Shades of Heaven, Degrees of Hell by Sidney Kidd

Shades of Heaven, Degrees of Hell

by Sidney Kidd

I came home early to find Lisa Marie “going down” upon the sun and moon. Lisa found it heavenly to torment me with her over-indulgence. Each day was a new adventure with any willing sex partner that she came across. Some of you peeped as I did through the crack in my bedroom door. Whore red purses left slow lingering kisses along the length of orange’s swollen girth. Her fingers capped with translucent shades of promiscuous yellows stroked and clawed upon the pink satin sheets—sheets that wrinkled and puckered with sensual shades towards purple and blue. Their undulating rhythm created a promiscuous void, which darkness rushed to fill. The menage a trois slithered in a captivating harem dance, blurring the defined lines and smudging the wet luster sheen of her swollen palettes of soft whimpered tones. Their brush strokes were fervent and single-minded in purpose. Vacillating dabs blended with cursive flowing arcs as their tandem copulation jostled the pendulum swing of her suspended breasts of lascivious colors.

Lisa plucked the sun and encouraged her voyeuristic audience to witness his erotic demise. With seductive purpose, she allowed his warmth to press upon her ripened lips as she pursed a soft lingering kiss upon his glowing corona. Forging the tip of her tongue into a savory plowshare, she teased sensual furrows along his glowing surface. Her trembling lips formed an enticing smile of offering and invited his hot swollen girth to enter her vestibule of purest chastity. She formed to its irregular surface with an airtight alibi as her cheeks sank in and her pretty red lips rolled along his glistening surface.

The moon floated upon her placid seas of innocence, enjoying the beauty as her ripened fruit pressed between her rounded thighs. Upon her hands and knees Lisa fulfilled their fantasies of that streetcar named Desire. The moon brushed his fingers softly across Lisa’s puckered ass, slowly sampling the heat that radiated from her internal need. The sensation caused Lisa’s back to arch and the moon smiled at her effeminate wiggles and cute little hip sashay. The moon savored the soft texture of her freshly cropped bush as Lisa’s pussy poured into the upturned cup of his palm. His middle finger slowly performed a come hither gesture as he stroked the pearl setting of her clit. Glistening oiled hips tilted to allow him greater access as his fingers read the licentious Braille of her goose bumps. His fingers separated her moistened furrows as he felt her knees reposition in anticipation.

Lisa loved the moon in his waxing phase as he grew rounder and more demanding with each of his thrusts. Human flesh formed crashing waves upon his lunar surface, pounding her into a hypnotic state of sexual bliss. The moon achieved dominance as she relished the thunderclaps where her soft ass molded into the hollow saddle of his hips.

Lisa became the moist clay upon the “three some’s” potter wheel as she was molded and pressed into their “little China love-doll”. Her lips ascended their cocks in a crescendo of awakened purpose. The setting sun lingered upon her soft palette, teetering upon the jagged precipice of forever more, clawing upon the horizon to last just a little longer. She teased me with her soft moist smacks as she winked upon my voyeuristic pleasure. She sucked him to the brink while allowing me to witness how willing she was to tear down the heavens and dredge up hell.

Upon her whimpered moans of lost innocence, the moon bottomed against her tight pussy. He labeled her with explicit names while sharply spanking her ass to a glowing red. Lisa grunted erogenous um huh’s amid tongue tied cries of sensual pain around the Sun’s bulging cock. The Sun pulled at her nipples as if he were a child—deforming her suspended breasts into the oblong objects of his affection. Her mouth dripped her hunger, as did her pussy, lubricating their tandem copulation with a sensual release that could not be denied. The Moon whipped her full of air as his ramrod strokes forced explicit grunts and vaginal farts of sexual gratification.

In the end, the image of her gyrating ass and her pleading gasps were too provocative to deny. I watched the sun’s demise as his hot creamy filling erupted across her indulgent tongue where it collected in torrid pools of pearlescence. She relished its texture and saline flavor just before pushing him below the wrinkled covers in a deep-throated swallow of night. The moon pressed home his advantage as his thumb pressed into her ass forcing her into a contraction that held him deep within her. She milked him dry as the two locked lovers fell over the cataclysmic precipice of their orgasmic folly. The orgy was spectacular and then it was gone, leaving a toe-curling splay of pinky-toe red that blinked and then extinguished.

