Domino can certainly put pen to paper.

Ya think?

A couple more below the fold.

There was a man

Back when I was younger and moved with passion and zeal for all things true and right, I struggled with that dark side of me which was far more comfortable with the expedient, irrespective of morality. In the light of the day the shadows shrank and I felt as though there was nothing that could tempt me; however, when the shadows became long and darkness increased its grip on the earth, my will slackened and bony black fingers reached for my heart.

It was then I was tasked with monitoring a man, a man who moved with the lithe and agile grace of a panther. He was quiet, but exuded not only charm, but sensuality. A paper trail alleged him to be a mover of the underworld in the manner of organized crime rather than the practice of my own voodoo. If I was able to confirm his identity, I was to mark him for death.

I watched him often and when he engaged with the vendors in the early morning mists of the fresh air markets I found it hard to believe there was anything evil about him. There may have been a hint of amorality, but nothing that led me to believe he was, indeed, evil.

Perhaps, it was my own sense of youth-driven invincibility or his charisma had charmed me from a distance, but in the steamy nights of that summer, I dreamed of breaking with my training and making myself available for contact with him. Thoughts of his eyes drinking me in, as well as lips and tongue exploring all that I was dominated the hours of my day and night. In my mind all I could think of was his expertly manicured hands pulling me roughly to him as I enveloped the evidence of his desire within me, again, again, and again.

While not classically beautiful in the way of a Grace Kelly, I was and am an attractive woman and many men have shared that I have an exotic air that enhances my appearance and appeal. Garnering male attention was never difficult whether I sought it or had it forced upon me. In addition to my raven hair and coal eyes, I knew even then what a heady elixir the recognition of my own desire and sexuality was for men. It is no secret I have always enjoyed the ways of the flesh.

On a Sunday morning in September I decided to wait no longer. It was still warm and particularly humid, so I folded my mud cloth sarong in half lengthwise before tying it about my waist so that it grazed my knees rather than tickled my ankles. The brown complimented my tan limbs and for contrast, I pulled nothing more than a white cotton halter over my bare breasts. Taking a lacquered pin which was actually one-half of a chopstick combination, I pulled my long hair loosely up and out of my face, as well as off my neck. As an afterthought, I grabbed a fresh hibiscus from a neighbor's hedge and absently tucked it into my hair as my sandal shod feet carried me to the stranger I knew I would bed.

It was particularly early and I sought fresh fruit to enjoy with my café au lait and beignets. In fact, I had just taken a bite of a succulent peach at a curbside table when I noticed the man was watching me. He was casually dressed in jeans, topsiders, and white t-shirt with some logo or another. His only adornments were a hefty watch on his left arm and wayfarers.

I knew he was attractive and my desire for him had burned for weeks, yet I was ill prepared for the wash of excitement that released me of my breath when I could see in his eyes he wanted me, too.

With my lips still covered with peach, I smiled and cast my eyes down ever so slightly to entice him to join me. Without hesitation, he walked over and pulled up another iron café chair. Instead of introducing himself, he merely reached over, grasped the hand which held the peach and brought it to his own lips. I sat enthralled as he slowly consumed the fruit and gently kissed, then licked the sticky wetness from each of my fingers as I trembled and squirmed in sheer delight and almost ecstasy.

Only after we enjoyed my breakfast did he smile and tell me his name, as well as ask for mine.

I met him often at different times on different days. My employer was soon made aware of the contact and it was then my days of deep cover began and I was encouraged to utilize all of my skills and assets to complete the task at hand.

I was not so young or unjaded to believe in love, but never before had a man completed me so. I wanted him every second of every day that I breathed. I gave of myself as I had never given to a man before and he carried me to heights I never knew existed. He lavished me with gifts and attention and together we dined and mingled with the elite; however, despite my sexual satisfaction, I eventually came to be certain the man had no soul.

With his mind and body he told me of his love and desire for me. He even presented me with an exquisite diamond flanked by opals when he asked me to become his, but it was at that moment I knew in my heart he was without a conscience. With words he explained the diamond was the hardest and most durable, as well as rarest of stones and represented his love for me. Then he said the opals were a special request he made of the jeweler because opals were more fragile and in their milkiness there were flecks of green and red. Red for the passion, green for the jealousy he felt whenever his mind envisioned me in the arms of another man, and red again for the anger and pain which cut through him at the mere thought.

His words were beautiful and I desperately wanted to believe, but however intense, they rang hollow in my heart, lacked conviction, and were devoid of any real emotion. For all his charm, I knew he did not possess any of those intense feelings because I had seen with my own eyes of all that he was capable. Without even a flicker of regret or remorse for his crimes, I had the proof which matched him to his dossier.

Taking the ring by allowing him to place it on my finger, I asked him to meet me at a special place for a romantic dinner later in the evening to celebrate. He agreed.

Kissing him gently I searched his eyes yet again for some sign, but found none.

I left him with the promise of a night to remember and did not turn back. My employer was informed of the rendezvous and I was instructed to leave town for a while.

I did not.

At the appointed hour and place, I appeared as promised. As he stepped toward me a faint thud greeted me as I watched in slow motion his right hand grab his chest as he crumpled at my feet. I tried to reach for him as he struck the ground, but before I could even cradle his head, he was gone.

Despite my blatant infraction of the "rules" I was rewarded for my "dedication" and my training was stepped up. In me they found an unusually gifted tool. While that man had no soul, it was then I turned mine over to the darkness.

For many years now, I have often wondered which of us was the better for it.



POWER

Sex is different things to different people.

To me it is an expression of sensuality and affection, as well as a transfer of power.

