection he has of the remnant of the night is slowly easing into wakefulness, (or was it coming to), her head cradled in his groin, his cock captive in her mouth, in the last throes of a climax . . .

__________________________________________

II

Her cunt is an exotic orchid in full bloom, it's scent heavy and hot as Neshe's lips and tongue have teased and tormented it, despite her protestations.

Now the blunt tip of his cockhead is doing the teasing and tormenting. Heavy on the distended pistil of her flower, it gently caresses her bedewed petals, reveling in their velvet warmth.

She moans. Again and again. She wants him in. He tarries. But for how long?

Her cunt is too inviting to resist.

He thrusts in.

_____________________________________

III

The two.

The male. And the female. The woman, and the man. Both in heat. In rut.

Desire on the sway. Rising. Like the sun toward high noon. Ascending higher and higher.

Tightening its grip ever more on its two hostages.

Snama and Neshe. Apart from the muted rustle of silk on skin, the audibly heightened breathing, there is silence.

As she removes her pajama top, then the bottom, the moments seem to slowly trickle by. Like cum oozing out of the cunt of a fully sated woman.

In his mind a loop is playing. Maddening him more with every passing second.

"Neshe" That was Snama.

"Jaan" That was him. He has taught her the sex words, simple sentences of his mother tongue. The saying of them are whiplashes of desire for both.

"Mayree bundd maar [Fuck me in the asse]" That was Snama.

It hit him like a twister. The seriousness, almost earnestness of the tone.

"I want to have anal sex with you, Neshe."

"Mayree bundd maar"

She is naked now, bent from the waist down, her hands resting on the side of the bed, feet planted wide.

His desire grows even more.

"Daikh, mein tayray layee chuttar khole dittay nayn [See I've parted my buttocks for you]"

It is like a sharp, vicious spur, this half whisper.

He bends down behind her. Like a dog in heat, he sniffs her, the hot, heavy musk from her cunt intoxicating him. For a moment he is tempted to kiss and then enter her there. But the loop playing in his head . . .

"Mayree bundd maar, Neshe"

Her slim, tightly rounded, buttocks are spread wide, her thighs slightly quivering. Unfolded before his eyes is a rich vista of curves and planes and rounds, her back from her shoulders down to the downslope of her haunches.

Nestling in the cleavage between her buttocks is her anus. Shy. Tight. Tremulous. Virginal. Neshe is overwhelmed. In a blinding flash, all that has passed between him and her, the quest and the unfolding, is relived again.

"Mayree bundd maar, Neshe"

He bends.

From the honey and gold of her wide spread asse the dark mystery of her anus beckons him.

He bends to kiss her there, his lips spreading around the crinkled rim, his tongue caressing the orifice repeatedly.

She moans his name.

His tongue becomes insistent. He licks, again, his lips fastened around the rim of her anus, the tongue seeking entry into the tightly puckered hole.

She squirms. He gently nips at her perineum, moves his lips to really bite on her buttocks, either one, hard.

Again she moans out, loud now . . .

"Mayree bundd MAAR, Neshe"

He takes in the sight of her, widespread asse, thighs quivering. He takes in himself, erect, burgeoning, raring to go in, the plum head of his cock purple with desire and need. He takes in the earnestness of her plea . . .

"Mayree bundd MAAR, Neshe"

He positions himself behind her, placing the blunt tip of cock on her tight anus, and holding her buttocks apart with both hands, stretching her cleavage wider, thrusts in with full force.

For a moment it seems he won't be able to get in, but her sphincter gives, and he is in.

He felt he would be her captive forever.

_______________________________________

Falling Through the Fog

Snama awoke to find Neshe had left for his work. Again this day, she was free to relax, and of course it was the library that attracted her.

There were things, underlying things since she had arrived that led her to questions regarding Neshe; small things he had said, papers that made no sense. Somehow these pieces did not fit in the picture of himself that he had painted for her.

And then, by chance, she found it. His fold of business cards. Neshe was not who or what she had been led to believe he was. ____________________

She was shocked beyond belief. She spent the rest of the day in anticipation of confronting him; every second agonizing, waiting for Neshe to return.

Snama felt like a parachutist who in the middle of a free fall discovers that the parachute isn't opening.

She felt as if her innards were convoluting in an attempt to tear out of her in some way.

The discovery that Neshe hadn't been entirely truthful to her had uprooted her self belief.

It wasn't of much consequence that he was a businessman and not a professor as he had told her. Or that he ran a successful business instead of being employed at the University. What was of consequence was that her trust had been fractured.

When she had confronted him, he had been very forthright, even contrite. Had told her exactly what he was, exactly how it had come about that he had posed as a professor at the chat site where they had first met, and how, by the day, he had thought of apprizing her of the reality about him, and how he could not.

She had asked his servants to arrange a taxi, and had walked out his home, out of his life.

If only he had let her. _____________________

He had not let her. She had come to the hotel which his servant had told her about, and there he was, right after her, now ensconced in the sofa, while, she, it was her room, dammit, paced the carpet, still fuming.

He didn't speak, had just said,?Let me in.? when he had knocked at the door, had come in, closed the door behind him, and simply made himself comfortable on the sofa.

Suddenly she whirled at him,

"And I'd thought you were a gentleman, a real gentleman."

"What's an unreal gentleman?" he spoke for the first time since he'd come in.

She stopped in her tracks.

"You see," he said softly "you're anger is clouding your ability to think, to speak rationally"

"So, what do you suggest, I applaud your chicanery?" she asked.

"Take it in your stride," he said, still very softly " you and I met in a fantasy world, and from there traveled to reality."

"But I never lied to you Neshe" she fumed "Why should you have?"

"I was already a lie when you met me." He answered. "I didn?t make it up for you."

"But you could have told me the truth at any time." "And risked losing you?" he countered.

"As if you haven't now?" she said disdainfully, looking straight into his eyes.

"No." he said emphatically. "I haven't."

"You're here, I'm here, and I propose to take you back with me."

"Fat lot of chance of that" She answered, "I suggest you take your leave and go your way."

"We shall see." He replied softly, rose from the sofa, poured out a glass of water from the carafe on the table, drained it, sat down again.

"What makes you so sure that you've banished me from yourself?" he asked her, his eyes, his gaze steady.

Snama sat next to Neshe on the sofa, and faced him. She looked straight into those sharpshooter eyes of his.

She thought before she spoke.

_____________________

"It is difficult, Neshe, to be sure of anything, when you come to realize the unreality of what is presented as "Real".

You have asked me what is an "unreal gentleman". The answer is simple to me. It is a man who has presented himself to me to be of gentle bearing, polite and considerate; and then proves not really so in my eyes.

It was inconsiderate of you to let me believe so long in your falsehood. The longer this deception lasted, the farther up the mountain of faith I had climbed. Faith in you and with you. And now, I am pushed off that mountain. You have disrupted my faith, my surety. I am left in the fog. Alone and falling, in the fog.