Dare I?

Day 160 hands on by xelia

Dare I, or dare not?
Live to touch or touch to live?
Must I? Yes, I must.

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A Black Photograph

Imagelessness

I’m dreaming again,
an imageless dream,
a black photograph.

A stir in the darkness
pleases this moonchild,
this waterbaby.

My night is clear and light,
as bright to me as day,
calling to me.

Darkness toys with my spirit,
a sensual game,
my distraction.

My dream, being taken,
loved by the night,
my day, my moon.

I swim in the pool of life,
dreams obsessed with lust,
my desire.

Darkness yearns to include me,
to please me, to love me,
to make three.

Sleep calls me,
come out to play,
so I must go.

My nightdress is lonely
on its hook tonight.
I’m in the mood.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (18. Seclusion?)

I drew THE HERMIT again. Will this never end?

It’s worse. You haven’t heard from me for another three days. Neither have I. They are completely blank. I fell asleep after my last posting, and woke up this afternoon. There was a care package from Marcel gorged on the kitchen table, and another sitting outside my front door. I think I’ve been outside, too, and I’ve had sex. That’s not good, since I think I’ve also skipped my period. Maybe she is making me eternally fragile … err, fertile, so that I bear a demon child. I’ve skipped periods before, especially as I approach “the change,” but this seems different. I don’t feel tender … juicy … um, good about it.

The house smells even more like heaven … uh, semen than before, but I don’t see any signs of sex here. The living room seems as messy as usual, just like the rest of the house. (I’m a snob, err, slob.) How do I know I’ve had sex? I feel stretched out, very stretched out.

Maybe it was Max. He hasn’t tried to contact me, since my last post. Maybe he came here, and Chastity devoured him. Maybe it was the policeman. There is an unmarked police car sitting out front of my house, parked on the wrong side of the feet, fleet … um, street. We have underwear … err, snow removal bans here. Even days, one side, odd days, the other. I checked the car out after midnight tonight. It’s unlocked, and the keys are in the ignition. If I could, I’d inform the police department. Marcel, if you wouldn’t mind, please … come over and I’ll give you a good time … check it out, discretely. It wouldn’t be a good idea for them to knock on my door.

I think that I might have also gone out in the cold without any clothing on. There aren’t any flirty … dirty ones lying around, and I don’t expect Ms. Ball to know how to use a modern washing machine. I haven’t worn anything in several days, except to go out to check out the car. I find clothing increasingly disgusting, as it bars the touch of another. I keep turning the heat up, especially as the temperature plummets outdoors. It’s below freezing out there right now.

I’m doomed. Doomed and maybe pregnant.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be likely for me, but who knows?

P.S. My Eirica story is progressing well. (The only thing in my life that is.) It’s about desire, so Chastity seems to allow me that luxury without stuttering. I’m nearly finished with it. It takes a while to format it, so I’ll post the chapters as I can. I hope to have chapter 5 by the weekend. Wouldn’t you know, it has a lucky 13 chapters. Just great! (Maybe I’ll combine some!)

come and let me make you a superman … you will be the great one … my beloved … my strength … she will do whatever you ask …

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (17. The Hermit)

Another few days … I’m sorry I’m so constipated … inconstant.

IX. THE HERMIT. Illumination from within. Divine inspiration. Wisdom. Prudence. Retirement from current events.

I think the last just about covers me. There are still a couple of weeks before the next full moon, so I’m stuck indoors. Marcel drops off sludge … um, food late at night, but I still leave a couple of hours until I emerge to bring the bags inside. He’s left notes to suggest possible dietary additions to curb the power that has latched itself to my soul. None have worked, and the power flows … mows … err, grows to the joint … point where the fetish no longer farts … works.

I’ve removed it. At least the pong is gone … only to be replaced by the smell of semen. Whose? I don’t know, but I like that aroma much too much for my own good.

Someone is watching the mouse … house … several people (probably men) at any given time of the day. During daylight hours, someone knocks on my front door hourly, but I dare not answer. Someone will get hurt, and it won’t be me. They may die, even.

I feel Ms. Ball’s power over me. I sleep very little now (never at night), as I’m in a constant state of arousal. Just thinking of an orgasm … brrr … causes one to happen … and it happens more often than I would wish. I’m sweating a lot, and have lost ten pounds this week. I didn’t think I had an extra ten pounds to lose. I may disappear before the month is up.

I’ve stopped checking my email, so don’t bother sending me anything. I couldn’t check through thousands of emails pleading for sex just to find one real one. I’m still typing my blogs and then posting them whole with Ms. Ball’s additions at the end. What can I do?

Just out of sheer boredom, I answered one of Max’s rings … clings … um, pings. I can’t be sure what he sees me as, but in my current state I’m happy to do whatever he wants me to. At least he was alone, so I wasn’t harassed by his balls … err, wives. What did I do this time? I sang for him. He seemed to like enough to join me in an orgasm … brr, not again! … I didn’t have to do anything to myself. My song seemed to change him, visibly … I mean … shit.