As my experience has grown, I have been more selective in my choice of lovers and the seduction of each. While there is always a physical component, I find I am drawn to men of fierce intelligence, humor, and innate self-confidence. It is a strength of conviction and character that I find irresistible, as well as a sense of being and purpose.

Coincidentally, but not unexpectedly, these men typically have fiery tempers and extremely passionate hearts. Theirs have been wandering souls who answer to no man and, certainly, to no woman. Our couplings are usually intense and may last for months on end, though I have yet to mate for life.

Mine is a guarded heart which maintains a tight reign on the passions which flame within my soul and course through my body. I remain vigilant not to singe not only myself, but the object of my desire. Experience and time have taught me well how best to forever brand the psyche of my intended to ensure in the long nights of the years after me, he will still yearn for all that I am.

When darkness falls and he closes his eyes a familiar longing will stir deep within him. Whether he beds alone or with another there will remain a deep part of him that will be satisfied by no other. It is not love, but a much stronger and far more base emotion. It is need, a primal requirement to couple with one who takes as wholly and completely as she gives.

Once I have encountered a man capable of challenging my mind, as well as tempting my body, I let him know he stirs me so with subtle glances, almost accidental contact, and that rare glimpse into the passions to be found within. If he is worthy, he then seeks to seduce through methods of his own. The dance will continue over days and nights until I know his thoughts are consumed with me, as mine are of him.

When I feel the time is ripe, I usually appear and catch him rather unaware. Neither the time nor the place is that carefully orchestrated because, above all, I am human and when desire consumes, it pays little heed to convention. Besides, I enjoy life lived precariously and if one is so fortunate to catch a voyeuristic glance of the hunt and rapturous capture, it will be yet another mark I have left on man.

There are several components to this dance and each one beats to a slightly different vibe, but when rhythm is achieved, the result is exhilarating and intoxicatingly heady, indeed.

It has long been observed that men are visual creatures and easily aroused by what appears before them. What little has been explored are the vivid images captured well within the mind's eye of many men that are triggered to fantastical display when he has been temporarily blinded, his hands rendered momentarily lame, and his primary source of sensory input is reduced to tactile.

If one is without imagination at this point, allow me to paint a picture.

Several years ago I had the pleasure of dining al fresco at an intimate club on a secluded bay in Ranguana, Belize. It was the end of my first week in country and throughout my days I had experienced the sensation of being observed. As I swam in the Caribbean, lounged on the beach or walked through the sleepy village there were moments when I felt some stranger's glance on me, almost as a caress, and my body responded by a tightening of my breasts, a tickle along the nape of my neck, and a stirring between my legs.

My admirer finally made his presence formally known by approaching my table and asking to join me. When I looked at him, I realized I knew his eyes because they had visited me in my sleep and reflected a longing I knew well. As we feasted on wine, seafood, and fresh fruits, we spoke as old acquaintances, though our paths had not before crossed.

As the sun set and a breeze began to blow in earnest, he took my hand and led me to a desolate, but surprisingly torch-lit beach where a lonely bonfire crackled and danced in the wind. He knew as well as I our destiny lay in limbs intertwined and he was comfortable and confident to allow me the pleasure of the lead.

His way was that of a watcher, an observer for all time. He engaged when and with whom he chose to engage. Instinctively I knew any attempt to push or prod him to an action outside his will would force him to retreat deep within himself.

His power was to make himself felt by the touch of his gaze.

His power was no threat to me, so I allowed myself to become a willing accomplice to his machinations. The challenge was to shake him from within and compel him to act through primal urges rather than solid directive of the mind.

Turning to him in both firelight and reflected moonbeams off the water, I kissed him lightly and stepped from him. As he continued to watch intently, I slowly shed each of my garments until nothing remained but my long hair whipping wildly and partially obscuring my face. Taking my skirt in my hand I ripped not one, but two long thin pieces of fabric. Tying both strips loosely around my neck, I abandoned the remainder to the wind.

Smiling coyly, I placed my hands firmly on his chest and lightly kneaded the muscles beneath. Slowly and without taking my eyes from his, I began to unbutton his shirt. I then divested him of his shoes, undid his belt, and unfastened his pants. Whenever he attempted to touch me, I stopped and purposefully pushed his hands away.

When he became more insistent, I took one of the strips of fabric and stepped behind him. Taking first one of his hands, then the other, I tied them together loosely behind his back. As he continued to watch, I could see in his eyes uncertainty had encroached. His confidence was ebbing, even as his desire grew.

Standing full in front of him, I pressed my flesh against him and kissed him deeply to further incite the passions of his desire. Alternately tasting, kissing, and biting him slightly from his lips, along his neck and to his nipples, I stoked him. As the next deep gaze revealed the uncertainty had abated, I took the final strip, doubled it, and fashioned a blindfold, then continued to completely disrobe him.

As he quivered in desire-filled anticipation tinged by fear, I asked him to speak to me and tell me how much he wanted me. I asked him to say my name and describe for me what he wanted.

Standing on the beach I covered him with my hands, my mouth, and my body. With no effort or voluntary exertion from him, I brought him to the height of passion and lead him crashing over the breaks of ecstasy. All he knew was me, my touch, my feel, and my name. He was mine. His soul was seared with me.

Only after he was spent did I remove his binds and allow him to explore all that I am.

For my remaining week in Belize we spent our time trying to match the intensity of that first night with only varying degrees of success. An attentive lover, he was most willing to please but failed to grasp the concept of power in our couplings. I wanted from him what I continue to seek from he who will be my mate: I want him to exert the emotional and sexual power over me that I have wielded over the men who have come before. I want to be taken and consumed so I can experience the rebirth and unbridled intensity I so willingly provide.

There is one out there who I feel has the power and strength to complete me.

I fear him, as much as I want him.

God help me.