Y la baila y la goza y la canta

 

Y la baila y la goza y la canta

(Las Ketchup 2002)

 

Chapter One Part 4   

 

 “Could you set the table please? Dinner is ready. Hello! Baby girl, anybody there?” She looked up and placing her phone back down on the keyboard shelf of the PC desk, she confusedly took the two plates of ostrich schnitzel with deep-fried French fries and cutlery from his hands. She looked at him.

“The coffee table?”

“No, that one.” He pointed to a small folding camping table in black and aluminium legs, perfectly matching the theme of the entire kitchen and living area of the attic apartment. “It is usually folded and then brought out for my other projects.”

She did as he had asked. The coffee table had been pushed to one side. ”When did you do this? I mean, set up the table?”

“Whilst you were staring rather stupidly at your phone.” He smiled and came to her. Kissing her open lips deeply, whispered, “we will also be needing this.”

She gazed in astonishment at the long, fat, scarlet red candle used by the faithful to put on their deceased loved ones’ graves, that he now presented to her with his right hand. She thought hysterically, Like, fuck me stupid. I thought, I thought, THAT we were about to go cannibal by eating a Venetian and… myself as sauce! The only thing that seems sort of normal about this meal are the McCain frozen fries and fuck knows what they were fried in? Maybe the fat from his mDate victims? They all went offline, permanently, just weeks since Bingo Bongo came onto the scene. Maybe this is some fucking perverse ritual of saying prayers before the meal? By doing a Roman Catholic Nuns` nightly desire to shove a lit tombstone candle up her cunt?

Watching the confusion flooding her face. ”Sexy, stop thinking about your quim for a moment. There, next to the microwave is a stainless-steel framed and glass windowed  lamp. Please light the candle and place it inside, not in you. And put it in the middle of the table.”

            “Chairs?” She enquired, trying to stop giggling at her own filthy mind.

            ”There is a  school chair in the bedroom and a wooden folding one on the landing. I keep forgetting to paint it black.”

            She sat down and started to cut a piece of the schnitzel and dipped it into the relish bowl he had placed. “Alexa, play romantic music.” The machine obliged. Before sitting, he turned off the lights above the kitchen worktop and using a remote turned the entire room into romanticism with slow changing pastel colours, fading in out of each other.

            “How do you like the dip? A bit hot? After all, you were on fire when I harvested your very soul.”

            She stared deep into his weird green eyes, almost like…like the serpent’s eyes in the garden of Eden. Chewing slowly, she stabbed a few fries onto her fork and watched his reaction as she deeply dunked them, till they were totally covered and with much theatrics, opened her mouth and placed them in. Bending, so her face was on the level with the flickering, deathly candle flame, she watched him. Thinking, I can also be a snake, and still chewing, she took her right arm and placing it under the table, felt him getting an erection. She rubbed the stirring joystick, amazed at the speed of its swelling. Sitting up she clasped her hands together and placing her elbows onto the table, rested her chin on them. Lifting a finger.

            “One, I have decided that not only do I smell nice, I taste fucking sexy, which is why I am making you mad with desire.” She raised another finger. “Two, is the banana going to be the desert - since I missed out on the  hors d'oeuvres of being penetrated by rather large candle associated with keeping devils at bay?” Up went a third finger And, three… I want to watch a phycological, adult rated, fucking frightening, slaughterhouse thriller film, preferably with nuns getting fucked to death by bald headed drunk and drugged on acid monks… erm, with a penance to eat them! Preferably in 3D, as, it appears you have just about enough technology in here to start planning how to destroy the earth, or what’s left of it, and…”

            She stopped, and  taking a proffered Bloody Mary cocktail, she pointed at him with a now unclasped finger and whilst he cleared away the dinner, returning it to its usual place, she sat down on the sofa and passing the empty glass to him, spoke out demandingly…

 

This Sex Is On Fire

 

This Sex Is On Fire

 

 Consumed
With what's just transpired

( Kings of Leon 2008 )

 

Chapter One Part 3

He laughed at her facial reacts of confusion. “Come here silly girl, watch the master at work.” She sulked a bit, but came willingly, kissing him with wet open mouth, then wiggling her tongue in his ear. He pointed at a lump of dark red meat occupying a white chopping board. “I am going to make…” and then switching to English, “I am going to make ostrich schnitzel”, and returning back into his strange Bavarian/Rhodesian dialect accented German, “‘schnitzel’ is the same in English.”

        She thought a bit. “So, we are going to eat a man or woman from Austria? I hope they come from Vienna.” Laughing almost hysterically, she grabbed his left hand, and hiking up the front of the dress, she shoved his hand deep between her swollen cunt lip.

