CHECKMATE

(The Gospel of lies.)

“Do not lie for there is nothing hidden that will not be
revealed
And there is nothing covered up that will not be
eventually uncovered.”

--------The Gospel of Thomas.

Prologue.

She was not making love; she was making hate, straddling the shores of the silver mattress the
man inserted his masculinity which tormented the very centre of her being. There was no cosmic union
no delirious rapture, no blissful oblivion, merely the animalistic coupling of monsters. How much he
loathed himself for doing this was beyond his words for he was now insaned by the tempest of her
smell.

‘Oh my God!’ the girl’s cry was a mozartian symphony .Half of her wanted to scream her lungs out and
run while the rest and the bigger half longed his epic hardness. Her members though were no chaste to
this carnal rebellion had never experienced a hungrier penetration. As if the man in his infinite search
for communion had yet to taste the first breadth of a woman’s lips or smell the singular drop of wine
oozing from her bosom.

He was now on top of her, his strong hands curling over her petite breasts. She screamed this time
louder “Oh how I hate you girl…”his timid conscious was waking up.

He was now lying face down while he lifted the girl and pressed his stick inside her back, rocking her all
over again. His right hand caressed her pudendum while his left gripped tightly those lips that had
parted in protest to this plunder. His climax was close for his stick was about to succumb.

The girl acknowledging the eminent stopped abruptly.

“Darling we can’t finish off so fast” her delighted eyes twinkled.

She did not wait for a reply but took the dish of cocaine lying around and brushed it against the man’s
penis. She sniffed and smiled. She did it again and when she was hardly herself she put the candy inside
her dry lips for her tongue to do the rest.

It was now the man; for he cried like a toddler who had wet his diapers. Atop him... she straddled his
chest... her breasts in his face. His cups in her breasts. She leaned down, kissing her full on the mouth
putting their tongues to dual.

The man in is his late 40's, was slim, broad chested and good-looking. He was wild in a way he
had never been for years. While his partner was young, too young perhaps even for a woman.

He knew his puke would he as white as his sperm and he wanted to ejaculate both. She now leaned
close over his face, her tongue in his mouth all the while moving her hands up, to hold both of his. She
moved higher atop him... reaching to the side of the bed...she took a silver scarf in her hand... her hips
now covered his face below as the duo moved, Slightly, ever so slightly... his face strained towards her
gulping in mouthfuls of air. With the scarf in her hand she tied his hands gently to the brass bed as his
eyes closed expectantly...
It was the ancient sexual artistry termed by many as Erotic asphyxiation. In this position one of
participants engaged intentionally restricted the flow of oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal. It was also
called asphyxiophilia or better still autoerotic asphyxia or as the ancients would put it hypoxyphilia,
or breath control play. Colloquially, a person engaging in the activity was honored with being referred to
sometimes as a gasper. But the women was not about to make a panting dog gasp.

He knew that when the brain was deprived of oxygen, it induced a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state
called hypoxia. Combined with orgasm, the rush was twice more powerful than meth or no where less
powerful than cocaine, and highly addictive.

He had always regarded such deviousness in sex as pathological for he felt threatened by it. Autoerotic
Asphyxiation usually had a very lethal outcome akin to engaging in Russian roulette, to have the
excitement of hearing a click, till the bullet finally shot out. It appeared to him as a disorder for it carried
with it the potential for lethality or serious injury. But today was different, at least in some ways it was.

But the girl instead of tying up his head with the scarf used it instead to tie up his hands to the bed. Finally
arching her back she grinded her hips to his face. He wanted to finish it off as he was exhausted but the
girl was not done. Wary of revealing the incompetence of his hair he resumed while the girl arched her
back again curving it up while her tender form turning stiff. She tilted her head and extended her arm,
and then finally with a hint of dazzle the right hand lunged forward. The steel ravaged his thighs as the
man screamed.

“What are you doing?” there was fear and repulsion etched in the lined contour of his temple but when
his white eyes met the girls red dots there was something he could not place. An emotion so innate that
the definitions of mankind had yet to stumble across.

After pinning each of his legs to the bloody sheets she drew the crimson steel to his neck and whispered
“Tell me Darling; you’re not going to fuck with me now are you”? the ravage of her eyes meant a
different expression this time. The man knew and it was not one they shared.