Turning in her sleep, she sought an imagined company, in the more obscure parts of her somnolent mind. She could feel herself walking along stiffly. Her muscles still seemed a little tight. It must have been that long winding climb. There was a ring of sweat round her neck and dripping down her back. It formed a dark patch on the silky grey of her pale blouse. She tilted her head from side to side, rubbing away tension at her neck, thinking she heard something.
He was there, watching her, lurking at the turn of the stair. He had been sitting in the stairwell, listening for her light footfalls. He timed his movements carefully and suddenly stood to loom up before her like a shadow in the smoky light. She started back, her hand over her mouth. Recovering her self-composure, she leaned forwards towards him, her chest jutting delicately beneath her garments. At the same time she was half bending away as he reached out to snatch at her fine fingers.
"I can wait. I'm not going anywhere.......for a while at least," he hinted full of slightly sinister insinuation. She shivered as his whispered importuning promises that almost proved too much to resist. She turned and twisted her hand from his, leaving him snatching at the air and fleeing giggling down the long corridor........
She pictured him, aching for her in the silence that follows her departure. It would echo in his mind. He might return to the table of the dancing feast that she had dreamed up. The seats would be empty and the tables bare. Bare as she should be, perhaps. He would sit there staring into the crepuscular shadows of the early hours. He might touch his lips to the silver goblet from which she sipped. He could take up the sliver plate that she had eaten from. He might even dare to run a finger over the cool seat of the chair where she had kept him company.
"I must have her," she could here him intone. "I must and I will. Let her drown in her need for me"
"And yet, Milord," her echoing reply would come," and yet remembering in a dream can be like seeking to drown......"
She was drawn with a certain predetermined inevitability to the image of a slow drowning in a moat. A moat flooded with watery messages outside the fortress. The castle walls rippled into those murky waters. She sighed, rose and walked from the pathway where she had crouched to the edge of the mere. She called softly into the murky wash. Her hand, her wrist and finally her entire arm disappeared from view with a gentle, little splash. She slid off the pathway and waded through the bull rushes. The water was waist deep. The folds of her dress floated around her. Her feet sensed that in accepting the company of water, she shrugged away the absence of any further sign from him.
The bubbles trailed up from the deep and there she plunged in, head first! The grey murky water blinded her at first as she groped through the cold wetness, running her hand over the mossy, weedy bottom. Her breath comes deeply as she finds his outline and sees the eyes staring at her, hard and cold and very green.
Her lungs strained for oxygen but still she stayed, frantically kicking at the restraint of her heavy dress, fighting with her feet and legs moving along, groping his shadowy outline, identifying his shape. The surface of the water burst with their coming up for air, gasping and drawing in large gulps of spring fragrance. She pushed the hair out of her face as the bodies of ancient reptiles hit and glide the surface of the water, hit and glide, hit and glide in a recurrent nightmare as the armoured beasts fall into ranks, approaching her.
She quickly stripped off the dress, tearing at the neck and sleeves. She kicked off her shoes as her eyes leapt from place to place in the water. She felt so alone for she cannot see him in the mist hovering low over the water. Yet, she cannot make herself go to shore, knowing that he was still here, struggling to wake from this nightmare.
The scene, surrealistic, seemed to slow, frame by frame as she struggled, her muscles cramping, her legs weakening, the dread creatures closing -- her face more wet with tears, lurching as she was pulled under again by the wake of the lunging beast.....
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
She blinked, her heart thumping in her chest. The sweat made her long hair stick to her face and neck and shoulders. She sat up, shivering in a stream of desire and gazes at her reflection in the rippling stream of the mirror. Her face seemed to flow away as her thoughts like fishes darted through it into the shadows. Bolt upright, she looked around with wide frightened eyes.
"Where are you?"
He bent down and clutched at her shadow, catching only a handful of light. He leant over her now. He seemed dark and hairy against the smooth white flesh to the wide openness of her eyes.
"Hey?"
"Yes?"
"Where have you been?"
"I just had the most awful dream!" She shuddered and then grimaced. Pushing towards him for an embrace: "I'm so glad it was a dream!"
He nodded, touching her cheek. She leant into his hand, closing her eyes, but pushing them open again, until she slipped back under, leaving him puzzling. Was this too a dream - gone before it could be savoured?
