Adapted from The Belt, Chapter 16 of Traveling True: A Sensual Novel, published in 2017.

. . .

The folds of the crème drapes flow down in glowing shafts of amber. She slept with Stefan last night. Stefan covered Mim with his searing body, his breast radiating waves of fire, and he melted upon her, making sheaths sink. And Mim sank with sheaths to the bed’s core, his scorching torso subduing her consciousness.

Belt of delicious fire

Stefan melted into her. Bountiful, lubricious lips, so mushy, his teeth, the puffing rhythm of his breath and the wheezing, his voice coming from intimidating depths, to vibrate into her eardrum. “Mim!” His dripping mouth leaving slobber in her ear, trailing saliva on her cheeks, onto her lips, the lapping and the slurping, and the slobbering on her teeth with his teeth, big and keeping the heat inside.

Those teeth came apart, and a fire vortex sucked her in a delicious hell. Stefan’s beefy soft tongue, smelling deep red, lured Mim to a furnace’s heart, their tongues sliding in hot rollers of drool. His trunk rubbed against her white breasts, against her venter. Mim heard the bristle hairs on his chest rasping her bosom, while snakes of arms coiled in a luscious halo, palms pressing against her head’s crown as though begging. Fingers slithered down her temples, earlobes, her shoulders.

Stefan clenched Mim’s shoulders, clenched harder, to let his fire limbs enter her, through her throat to her navel, her womb, and her warmth. Yes, her uterus bathed in searing embers, crushed in the claws of his sinewy legs. He pressed hard unto her as he strained to wedge hips between her thighs, and his virile boldness further down into her, Stefan ablaze and trembling. “Mim, I love you.” How it felt good, burning hot and so good.

Belted to balmy bed

Balmy wavelets embrace her now, which feels as delightful. Mim stretches her body over the entire bed’s length. Yippee, she did it! With Stefan at work, his woman languishes in perfumed sheets. God, how his heat overwhelmed her. The bed is still a warm oven. Mim chuckles. Let her caress herself and remember. So sultry between her legs … Ah, Mim hot and delicious, tender and creamy to touch, smelling dewy and flowery and milky. Mmm, her skin’s essence turns her fickle and lecherous.

She wonders whether this skin told Stefan the same. What exquisite shapes—woman, a phenomenal creature. To crave for a female body equals madness. Crushing a woman between your arms, teasing and fondling her, torturing her, then holding her tight, and the big thrust, thrusting your manhood forward into sweet her like crazy and leaving here, crossing beyond, bye!

Lust for whims

Beyond … They called their parents’ bedroom beyond when Mim and her brother were kids. Hide beyond, fetch that from beyond, let’s play beyond … For Tomina, beyond was that miracle room’s name. If only Anton knew she now associates beyond with the realm across the river he treads daily. Anton knows nothing about Tomina.

Whereas Stefan is inquisitive, forever scouring for more details. Damn irritating. But last night, he conquered her. Mim accepted being his woman. Why not make love, roll this feminine body with his between bedsheets, try it out? The milky-sweet entrance into her stirs desire, and oh, why is Stefan not here to take her? Now. Here, search me, Mr. Analyst, squeeze my nipples, twist them to hurt. Ah, if Stefan dipped his thick fingers into her … Dear God, is she crazy or what? Yep, Mim is an unhinged woman, by herself in this home, free to experiment on whims.

Worldwide radio belt

She reels out of bed and switches on the massive radio set by the window, the respectable, reliable apparatus that tunes into stations worldwide from her bedroom. BBC, broadcasting with elegant phonological accuracy, Voice of America, with consonants so seducing, touched by a peculiar masculine tinge. Then other languages racing the planet surround.

Well, let the globe’s sound waves travel through Mim and she will become one with thousands of fellow humans who play crazy at this very moment. Millions, as yes, people do whatever they please, venture on existence’s passionate journeys, unfettered. Mim tunes in to a language whose saccharine sibilants have ancient flavors to them—Greek. Then to an Italian station. No, back to Greek. Let them speak Greek as Mim prepares herself a unique treatment.

What shall it be? Her brain scans around in search of the perfect fancy. Let her . . . (See Chapter 16. The Belt for the missing part.)

Depravity belt

These preparations drive her crazy, crazy like anything. The hell with love and the hell with Anton. That story was bullshit, false, histrionics. And when Mim thinks how she sweated her way to perfection and would have died to be faultless for him. Here, this is actual pleasure, to tremble with lecherous craving and drip, not dry out for fear you will not satisfy his abstruse expectations.

Mim seats herself on the bed, and gazing in the large oval mirror, brushes her nipples with her palms’ hollow, cunning prospects of future debauchery etching in her mind. She gives nipples some good squeezing next, only to set the ground for torturing twisting. So badly Mim craves to inflict pain on the piteous breasts that she keeps wrenching till she gets genuine screams out her throat.

A feather-light rubbing to the reddened buds now, with her forefingers. Mim keeps the silence to savor the thrills and tingles down there, under the profane mound of Venus. Anton used to enter her right under that mound, a sharp dagger hurting her, then played inside for minutes to Bach’s music, back and forth, with precise delicacy, to the crisp ludic rhythm.

“You like this?” Recalling Anton’s question, Mim cups . . . (See Chapter 16. The Belt for the missing part.)

In total command, a depravity belt wraps her hard. If only Stefan barged in to abuse her. But Stefan arrives in late afternoon—they will eat dinner together. While Anton must be chasing phantasmagorical horses across the river.

Peoples’ tongues surround the globe, Mim in her crème boudoir is part of this circuit, and the only reality is the point where her lewd fingers intersect.

Last love night

A recent memory surges. The rolling scenes of what Anton did to her when they returned from her friend’s wedding reception. Mim plays that movie in mind. Maybe the only time she acted true woman to Anton. Brassy, unabashed.

They got to his front door long after midnight. Anton ushered Mim in with a courteous bow and a telltale grin on his lips of what he would do to her inside. Anton’s pupils glinted with mischief under thick brows, making a mockery of Mim not being his anymore, and of him not wanting her anymore.

In the vestibule’s obscurity, without warning, he grabbed her hips from behind, bent her over a pile of car wheels, and plucked her skirt. “Wait,” she said, knowing the dress wouldn’t slide off unless she unfastened the waist belt. Staggering on grumpy feet, Anton tore at her diaphanous gown till the belt snapped and the dress ripped at the side seams. Victorious, he snatched . . . (See Chapter 16. The Belt for the missing part.)

A night of unrestrained physicality ensued, their last love night, or their first. “You’re driving me crazy,” Anton kept saying. His reverberant whispering raked sad grooves in Mim’s brain. “You’re driving me nuts when you move, f***ing nuts.”


The night Anton talked. He afforded to praise her physique, if not more, now that Mim was no longer his. So her musical efforts had not been in vain. Ha, that at least. They made love freely that night. She was free, Mim, with no chapter left to lose, knowing the following morning Anton was driving her to the train station, where he had collected her.

Mim will never forget. She will reel that night in her mind whenever she pleases. Everything’s in her head, with no single still lost.

. . .

Licensed photo: © konradbak – Adobe Stock

About the author

Solar Writer walking on the dark side to bring mind's secrets to light, in romances with a psychological edge. Next Woman blogger showing you how to use the power of SELF to stay young, confident and magnetic.