        Smiling his quirky way that she was rapidly getting to see was when he was going to be satirical in a wonderful banter way. “Can I mix some of this fluid into a tomato dip?”

        She was fast in reply. “Shame we can’t add some of your well whipped-cream since I drank it all. Besides, I milked your coconuts  rather well and once they reload… I want your next load inside me.”

        Blowing her a kiss, he continued. “I presume you know what an ostrich is?”

        Of course, she knew what that was, but she was going to get him back, two can play at this game, hmm, a bit like sex, she thought. “Let me see…It is a bird and they pull all their feathers out then tie them to a long string and rich bitches, whores and slags put them around their necks. Just like that woman you have in the corner. And whilst you muse over that, go get dressed for whilst you cook. Besides, your man of war looks more like  the tip of a rather short pork hotdog sausage. Although a bit of schweinery will soon sort that out.”

        She followed him into the bedroom, smiling at the scattered clothes that had been hastily literally torn off in a frenzied, lust of desire. He let them lay where they had been thrown around. Opening a green doored cupboard, he took out a black adidas jogging set and slipped them on. Following him, she gave his bum cheeks a quick squeeze. Returning to the kitchen he continued to prepare. Cutting the meat into thumb thick slices, he proceeded to beat the meat with his small hammer.

        Watching him in silence she thought of all the questions she needed answered. She glanced around searching for some clues about the man who made her wet the first time she read his first message on mDates.

        “Gorgeous fucker of a man, that picture there shows you dressed up in that war you mentioned in your ‘about me’. And, there are racks of DVDs in here. No books and those in the bedroom -  I didn’t see your name on the spines.”

        She laughed, well amused with what she next said. “Although I suppose a book with the author’s name ‘Bingo Bongo’ would be in the children’s section. ”

        He laughed, ”Come to me you inquisitive wench.”

        Folding herself into his outstretched  arms she snuggled against him as he hugged her. Her breath was sweet and warm as she nibbles at an ear lobe.

        “I want you to hike up your dress, spread wide and squat. It is very important.” Pushing her gently away, she obliged. He laid down onto his front and propping up on his left elbow he took a small schnapps glass and rubbing it against the mixed moisture of droplets of urine and vaginal lubricant, that was still coating her vulva, he revolved it till it was covered. Skilled fingers spread her vaginal lips apart and with a practised hand placed the base end into her gaping hole and proceeded to push it in. She started panting, short, sharp breaths, she leaned back onto her arms, her chin hard on her breasts as she watched him bury the glass then withdrawing, placing two fingers on the still exposed rim, continued to ease it softly deeper and deeper into her birth canal until it could go no further. He watched her throw her head back. Lashing it around whilst making gurgling sounds as beads of sweat gathered on her forehead.

        “Oh! Jesus help me!”, she shrieked “I am fucking coming again.”

        He sat up, then kneeling between her now trembling legs, held both cupped hands together under her gaping dark tunnel. His middle finger massaged her tight light brown anal orifice, making her abdominal muscles writhe like copulating pythons. Slowly, the glass appeared, pushing cunt juice that dribbled down between her heaving buttocks, letting him use it as lubricant to allow him to easily insert the tip of his finger into another secret place.

        The schnapps glass fell out with the loud noise of a sloppy Flatus vaginalis and catching it he stood up. Helping her rise he looked contently into the glass.

        Panting, ”I need to sit down, catch my breath, a drink of something and a giant joint even if it makes me cough. In that order. What the fuck was that all about?” 

 

She staggered to the small sofa, pulling the dress down. He came over, sat by her side and she curled her legs onto his lap. Giving her a glass of orange juice, he waited as she closed her eyes and threw it down her neck  like a dehydrated stranded island cannibal finding a coconut with a corkscrew. Still panting she looked at the schnapps glass he held up. Through hazy eyes , still soaked from her reaction to her incredible climax.

       “I am proud of you girl. There is plenty here. As soon as I finished rolling for you, I will mix this with ketchup as our dip.”

        She observed blankly as he rolled. ”Play some nice music from your rather fancy set up here”, referring to a gallery of sound system flanking a large led television.

        He spoke then rather loudly for the momentary surrealism of sounds of silence in the direction of the silver hair headed and shimmering silver attired in mannequin. “Alexa, play ‘Sounds of Silence’ by Disturbed and then continue with my play list.”

        The machine spoke. “Playing Sounds of Silence by Disturbed from your play list of Amazon music.”