The slow motion slide of his dream form through the air was a denial for her. His lips were puckered to leave a pink kiss on her. Draped as she was in thin white silk, hair tidily braided upon her head. One braid hung loose and she brushed it back. She exhaled a long warm sigh, as her mouth tasted him. Her body felt him and her, together, binding skin to skin. Then they were into the passion, arms round one another. Lips seeking. Nothing to hear in the eerie silence of the turret room; but plenty to see. Mouths meet as the door shuts.
And she adored it.
"Do I presume?"
"Oh yes!" She conceded, wriggling around on the bed. She contorted her body, guilefully offering him the freedom that she hoped he longed for. He towered above her, hard and muscle bound. Her mouth became a voyager, travelling to kiss and nibble and taste the boundaries of his realm, seeking the secrets to enter and know. Outspread before him, her eyes look up adoringly at him. Her hands reached up to that throbbing upright fleshy rampart. He, however, desired her to taste
Her voice soft, yet filled with desire, was overwhelmed by his seeming reticence and restraint. She was soon panting. Lips twisted in an expression of ecstasy, crying out her hot wishes. Insatiable in her desire. She needed it. She deserved it. She must have it.
"Oh! I can't....," she gasped for mercy. "Yet, if I cannot..I will go mad! Please! Please! Please resolve this for me. Please say yes!"
She was his. And she would stand quiet and content until morning pushed up his day there across the sea -- that she might again be with him!
And her kisses -- were they to be planted on those hard fortifications. His length and his hardness. Were her hands longer and her fingers wise? Would she yet run them up and down the flesh that fascinated her? Her body was firm and white as the marble floor, white hot marble inflamed by his enchantment. She would be shaped in the forge of his lust. Her shoulders, her back, her thighs - all would be marked with his kiss.
"Your silence is driving me crazy!" Her brilliant eyes simmered, flaring with the heat of wanting. Her body, molten to the touch. She was feverish. Blood flowed into the valleys and hollows of her exposed flesh. The sensation built, aching and throbbing within her. He quivered back at her demonically, red and rude. He stood stock still as she inched herself down upon him. She might have buried her face in his thatch and allow her unbraided hair to flow across him, licking her eager lips to ponder ethereal questions. Her mouth could climb as required and taste the succulent dew --sweet and warm on her tongue -- a tongue that would know the silken crown. A tongue sufficiently experienced to draw it deeper and deeper within her, taking again and again.
He touched her and she took him with suckling lips, muscles working within her elegant neck. His hands tangled in her long hair and she looked. His face tensed, his fists clenched and he jets straight and white and frothy, as lips part to moan, his low throated rumble, music in her ears. Her greedy mouth taking over, taking more and more, more than could ever be believed possible.
"Speak. Have mercy on me!"
He hummed softly in response, the languid tune vibrating the crown of her need. Was this attaining the unattainable? Her long, delicate fingers touched and caressed - stroking, playing, urging and chasing round and round the root of his desire. Her cheeks hollow and her throat relaxes, and further in he pressed.
"Here I am, helpless to reply!" She thought, able only to stare up at him. She could not believe that such languid eroticism had rendered her speechless, wordless for that matter! Yet a spider on the wall, a book by the bed, a gleam of light reflected on the ceiling above them are all envious witnesses to the theft of her loquacity.
"Someday," she thought. " I WILL get even for this! I promise."
Now, however, her eyes fell on the shadows his firm body created, looming over hers, there in that vertical meld. Her long hair accented their penumbra. His long, strong legs emphasized another. There were heads entwined together, leaning in. When these shadows joined in a kiss, lips glued together as slickly as the sheets beneath her back, greasy with their shared excitement. The cotton was stuck between her wet thighs. Burying her head in the pillow her hips upthrust over the other pillow, to give him better access to her.
Did he have the temerity to pause and calmly observe her welcoming positioning? That sultry elevated rear was perhaps designed only for herself and his image. By his silence, however, he seized a certain proprietary empowerment. His ownership[ remained unconfirmed in her mind, since he still said nothing. He held himself impassive. He was not immune to her charms. He was no cold fish to be hooked by her. She had pictured him leaping like a salmon under her angler's bait, but she began to realise that it was he who was in control. He had always been in control.
Rubbing against him, she sought the thing that she needed above all. A
candle flamed illustratively as he took her in her mind. Shutting her eyes,
she gasped possessively in rhythm to the subliminal dance of attendance upon
her. Her eyes were wide, but tears did not move them. Staring
at the candle, watching it burn for her as she burns for him. The candle
in the bedroom of this sweet lady has no need to be used as like that of
the shivering country virgin in her thatched cottage room. She does not lack
for company. And her face was a blushing flame of delight at what this company
did to her.
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