I experienced a deviant guilt that pushed me into the arms of my madness. I enjoyed the images of my petite wife being violated by others. The thoughts gave me a permanent hard-on that left me sexually and mentally frustrated. Lisa refused to allow me to partake in her swinging lifestyle and climaxed while forcing me to watch. My fingers tightened about her throat as her body writhed in cyclic undulation. I found her lust for life enticing as I sat astride her and the girth of my hands coaxed desperate bucking, feet pawing and kicking. Whore red nails clawed upon the emerald green of a closely cropped carpet. Her eyes displayed no anger or hate. Only intensity and focused desperation gleamed from her shadowed and painted orbits. At this instance she portrayed virginal innocence. I became aroused by her wide-eyed plea.

The curtains billowed softly upon the magnolia-laden air. The chorus of the crickets was adrift upon the humid atmosphere. A rich moonlit night full of mental sensations set the stage for our play of passion. The shadows of her dance slithered upon her pallor. Her slow sensual movements of ballet like quality become a short-lived masterpiece. Her soft moans and hushed whispers formed an angelic chorus, enticing to the senses and intoxicating to the mind. Her bucking rhythm was our rhyme, the erotic shadows were our night. The arousing image of her fresh oiled skin caressing and ascending as the ivy upon starlight was purely sexual. The warm sensations of fresh vaginal flows revealed the subtle fragrance of her elixir of desire.

Such was the scene of our passion. We combined our sexual desire and a jealous rage to create our emotional masterpiece. The fluidity of her lascivious dance flowed into the horizontal tango of Death as she put to canvass this Monet of her needs. A soft translucent haze arose from her limp body. She paused to cast a smile and a seductive wink then turned and skipped across the crisp night air.

Our relationship was never the same after her death. Upon the morning, my world became dichromatic. The sun was pale and my shadow was black. Right or wrong—good or bad—salvation or damnation tormented me as I slid along a sliding scale, tempted by the two unattainable extremes. I was stretched thin until I became transparent. My gray matter bled upon my outlook as I lusted for the spectrum to return.

The omnipotent professionals have yellowed parcels spattered with black ink upon their pretentious white walls—but I have none. They diagnosed and prescribed little gray pills that blinded me to my demons. I’m not Able—I’m just Cain. Black and white performed their pirouette, blending in substance and form—blurring their pristine boundaries as they slithered upon one another in an erotic lap dance. I found love in their throes and hate in my exclusion. I was terribly confused.

I was always better at endings than beginnings. Somehow, finality lends a comforting embrace. I know what the end will bring, but beginnings—they present problems, don’t they? I’m upon the edge, convincing myself that six feet down ain’t really so far. The worms articulate their agreement, forming their length into sensuous come-hither gestures of lewd intent.

The childproof container wilted in my hand. The little brown bottle performed a seductive hip wiggle as her black lace panties slithered downward dripping into a dark pool about her ankles. The small rectangular vials of her bar code spilled their black blood into the cup of my palm. Concentric rings chased each other outward from the black depths of my soul. Miniature waves of nightshade crashed upon my bleached shores, spilling about my rim in small ebony rivulets between my curved fingers.

Demons swirl about my head, sneering in lewd poses. The rotten filth of thick saliva strings from their brown juxtaposed teeth. The mirrored surface of my soul returns their repulsive stares. Their crooked yellowed talons scratch at my image, disappearing into the deep depths of my eternal night. Concentric rings flee outward distorting their grotesque visage into hazy mirages that float upon the rising thermals of my expired humanity. Their embrace is cold as they laugh hysterically at my demise.

A vision of the cross appears translucent above my bed. The transfixed figurine screwed upon its scarecrow scaffolding drips a scarlet crimson upon my forehead. Each splatter is a startling sensation of warmth that hisses in steamy little puffs upon my frigid surface. I’m wrought, confused, tattered and frayed but mostly I’m just damned.

