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| By Isreba Aiken isreba1949@gritzandgravymag.com All concepts, scripts, and stories ©Copyright 2006, Isreba Aiken |
My Bio
By Isreba Aiken
Dec 10, 2006
Moist beads of warm sweet melted chocolate create smooth cream filled trenches down the inner thighs of a cocoa skinned woman’s worn-out body. Ruthlessly, sweaty vein painted finger tips clinch blood soaked satin white sheets. Her muscles tighten within, ready to release onto the world, a force to be reckoned with unlike no other.
She lurches her bare breasts towards the heavens, exposing them from underneath their warm hiding place. Dark russet perforated nipples, startled from their slumber now stand erect. Sweat glossed stomach muscles contract and expand faster, and faster as her pangs of suffering take on a will of their own.
The moment has arrived! She reaches down with all her might, arches her back, digs her nails into the bloody inner veins of her palms, stiffens each and every muscle in her body……hoists her throaty wail in God’s direction, and collapses.
Thighs still spread apart…all is quiet. The only sound is that of trickles of blood melodiously tapping on top of the short once shiny blade of a dropped scalpel.
Suddenly the unforgettable sound of flesh rupturing grows louder…and louder…and louder. While still unconscious, her thighs begin to widen on their own. Her back arches itself, her stomach begins to churn, and the desire to induce becomes greater than any force known to man, and her body commands her to do so as she sleeps.
Forceful winds influence tree limbs to whip the pale pink window panes mercilessly. Silky white curtains battle with the wind for a front view. Droplets of rain hurriedly race for the front row so as to get a good seat.
Slowly an auburn baby’s hand emerges from the loins of the woman, and grabs a swatch of the bloody satin white sheet.
The wind stops blowing, the rain is still, the curtains have ceased to move. Her thighs widen a little more. Slowly another hand emerges from within and reaches for another swatch. Both little hands clinch tightly onto the sheets, and pull with all their might.
A small head with dark brown glossy hair springs from the loins. The head turns from side to side and then raises up. A nose of African descent, lips wider than the Nile River itself, and dark chocolate colored eyes lodging compassion deeper than her very own spirit. She looks back at her new mother sleeping, and smiles.
In her mind she thinks…”I can’t wait for the day when I am able to write this story.” Mother’s thighs widen a little more, and slowly she crawls out from within, and up between the breasts of her mother. She wraps herself with a clean space of the sheets puts her thumb in her mouth and whispers gingerly in mommie’s ear…..“Isreba…Call me Isreba. Nite mommie”
I’m through now…………
By Isreba Aiken
Dec 10, 2006
Moist beads of warm sweet melted chocolate create smooth cream filled trenches down the inner thighs of a cocoa skinned woman’s worn-out body. Ruthlessly, sweaty vein painted finger tips clinch blood soaked satin white sheets. Her muscles tighten within, ready to release onto the world, a force to be reckoned with unlike no other.
She lurches her bare breasts towards the heavens, exposing them from underneath their warm hiding place. Dark russet perforated nipples, startled from their slumber now stand erect. Sweat glossed stomach muscles contract and expand faster, and faster as her pangs of suffering take on a will of their own.
The moment has arrived! She reaches down with all her might, arches her back, digs her nails into the bloody inner veins of her palms, stiffens each and every muscle in her body……hoists her throaty wail in God’s direction, and collapses.
Thighs still spread apart…all is quiet. The only sound is that of trickles of blood melodiously tapping on top of the short once shiny blade of a dropped scalpel.
Suddenly the unforgettable sound of flesh rupturing grows louder…and louder…and louder. While still unconscious, her thighs begin to widen on their own. Her back arches itself, her stomach begins to churn, and the desire to induce becomes greater than any force known to man, and her body commands her to do so as she sleeps.
Forceful winds influence tree limbs to whip the pale pink window panes mercilessly. Silky white curtains battle with the wind for a front view. Droplets of rain hurriedly race for the front row so as to get a good seat.
Slowly an auburn baby’s hand emerges from the loins of the woman, and grabs a swatch of the bloody satin white sheet.
The wind stops blowing, the rain is still, the curtains have ceased to move. Her thighs widen a little more. Slowly another hand emerges from within and reaches for another swatch. Both little hands clinch tightly onto the sheets, and pull with all their might.
A small head with dark brown glossy hair springs from the loins. The head turns from side to side and then raises up. A nose of African descent, lips wider than the Nile River itself, and dark chocolate colored eyes lodging compassion deeper than her very own spirit. She looks back at her new mother sleeping, and smiles.
In her mind she thinks…”I can’t wait for the day when I am able to write this story.” Mother’s thighs widen a little more, and slowly she crawls out from within, and up between the breasts of her mother. She wraps herself with a clean space of the sheets puts her thumb in her mouth and whispers gingerly in mommie’s ear…..“Isreba…Call me Isreba. Nite mommie”
I’m through now…………