        She said nothing and leaning her head onto crooked arms, she was trying to think clearly.  The music filled the room as he stood up, passed her the lit joint and going back into the kitchen area of the small atelier, began to  coat the meat in flour. They were together but apart, he was concentrating on the food, and she was trying to make clarity of what had been happening to her in such a short time. She wondered what time it was. The place was covered in clocks. Silent. All showing different times or stopped completely.  Standing, she went over to the strange covered window and opening it blew a heavy cloud of marijuana out and breathed deeply of the sweet tang of countryside air…

 

Black and Gold

 

Black and Gold

'Cause if you're not really here

I don't want to be either

I wanna be next to you

Black and gold, black and gold, black and gold

(Sam Sparro 2008)

 

 Chapter One. Part Two

Collapsing onto the now sweat soaked sheets, they entwined their bodies together, breathing slowly becoming normal. The air feels a little cool now.

 She speaks for the first time. “Have you the bottle of apple juice next to the bed?” He reaches down and passes it to her. She swallows greedily. He watched her guzzle and thought that only a few moments ago she had taken his love juice in such a fashion. She laid back, kissing his shoulder and with open mouth sucking hard to make a bruise.

“Now I have marked you as mine, and buy the way, I doubt if you noticed as you were rather busy trying to get my mother’s milk.  I brought you a present. I knew you would like this.”

Lying back, she clasped her hands behind her back, black varnished fingernails now speckled with flecks of dried semen. He looked down and gasped with lustful delight. Wet, slightly matted from their sexual exploits, was a small bush of baby finger long hair. The colour as intense as the curls surrounding the entrance to the very soul of her. His balls seemed to almost groan as they worked overtime to produce another load to  satisfy her again.

 With words husky from the fucking. “Don’t get excited now. I need to know more about you. Obviously, you are not in any way German. The way you talk and the way you write is weird! Answer me as you lick my armpits clean.”

 He bent over her to oblige, struggling the urge to be inside her again. He started to taste the very essence of her hormonal reactions to intense love making.“I am English born but from the age of two I was brought up in Africa. I am a Rhodesian -  one of the last,” he murmured as his exploring tongue rubbed the taste of  her deodorant and sweat against the inside of his mouth.

“Rhodesian? What is one of those?” She quizzed.

             Puffing little short, hot breaths whilst combing the now drying hairs, his fingers creating small curls.“A place that no longer exists except in history. A land now called Zimbabwe.”

            She pushed him away and sat up. “I need to go to the toilet. Have you a dressing gown for me?” From the back of the door he gave her a fluffy, grey flannel gown. She held it up  turning it around and smelt it,“I better not ask how many women have worn this. Come, watch me pee and tell me more.”

            He knelt between her open knees and watched her release a strong, hot stream of golden amber, making his brain saturated with sexual desire. He continued, “I went to school there, joined the Police and spent two years in the Bush War.” 

Deliberately not wiping herself, she wandered past him, giving him a deep kiss, and started to examine the small art studio he had created. She looked around amazed, “this is like a modern art gallery!” She bent over and guessing right, opened the fridge door and hitching up the mantel to expose her buttocks, she gave a wiggle.

“Ooh la la la, and exactly how did you intend to eat this?” She held aloft a banana. “And,” as she came over and fondled his eggs, whilst letting him suckle a swollen right nipple, “You obviously live alone. divorced?

He removed his mouth and watched his saliva dribble from the end of her mother’s milk tap.

“Yes, a long time now. I left Rhodesia before I got killed, went to England, hated it and whilst hitching around Europe I found out on the camping site in Munich that there was work on building sites.” Taking the banana, he started to remove her dressing gown. She tried to stop him.

“Stop it now, get dressed and make the dinner you promised. All that sex has made me hungry and I need my strength for our second session.” 

            He reached under the two-seater cream leather sofa and brought up a tissue wrapped gift. “Put this on,” and continued. “I landed up being in the west of Munich for over 30 years.”

            She handed him the dressing gown and unwrapping, she let out a gasp of delight. Twittering rapidly now, the small burs making every word sound like a dying Thorn birds’ last lamenting sounds of love.

“Tell me more and start cooking.” She slipped on the black wool dress with half of it covered with a leopard adorned in multitudes of  black and gold sequins.  Posing in front of the tall antique mirror. “Do I look better in this than the awful picture I put on mDates? What are you going to cook? Will it be crocodile?”

She giggled. He went to the fridge and replacing the banana started to take out objects for the feast he would prepare.

“It is called Bingo Bongo Congo Stew.” He looked at her and parted his lips and licking them, smiled evilly and said, “ AND the main ingredient is YOU!”

            She, startled, her befuddled brain made her burst out, “Oh my God, and I have just been freshly stuffed!”