Posts Tagged ‘lust’

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 5

September 15, 2016


I haven’t looked at this chapter in a long time.  It needs rewriting, but until I do, it’s still a good story.  BEWARE:  Sex…sorta.

I had no way of telling time or sequence or anything that relates to the passage of time. I think of my life where we grew up around various clocks: mantel clocks, hall clocks, electric clocks in the kitchen, the battery run digital clocks by our bedsides, and our wristwatches. In the dimension I was visiting, or found myself, there were few clocks. No one so far wore watches. Perhaps there were pocket watches, but I saw few people and couldn’t tell

So I didn’t know what time it was of the morning, though I saw the sun had not risen. The room was colored by the timid light creeping into dawn, a blending of gray shadows. The fire had burned low during the night, and cast no glare. There before the fireplace was the Demon. He slouched in his chair, one booted foot upon the other, staring into the embers. He smoked a white, clay pipe, something I recognized as a “Dutch pipe.” He didn’t stir from his chair as I called his name, but blowing out a mouthful of smoke, he turned his face towards the bed.

“You are finally awake.” He grinned around the stem of his pipe, his large white teeth gleaming in the dim light of the room.

“It is too early to wake, Garrett. Aren’t you cold at the fire?” I snuggled back into my pillow.

“’Ah, an invitation to your bed this early? Would do, but there is a litter of puppies around your breast.”

I opened the covers, and there under the blankets, were his four pups. Little water spaniels, three boys and the girl, the runt, Sophie, snuggled between my breasts.

“Did you do this, Demon?” I laughed, for I had no memory of putting them there. The smell of puppies this close is a bit high, like sour milk

“The fire was low when I entered the room and you looked warm enough to comfort them.”

“Have you thought what you are going to do with them, yet?”

“I aim to keep them right here, and you, my darling woman, will be nursing them for me.”

“Ah, Garrett, had you ever thought that perhaps I might be a bit too busy to care for your dogs? I am trying to finish this novel, my friend, and perhaps it would have been nicer for you to ask me first.”

“Perhaps, yes…but it still doesn’t change the outcome.” He grinned and his eyes snapped in the firelight.   “The rules of the engagement are simple. You do what I want.”

“You are such an arrogant Demon! What makes you think I will do as you demand? Have you ever heard of free will?”

“Highly overrated and doesn’t apply here.”

He continued to puff and draw on his pipe and filled the room with his horrible smoke. Brimstone I believe.

“No so.” He continues to read my thoughts at will…his idea of free will, I suppose.   He packed down his ‘tobacco’ with his thumb. “It’s a nice cherry and spice blend I brought from the islands… Perhaps you would prefer a pipe of opium?”

“I have never done such a thing, thank you very much.”

He turned a half-opened eye at me, and said lazily. “Perhaps before you dismiss it, you should at least try it once.”

“And why would I do such a thing? It seems a half-death to me.”

My Demon continued to puff on his pipe, the lazy whiffs of smoke spreading across the room. When I first smelled the acrid smoke, I had thought fleetingly of the pot that I used to smoke on occasion. I thought, ‘fleetingly’, but that was enough for my demon to pick up. Suddenly, the smoke was not of tobacco, but of a sweet smelling herb I recognized though I had not smelled for years.

“You bastard demon!” I laughed at him, this conjuring trick a minor one in his bag. “Do you know how hard it is to quit that stuff? That is the last thing I need to smell this morning. Way too early!”

All this ruckus awakened the dogs in my bed. They were rolling over each other, and jumping at the pink ribbons of my mobcap. Little Sophie between my breasts grunted and stretched.

“You have disturbed your dogs, Garrett, now you better find something to feed them.”

He snapped his fingers and a bowl appeared on the floor in front of the fire. I handed each one from the bed to him, and he placed them around the bowl. Whatever it was, they ate with growls and snarls, stepping over each other.

“What is it you’re feeding them?” Even the runt Sophie was not shying from the food.

“Deer meat was handy.”

Well, at least he was sensible enough not to put down a dish of milk. Those pups would be runny within an hour.

“Oh, I thought about you nursing them but your nipples would give out fast. Though it would be amusing to see your milk spout when they started to howl.”

Oh, he was  such a bastard this morning!