Damn. I own him body and soul now. How do I appear to him? Surely, as a siren or Lorelei … like the real one that bewitched men to plough their ships into the rocks. What did I sing? Whatever came into … brr, again – wasn’t expecting that one … my head. I made up words and the melody.

Or maybe she did.

Perhaps answering that ping wasn’t a wise idea after all. So much for wisdom. Divine inspiration. Is Chastity Ball divine? Do I worship her? Will there be anything of me left when the moon turns full again?

No more contact with the outside world (except for my blog). That’s it. Funny she doesn’t interfere with my Eirica stories.

life everlasting awaits for you in my womb … come to me now … do not delay … claim your prize … drink of my purity … my divinity …

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (16. Lying Low)

You haven’t heard from me in a few days. That’s because I’m … well-endowed … well … not well. (That’s my story and I’m flicking … err, sticking to it.) That’s because my hands are sticky, actually. It hasn’t been an easy few days. One of the by-products of my condition is that I’m extremely horny. Visit me now, and you’d have the time of your life … well … there wouldn’t be much of it left, of course, as Ms. Ball will devour your soul, leaving your body an empty shell.

I feel like free will is slowly dripping out of me. I’ve turned up the heat and have stopped wearing clothes. No one would see them anyway. It removes the temptation to leer … look out the windows. Ms. Ball has decided that if no one is going to touch me, I must touch myself, and if I’m not sitting at my computer working on my story, meanwhile ignoring the thousands of emails that I receive each minute (yes, it is true) and the steady string of pings on my Skype (mostly from Max), I’m testing out my flesh. The more I test, the more I need to test. I’ve almost made it to the point where I can orgasm sheerly through imagination. It takes a while, but … I’m nearly there.

SEVEN of CUPS. Debauch. That’s fitting. Delusion, drug addition, intoxication, fornication, guilt …

OK, that’s enough. I’m more addicted to my hormones than anything else right now. Delusion? Probably. Guilt? I am SO guilty. I’ve cheated on Allen. I’m bunking off work, and I allowed myself to be possessed by Chastity Ball. At least, when I am possessing someone a couple hundred years from now, I won’t be slumbering … lumbered with her silly game … lame …

Damn. It came on so suddenly I had to stop and … um … test myself again. I succeeded that time. Not a single graze of my own flesh and wham! That’s the best way.

But her intervention hasn’t stopped me from finishing my sentence: name. Chastity Ball is a silly … nn-n-n-na-n-nn-name. B-b-b-b-bb-bb-bi-b-b-b-bb-b-bitch!

*sigh*

I’ve been sighing a lot the past few days. So … when I’m in front of my computer, I’ve been typing my story about Eirica’s obsession. I think the tangent she goes off on about all his women isn’t as interesting as her ghosts. I think that might be related to my own struggles.

Anyway, I don’t know when I’ll be back. Typing for pubic con … public consumption is difficult. And that Chastity b-b-b-b-bitch always adds her own little messages when I submit my posts. What will she come up with now?

… I await you … I will comfort you with a thousand kisses … be mine forever … drink my riches … feel my force within you … submit … submit as she does … feel my power …

It rained today

it rained today,
and I thought of you
I do everyday

lying in bed
watching the mosquitos
bouncing off the ceiling
thats me, unable to hold on,
hold you

the sun came out
and I thought of you
then the clouds returned

you are the light, my light
my centre of gravity
you follow me, following you
like a dog and its tail
silly, isn’t it

it was cold today
and I thought of your warmth
but you turned frosty

it was my fault that you left
there was no other way
if I let you in again
would you touch my desire,
or just stoke the flame?

it rained today
and I thought of you
never will I stop

…and the wind whispers back

your name
softly whispered on the wind
green forever in all directions
meeting the sky
dark and brooding

I, your Goddess
naked in the grass
waiting for you
in a sultry drizzle
my storm is brewing

only I can take you there

echoing the distant thunder
my heart beats for you
I am hungry
the embodiment of desire
of passion

I summon you
my love slave
but to serve you
as you would me
my minions are well-treated

you are here

I’ve waited long for you
the rain quickens
pours between my breasts
they long for your touch
your taste

a shirt clings
to your chest
better off
I crave the smell of a man
drenched in a spring shower

I free you

don your shirt
your trousers, your essence
to be in you
as you will soon
be in me

lightning flashes
we change roles
your turn to undress me
thunder blasts
in your touch

I want you

push you to the grass
I rule you
and you crave my rule
my touch, my tongue
knees squeezing your hips

nature unleashes its fury
heaving with me in my lust
but to please you
I know your needs
as they mirror mine

I love you

all-consuming love
I give myself to you
your dreams, peaking
and in the height of my storm
I scream your name into the deluge

…and the wind whispers back