One should be plenty. Crush it between your teeth and enjoy the bitter sensation of life. It’ll make you remember. Of course two will make you forget. Yes, I can tell by your face, you’ve remembered far too much—better take three—no make it four. My memories shortened considerably, becoming squat little dwarves that scurried about on limbs too close to the floor. They cursed my soul as their asses dragged upon the rough hewn planking, collecting splinters that prickled them into little pin cushions of foul language. Five allowed in the shadows that crept on all fours like hideous creatures of the night. They crawled across my walls and onto my ceiling clinging like upside down cockroaches that dropped upon my stained pillow. They became fluid waves that undulated across my face, drowning me in their stench, pulling back my eyelids with suction cup tentacles that blistered where they attached.

My screams came from outside and were sucked into the hollow caverns of my lungs. They boomed and resounded like summer lightning on a July afternoon. The sixth made me giddy and I laughed hysterically at my predicament. Nailed to a rough-hewn cross with tuffs of unkempt straw protruding from my feed sack intellect, I awaited the coming deluge of crows to descend upon my crucifixion. I felt the cold hard steel press against my right temple. I remember looking to the left as my finger slowly pulled upon the trigger. There was a loud bang that I never heard the ending of and I began spiraling downward.

Upon the horizon, the sky darkened towards the sensual shades of the erotic spectrum. The Reaper strolled upon the moisture-laden air, reaping in the harvest of another season. Brilliant blue scythes of lightning flashed upon her wake as she drew near.

To my surprise, Death’s visage was warm and beautiful with no need for mascara or lip blush. Her skin was smooth and unblemished with a China doll complexion. Her nose was straight and refined, drawing attention to the fullness of her lips. Flowing shades of black silk flowed as her raiment, articulating her grace and genteel mannerisms with seductive purpose. She adorned herself without pretense and stared through my soul with the hollow orbits that reflected my fears. Death was everything I fantasized. Her Betty Boop saucers seemed to be permanently dilated upon her fixation to fill her quota. She grasped my hand interlocking her fingers in mine as she drew me near. My attraction to Death was unlike any sexual fantasy I’d ever imagined. Her fragrance was of perfumed flesh caressed by tanned leather. A sweetness pricked at my nostrils as I closed my eyes and felt her soft lips touch mine. The kiss of death was not the cold embrace I had imagined. It was warm and sensual with a sexual appeal no human—male or female, could resist. There was a buzz in my inner ear as her tongue wrestled with mine for dominance and I invariably lost.

She sucked the soul from my cancerous depths, leaving my shriveled body dangling from its scarecrow scaffolding to entertain the crows. Pursing her full lips towards the heavens, she released me from the smothering embrace of life. Upon her humid breath I was free from want. A manicured path led to a black wrought iron gate. My steps were light without even the slightest footprint to witness my passage. As I knocked the gatekeeper inquired asking for my choice—heaven or hell? He seemed honest enough but the simplicity of his choices filled me with paranoia as I wondered what the catch was. Surely, eternity isn’t this fair. Is it really my choice? I’ve been bad. I’ve sinned in abundance. But then again, I regret my actions. I begged for forgiveness. I don’t believe in forgiveness without cost. I don’t deserve heaven but neither hell. Can’t I continue my adulterous affair with Death? What’s the catch? There’s always a catch. Nothing is free.

I closed my eyes and whispered my decision. I awoke to a blinding white light, strapped to a bed with ranslucent tubes protruding from my orifices. I considered the possibilities—perhaps heaven with its sterile white stench—then again, hell with its mental anguish and screams of torment. The door opened and Lisa Marie entered, her neck adorned with bluish black bruises that bled into the bold black line of her studded leather collar with matching leash and riding crop. She bent close to my ear as her hoarse whisper tickled my fantasies and I saw my soul upon her dilated black pools of innocence.

“Hell—so they say, lasts forever. The same can be said for heaven. Which is it Norman—heaven or hell? You and me and the Devil makes three?” Lisa smiled her deviant intent as she sucked her index finger, opened the blinds and awaited the setting sun and coming moon. I attempted to scream but found my tongue too thick. I tried to close my eyes but found I couldn’t resist watching her erotic masterpiece. Heaven and hell seem to be full of possibilities.

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Sidney Kidd lives in South Carolina where he embraces his humble beginnings. He literally grew up on the wrong side of the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad tracks in a setting that could have stepped from the pages of a Steinbeck novel. His experiences and passion are still ripening upon the bush, flavoring his literary endeavors with a savory plot that never goes out of style—human nature. Feel free to sit down with him and share your tales of life at the following email address: passionshack@yahoo.com