“Well, I’m glad you decided on deer meat instead.” What a devil he was, to think of these ways of torment. His temper was like mercury, and he took offense easily. Perhaps it was part of the demon culture, for he certainly was a touchy devil.

“You should know, you thought me up.”

“Oh, Demon, I think you have had a long life before you ever came to thought.

“It used to be Demon Lover, and now it is ‘friend’? I think we go backwards.”

Opening the covers, I smiled at him sweetly, and decided to take my chances this morning. He was an entertaining fellow, and carefully handled, could be amusing.

He put down his pipe on the table, and moved to the bed, slipping in beside me. He placed my head upon his shoulder as he usually did  and settled next to me

“You know, Garrett, I have a lot of writing to do today. I am behind with the book and want to finish before the year is out.”

“You can write when I’m through with you, on the morrow…I want to show you things today. First I want to show John Thomas between us a seashell of delights.”

He was amorous in the morning. Actually, he was usually ready for a romp any time of the day or night.

“Besides, you avoided me in Chapter 4 and I mean to make up for that.”

He had a scent about him that was enchanting, a combination of musk and sweat and probably brimstone.

“It’s the scent of an aroused man, who is about to release a lot of little demons from his loins.”

I laughed at his clumsy wit, and blushed in his arms.

“You modern women wash too much. You have forgotten the scent of sex and its purpose. It draws the bees to the honey.”

Perfume and soap was such a part of my life that I didn’t realize my body produced its own scent of desire. Since he had bedded me my thinking on this had changed. After our lovemaking, we would lay in a nest scented with the smell of flowers, old flowers, ashes and wood. That must be part of his magic.

“Lie still, my darling woman, and indulge my mood here.”

When the demon demanded something, it was wise for me to listen. He had a way of bending me to his will, and I was learning, slowly, that sometimes there was an innate wisdom in what he did. Sometimes.

He touched my forehead, on both temples with one hand extended. He passed his hand slowly down to my eyes, and as he did, they closed. I barely felt his hand descend to my midriff, where he stopped and pressed down hard.   That is where I seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep, or at least a trance. Then, with something like a slow electrical shock, from the ends of my fingers and toes, I felt a gathering of energy, something warm and concentrating, moving down the passageway of my limbs to the center of my body, where he had pressed on my stomach. It seemed that all my nerve endings were coming alive, and centering in my stomach. My pelvis was flooded with a warmth that moved back and forth across my hip bones. An exquisite feeling of tingling took hold of my face, my breast, my entire body. Suddenly, it all rushed upwards, out of my body, like a current of many colored ribbons, opening upward and outward, bursting from my body like waves of liquid and spinning off like a million stars above me. I was lifted from all gravity and hurled through space like a ragdoll. I was transformed into pure energy, or something of that nature, for I had no words to describe what was happening to me. All I knew that it was an extreme pleasure, beyond anything I could imagine, and something that I didn’t want to stop. It dissolved my body into a stream of light, flowing through and around any obstacle, any fear. I felt like I was turned inside out, and my sex had blossomed like a giant orchid. My whole body, or what was left of it, pulsated with a spent desire. Slowly, I seem to have fallen to earth, to this bedroom, to this bed, and in the arms of a man who was lying there unconscious. I looked at him, and he was naked next to me, the bedclothes on the floor. The room was over heated, though the fire was still low. I felt a wetness on my side, and looking down, saw that he was bleeding from his left side, below his heart.

“Garrett!” I called out to him in a panic. “Wake up! Oh my God! You are bleeding, you have injured yourself.” I shook his shoulder, trying to arouse him.

He slowly came out of his trance, for it seemed that he was as spent as I was.

“I am fine. It’s just a little sacrifice for this pleasure.”

He passed his hand over his small wound, and it disappeared. My face was contorted with fear, my hands on his shoulders.

“What did you do? What happened to us?”

He smiled a weak smile and cleared his throat. “There are many things in this world and out of it. That is just one. It’s pretty spectacular, but there are even better things to come.” He burped loudly. “Right now, I’m starving, and am weakened with expending that energy.”   Turning over, he said with a grin. “Pretty good, no?”

I stared up at the ceiling, too weak to sit up. “Pretty good, yes.”

I lay there, silent, thinking of what had just happened. . My body felt like velvet, with no structure or nerves. I was empty of everything, completely undone.

“But why do you bleed?”

“Bess, you ask too many questions. Just think of Adam’s rib and the creation of Eve.”

He grinned and sat upright. Snapping his fingers, a tray of breakfast appeared on the table. He put on his long, linen shirt, and sat heavily in a chair.

I didn’t think that I could rise from the bed, much less walk to the other chair. My body was without bones.

“Oh, forgive me. I forget. That first experience usually knocks the wind out of your sails. You’ll find ways around that.”

He pushed out of his chair, and helped me sit up on the side of the bed, then led me to the chair. I sat there, not dizzy, but confused as to what had happened to me. Was this what is called Tantric sex?

“Nope,” I heard him mumble as he stuffed his mouth with bread and butter. “Far beyond that earthy delight, but we can play with it next if you want. Bit of a bore, though.” He drank a swallow from his tankard of ale, as he preferred this drink instead of my tea in the morning.

I could not imagine doing anything else that day or the next! He grinned at me, the lustful devil, and pushed some bread my way. He extended his hand across the table and looked at me tenderly, and I placed my hand in his. There was a little of that current still present in the air, and it melted my hand into his.

Ah, Devil, I thought to myself. You are a dangerous man or demon, whatever you be. I wondered when I fell back to earth if all the molecules fell back in place. I knew I had given something to him, far beyond my heart and sex, and it seemed to involve my trust. Perhaps that was the key to his heart.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008-2016





“The Devil in Paris”, Chapter 1

April 22, 2012

This is an early short story.  There are four chapters.  It is still one of my favorites, and went through revisions as most of our writing should.  It first appeared, in an altered version, in “A Seasoning of Lust”, published by Lulu, 2009.  I’ve cleaned it up for the blog.  After all, the presence of devils was startling enough without other  too-explicit issues.

PS: I got an email from a very good writer in Australia, who took offense that I would be questioned ‘why’ I did whatever to this story.  His advice was this:  “Because you are the author and you can do anything you damn well please with your work.”

He’s right, and I jump too fast to ‘explain’ the why to people who probably won’t read, or continue to read this story.  Tant pis! as Madame Gormosy would say.  It is not for everyone, and I have already had complaints about the title, people writing that they wouldn’t read it because of the word ‘devil’.  Probably from Baptists and Methodists or some form of fundamentalist religion.  Or perhaps they don’t like the French? 


Lady Nyo

(Madame Gormosy is a Devil.  She can change her sex at will, from Louise Gormosy to Louis Gormosy.  John Garret is also a Devil, (half human, though) and not so powerful.  They have known each other for centuries as devils generally do. The scene is Paris, in the 1770’s. )




Madame Louise Gormosy stood by the tall window, looking down at the rain-slicked street. Paris was cold and dreary this spring.  Wood had gone up in price,. A timely delivery was a matter of bribes. That should be the concern of her steward, but he had disappeared. Already her servants were breaking up small cabinets and chairs to burn in the main salon and kitchen. She could hear the smashing of wood somewhere in the large house. 

Madame shivered for the room was chilly.

Ahif ever I see him again, I will make him pay with his life for my discomfort. I will tear his stomach open with my nails and cook his liver. 

She had a visitor, a sullen-looking Englishman, now with his large frame stretched across her sofa.  John Garrett had been a friend for many years.  He was an easy-going devil and good company when in  proper temper.   She cast her eyes towards him, a smile forming on her painted lips.  Patting her high-dressed hair and smoothing the gray satin front of her gown, she wondered what had put him in such a mood. She remembered he was quite a wit when not bothered with serious thought. She hoped he would reform his manners, for she wanted nothing to spoil the afternoon.  The rain could not be helped.

“John Garrett!”    Madame’s natural voice was low pitched but now showed her exasperation with a rise in key.  “Are you going to continue your gloom and sour my day?”

Garrett, his eyes drawn slowly from the low burning flame, looked up at her.  He stared for a long minute, a sneer forming on his handsome face.

“We are alone. I know you better as   Louis. Why behave this way amongst friends? “ 

Madame did not answer.    She walked to the double door, locked it and threw the key into his lap.  For a moment she stood there, with her head cocked to the side, an elegant older woman, dressed in the latest fashion and only a sharp rise in the middle of her skirt gave warning of what was to happen.

In an instant, “Louise Gormosy” was  “Louis”. Gone were Madame’s satin overdress,  high coifed and perfumed hair.  A bit of makeup remained, but this was  current fashion among Parisian men.  Louis laughed at the expression on Garrett’s face. He now was a slight-figured man, above middle age, with powdered hair and white silk stockings sagging around thin calves. 

John Garrett shuddered.  He knew his friend was not just any man in Paris.  He was a demon, an important one– the Archduke Demon of Lust, with sixty legions under his command.

Louis Gormosy had ridden out of Hell on a white camel and long tormented the earth. It could not be helped; it was his nature. It was his ‘calling’. 

Ah, thought Louis, I miss my camel… along with my legions, but tant pis!  The cobblestones of Paris were hard on her aging hooves.

His guest, John Garrett,  also a demon, but not of the same stature. Louis Gormosy was not sure of Garrett’s actual position in Hell, but knew him to have the patronage of the powerful Archduke Abigor, close to the throne. With friends like that, even the powerful Demon of Lust had to watch his hoof.

Louis Gormosy chuckled at his guest’s surprise. “Oh come, John, surely you are used to my little trick? Non? Well then, I have another reason to invite you here, besides parlor tricks.  This evening I am expecting some guests, and I have reason for you to meet them.”

John Garrett sat up, stretching his legs. “Are you planning a little entertainment this evening?  You know, Louis, one never can tell with you.”

Louis Gormosy lay a finger aside his nose and winked. “You have come at a good time, John.   I expect a young woman, a girl actually. She is the daughter of a neighbor in the country.  She is about seventeen. Her mother is anxious to have her married.”

“I am almost afraid to ask, Louis.  What part do you play? ”

John Garrett looked at his friend from half-closed lids, like a cat settling in for a long story. 

Monsieur Gormosy walked to the window and looked out at the pouring rain. He turned his head slightly and gave Garrett a nervous smile before peering down at the street, watching for a carriage to stop at his door. 

“Madame Luciern is a silly woman, a bit more stupid than usual.  She has a daughter on her hands she complains is a ‘bookworm’.  Ah! Bon Dieu!  So the young woman will educate herself with novels and newsprint. Tant pis!”

Louis Gormosy threw up his hands in disgust.  The words “Good God” had a strange sound in his mouth, just shy of a gurgle. 

“You still don’t tell me what your part is in this affair.” 

Gormosy turned and looked at his friend. “Better you ask me what your part is.”

 John Garrett sucked his breath in sharply, and let out with a soft  “Oh no, Louis!”

Louis gestured with his hands outward, all Gallic charm, and continued his appeal.

“What is a little fun amongst devils, neh? You have certain…ah…attributes that I unfortunately, do not have.” 

“The starch issue again, Louis?”  Garrett’s words made Louis wince. 

Quel dommage! I don’t know if this is a little trick of Heaven or Hell, John…but it persists.  I begin the attack, a few thrusts with the sword, and even with one parry, -I wilt.”   

And, thought Louis sadly, it always came down to what devil had more ‘reach’. It always came down to a measurement.  Here on earth the length of the cock, and in Hell, the amount of control. 

“So, what is your plan and why should I care?” 

Monsieur sucked on the side of his thumb, thinking how to present his case. 

“I have not seen the young woman.  Her mother keeps her well hidden. If she is a bookworm as the mother says, perhaps any attempt here in Paris to marry her off will be impossible. Perhaps she is ugly!” 

“Or perhaps she has no bosom,” said Garrett from his sofa, eyes wandering back to the fire.

“Or perhaps she has a harelip!” said Gormosy. “What do I know?  I have not seen the poor girl.” 

With a grimace, Gormosy shook out his hand.  He had bitten deeply into his flesh, and blood spurted from his thumb. 

Garrett asked, “Does she have a good fortune?” 

Non.  Madame Luciern is a widow. Her estate is lessened with the behavior of her oldest son. That young man has no sense at cards…and worse luck!  I would give him some pointers in faro, but I do not cheat at cards.”

What a big lie, thought John Garrett, laughing silently.  There was honor amongst devils but not at cards.  What was the worse that could happen?  A duel, you die, you come back fresh and new, with another chance to cheat life.  And at cards.

“But!” continued Louis, raising a finger dramatically. “She has an honorable name!  That is worth something, I think.” 

“Hah,” said Garrett.  “Perhaps of worth to mortals.  But it is something.” 

The blood continued to spurt from Gormosy’s thumb. “Merde”.  He pulled a sooty handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped his thumb. 

“So, what do you intend to do with Mademoiselle? Do you have a cuckold in mind?” 

“Why would he be a cuckold, mon ami?  I have all intention of marrying her to someone worthy and with a good fortune.” 

“And if she is not marriageable due to this harelip or flat bosom?  What do you intend then for Mademoiselle?” asked Garrett.

“I intend to make her a whore.”

There. It was out, thought Gormosy.  Let him chew on that.  There was profit to be made here, and he, Louis, would take the advantage. 

“Why do you need me?”  John Garrett’s eyes half closed again as he looked at his friend who was grinning broadly.

 “ If I can not obtain an acceptable offer, I will need your –ah, efforts, John.”

“Meaning?  Come Louis, do not make me beat it out of you.”

“You will seduce her.  You will make her more pliable for her gentleman callers…I, of course, will revert back to Madame, for this is all her mother knows of me, and you will play…”

 “Hold on, Louis.  Do you or don’t you intend to get her a husband?”

 “How should I know?” Louis Gormosy shrugged his shoulders and presented his palms upward. 

“I don’t know if she has a harelip or an unfortunate bosom.  We both, my old friend, will find out this evening.”

End of Chapter 1.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2012

“The Etruscan Jar”

April 19, 2010

A Very Early Poem…..

We saw it the same time,

standing on a sterile white plinth

in an alcove,

a dome of glass

Guarding it

from outside life.

A simple clay jar,

fecund with love handles

jutting from hips,

Ass  shaped with

tapering buttocks,

in front the folds of  clay

a definite mons venus.

The lips of the jar–beestung,

puffed and swollen with lascivious


the opening a slit

pushed  together

by two loving thumbs

molding the clay.

A mud vagina so lovely

the glass could not stop

me from tracing  it.

Our love was  new,

awkward and tongue-tied.

Lust simmering below surface,

neither one  sure

how to dig through

to more fertile soil.

Bending down to read

the description before me

I felt him poke.

The Jar vibrated

with silent laughter-

I shivered in answer-

my own denied lust.


I turned

whispering softly:

“I’ll be the jar,

You be the stopper.”

We raced to

his bedroom,

tearing off clothes,

slamming doors,

falling into

the unsullied sea of his bed.

It took  an ancient Jar,

Etruscan in origin,

found buried in soft, staining earth.

He filled his new jar with his honeyed mead

and grabbed the love handles on top of my hips.

stung my lips with his swarming kisses,

the buzz of my senses lost to my ears.

Closing together my thighs

wanting to capture this sweet liquor,

that seed coursing like a white river

through my own subterranean depths-

he nuzzled my stomach

making me laugh,

the milk of our lovemaking

spilled over the dam,

and I lost him.

That Etruscan Jar

was wise beyond years,

taking two lovers

unsure how to dance,

making them

two vessels

in the service of love.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007

“Cosmic Coupling”

February 22, 2009

For lovers tonight……

Come kiss my warm lips
cup my breast in your rough hand
growl into my mouth
raise the heat of pale desire
blow fire into lust
create water where there’s steel
command with your need.
Answer mine with that of yours.
Answer yours with that of mine.

Press hard into flesh
tissues open like a bud
my legs around hips
your hands clenching fruit-like cheeks
raised upon your sword
spread my flesh that yearns to grasp
hardness matched with soft.
Answer mine with that of yours
Answer yours with that of mine.

Over us, the stars
glitter like laughing witnesses
I reach up and hang
on two and lift my soft breast
level with your mouth.
You suckle like a babe, and
strain into my womb,
Answering with that of yours
Answering with that of mine.

Copyrighted, 2009

“Diary of a Changeling” #8

October 19, 2008

Another installment …..ANOTHER NON_FLASHER

Diary, #8

I have settled in with S. for three days now. I thought it best for I can’t get back to England now because of the war. S. has a magic wand to produce the good cheeses and we actually have a bottle of wine at dinner.

I saw MN yesterday for the first time since I moved. He looked drawn and tired, but he was hungry, and it wasn’t for food.

S. has given me some blouses, silk, and some skirts. She is taller but the skirts I can hem. The silk feels lovely and she gave me some beautiful lace and silk brassieres. They make me feel sexy.

Had an effect on MN when he appeared at S.’s. He grabbed me up and pushed me against the wall, palming my breasts. I would have raised my leg around his hip, a la Tango style, but the damn skirt was too narrow. Didn’t matter too much because he grew pressed against me and put my hand on his cock.

We heard S. come back down the hall, heels tapping on the polished floor. I broke away, settling my clothes.

I didn’t fool S. one bit. Her smile said it all.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

“Diary of a Changeling” #7

October 19, 2008

N.B. THIS IS A NON-FLASHER FORM.  Mackerals flying around here..

This series is proving popular with some and absolutely hated by others. Perhaps it is frustrating because the truncated, flasher form (200 words) leaves too many questions as to what is happening and this form doesn’t give enough to keep some folks interest.

For others, the form does exactly this: it creates tension and nuance that draws them into the web of the story. I have received some emails privately from readers that are frustrated because they want MORE story immediately and have asked to ditch the flasher form and write longggg. And about the same who appreciate the ‘tease’ of the story as presented.

I could go long, but then the tension would be lost I believe. And, I think the story out as I go. I think this is important for any writer in that we bridle ourselves and enjoy the ride. For why do we write these things if not for ourselves first, and then others?

Lady Nyo

Diary #7

S. rang me up this morning. She wants me to consider moving to her apartment. She says she has too much room, and she gets lonely for company.

I think she is worried about me and wants me close. That is fine, MN also stays there on occasion and we would have more access to each other.

It would be nice to be able to sleep with him in a big, comfortable bed. That lumpy mattress did little for my bones.

S. is worried because I am thinner. It’s hard to get a normal diet with food rationing and the stores depleted. The Germans are getting the milk, butter and meat. We are seeing rutabagas and turnips showing up more and more and bread and cheeses are almost non existent.

There are posters appearing all over the boulevards, condemning the Jews, even saying “Kill the Jews.” Saying they wanted the war, let them have it.

Idiots! These have to be the French collaborating with the stupid Germans. Decent French would not sully their minds with such crap.

S. said we are living in dangerous times and it will get worse. We are surrounded with enemies posing as friends.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

“Diary of a Changeling”……6 NON-flashers….

October 13, 2008

WARNING: These are NOT flashers for the above (much above) reasons..they are scenes that just happen to be 200 words long each.  They will stretch themselves in the newest episodes.  Don’t want any more mackerals flying around..

I’m going to post all 6 of these  non-flashers (200 word scenes) I have very recently written. I am doing so because people have asked to read them in sum…and I thought…why the hell not?

I post these one at a time on ERWA, but that is too slow for some readers..and i can understand their feelings. This was something I wanted to write to answer some of the pain/pleasures issues that I was discovering for myself recently, and I have set them in Germany, summer of 1940 when the Nazis entered and occupied France in general, and here, Paris.

Nazis, a Sadist, woman exploring these pain/sexual issues, the French Resistance, Jews in the Resistance, etc. The juxtaposition of all this makes me queasy because the formation is …..tricky.

But if we can’t take risks with history and our writings…we don’t grow.

Lady Nyo

“Diary of a Changeling” in Six episodes so far… (3 today, 3 tomorrow)


I have started a series of flashers in an epistolary form. This follows the development of a woman who begins to understand the issues of pain and its application to arousal and sex.

Diary Entry 1

It finally happened last night. This morning I feel a stranger in my skin. The welts from his whip will disappear soon.

I never thought it could be so! How could I crave this—torture? How could pain do this to me? Am I normal?

S___ was the one who set it up. She didn’t tell me much, just that it was ‘time’. All those conversations over tea, those events I thought she was making up. They were just lascivious stories, something a friend would tell another to wile the afternoon away. Besides, S___ was a writer, a novelist. She cultivated her imagination.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s time’?” I asked.

I remember her laughing, placing her cup on the tea table.

I quote her:

“I can smell your excitement. It gets stronger with each visit. You must not deny anything, ma cherie. You are wet now, yes?”

S__ had smiled and said: “Your responses are obvious. You crave it.”

Ah! I can’t write anymore. My hands shake. Even now my face burns with blushes!
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008


Diary Entry 2.

I saw S. today. She smoking a stinky Gauloises and looking so chic. French women are born this way, with no efforts to be so.

She asked me how it went with MN. I struggled to answer, my hands shaking, my teacup rattling in the saucer.

I told her ‘it went well.’ How could I explain??

We made small talk for she was expecting a guest and I was leaving anyway.

But my mind recalled when MN. traced the whip handle down my back, making me shiver. I remembered his breath in my ear, the scent of him close to my skin, the cuffs on my wrists, how he stroked my flesh, warming it with his hand, cupping my breast and my ass. Dipping his hand in my wetness.

Nothing could have prepared me for that first strike. The sting was like a hornet, the pain radiating outward, making me gasp. His whip owned me with the first blow. What had I done? I wanted to scream.

Rising to leave, MN. walked in. I froze. I saw S. smile. MN. kissed her hand, and turned. I must have looked the fool.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary: June 14th, 1940 (#3)

I was looking out the window with S. and watching the Germans march past. They passed forever, seemingly endless supply of men in black boots.

S. is very nervous and puffed on her terrible Gauloises. I could have screamed but we are all bundles of nerves. She said things would radically change and we will have to ‘make do.’

I don’t know about S. though. She is well placed and has lovers in the government. She has the best brie and wine.

I can’t get back to England now, am dependent upon S. MN.disappeared this last week, but S. tells me he will be back, he is on ‘business’. What kind she doesn’t say.

He was a bit too lavish with the whip this last time, and my back and buttocks are still bruised. It is strange how these bruises have become something different to me than just examples of pain. His whip stings me, but he knows to wait and in the waiting something happens. I am resolved to find out more. Of course, this is rather outre considering what is happening outside the windows now.

I have become obsessed. Pain is the portal.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Cosmic Coupling…..poetry

October 12, 2008


Come kiss my warm lips
cup my breast in your rough hand
growl into my mouth
raise the heat of pale desire
blow fire into lust
create water where there’s steel
command with your need.
Answer mine with that of yours.
Answer yours with that of mine.

Press hard into flesh
tissues open like a bud
my legs around hips
your hands clenching fruit-like cheeks
raised upon your sword
spread my flesh that yearns to grasp
hardness matched with soft.
Answer mine with that of yours
Answer yours with that of mine.

Over us, the stars
glitter like laughing witnesses
I reach up and hang
on two and lift my soft breast
level with your mouth.
You suckle like a babe, and
strain into my womb,
Answering with that of yours
Answering with that of mine.

Lady Nyo
Copyrighted, 2008

“My friends are asking, “Why the Italian?”

September 12, 2008

I have thought about this a little. Just a little….

Why? Because Italian makes my mouth busy. It’s the placement of the sounds, Italian rests quietly on the bottom of your mouth, the rolling of r’s, the enunciating of vowels…all those lovely Italian vowels. But when it comes out of your mouth, it makes me weak with longing, it makes me lean upon a pillar, weak in the knees,  it makes me feel beautiful. Who can’t be beautiful speaking only a few Italian words! It makes my mouth, my lips form as a rose, puckered as a  dark pink rose just opening up, moist with dew on the petals.

Even Cafone! (Asshole) has a beautiful sound…

I could breath out Italian phrases all day, the few I do know, and I have found the worse the curse, the worse the insult, the more beautiful the words.

So, tonight I mummur “Non hai un cuore” (you have no heart) and it is like a mantra, and I mean it. But it is so beautiful on my lips, followed by Vaffanculo!!! (Fuuuuck youuuuuu!!!) and I could raise my shoulders, and toss my head, shake my breasts and pout and if you didn’t know what I was saying…you would think I was blessing the Pope…

No, you would think I was talking to a lover.

Italian is deceptive. Like the human heart.

See what happens with a day devoted to “Il bel far niente”?


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