You can call me yours, but I know there is something unique about candles in the moonlight burning beneath a starbright sky that gives rise to the warmth of a single exhalation. I know. He knew and she still knows the dry, warm breath that creeps across bedclothes onto skin. It slides beneath these thin sheets where the heart pounds through the night. Eyes conjured from dreams gaze into the dancing flame of the now. A world of dark desires is reflected there. It is a world inside the mind. Search the smooth wooden surfaces around to project humanity into the vastness of imagination and wander confused, walking hand in hand with desires and the stars. Even in the treated wood there is a residue of that scent of forest, a serious wafting challenge that countermands all feeling of safety and reality in a flashback to primeval intensity.
Waking with a start, as though a light had gone on inside his head, a sudden shock of alertness leaves him lying open-eyed between the sheets, starkly self-aware. Dim shadows lurked in the calm darkness of the bedchamber. He rolled over and thrust his face defiantly into the soft pillow he was clutching, trying to escape the anxiety that already had him in its grip. For the previous week, every night had been the same. He cursed, knowing he would not fall back to sleep soon. The soft light of a crescent moon crept around a window shade. Seen through the flickering bedside candle light, the moon took on an ominous red hue through the damask of the curtains. He felt his heartbeat racing at the threat of its presence. There were thoughts he wouldn't let himself consider in the cold reason of daylight, but lying defenseless in his bed, those cruel imaginations held him in their grip.
He wanted to drift off, but the crimson shades of the moon stole sleep from him. A desire to escape overtook him, as he sat there taut and alert to every sound in the silent night. He lay back and turned his face into the pillow, closing his eyes. "I don't need this." He didn't move. He couldn't. It would all be over soon. There was really no reason to run away. Realising his only hope of sleeping was to forcibly push desire aside, getting it out of his teeming brain, he led his imagination away from the night time distraction that turned his thoughts. Yes, there they were: those pretty underskirts, breasts taut under silken dresses that naughty little mound and an oh so pouting mouth. He knew these so well that, despite himself, as he tried to hasten away into dreamless sleep, he was soon ensnared in their soft craving folds.
He drifted slowly into impossible fantasy, which quickly haunted his wakeful mind. He let his thoughts wander, remembering the sweet scent of fine strands of hair as she leaned close to examine the passage he wanted to show her, the gentle brush of her hand against his arm as we both reached to turn the page, the warm kiss of her breath as she laughed at something he said.
"Sit down," he imagined inviting her and she would thank him, nestling herself comfortably on his lap. He thought about her curvaceous form, imagining the way it might feel pressed against him. He turned over in his bed, trying to escape the sordid concept. She cocked her head to one side and played with a loose shock of her hair, bringing the strands to her soft lips for a kiss as she batted her eyes quaintly. Blushing at her teasing, he knelt, leaning back to allow the curtain to shadow her pretty face, illuminated by that torpid moon. He watched her thighs begin to spread. Suddenly, he caught a further glimpse of those ermine forbidden zones. He stood still, involuntarily frozen by the sight. A minute passed before she leaned forward and hid herself again. He exhaled slowly to conceal the passion that underlay the interruption to his breathing. He could not take his eyes from her breasts, looking down towards the soft heaving hemispheres rising up over the top of her bodice. He shrugged and felt himself frown. She smiled suddenly and then laughed out loud.
"Flirt," he muttered under his breath. She would not allow him to ignore her though, offering him a fruit that she had somehow conjured from the air. She was soon polishing that apple by rubbing it on her bodice, just above her left breast. A pointed form grew under the thin cloth as she held the red fruit up for a moment's inspection. She placed the delicious apple on the papers he had been reading before he had lain down to sleep. This gift acted as a tonic on him, arousing a sense of pride in him. He felt all at once important and authoritative. He knew that he would touch her, awake in her soul a love for beauty and life, as she knelt before him, waiting to be taught, to be advised and to be informed. He opened the text he had chosen and began to read aloud. his voice seemed to boom with a resonance that for once failed to please him. He knew the words by heart, but it took him time to warm to them, glancing at her form in front of him and finally letting his gaze stray from the book he held.
She was looking up at him with such rapt attention that he soon panicked and forgot the next line. Inexorably, his eyes returned to the page to follow the dictates of the printed words. He could feel her eyes upon him. His heart soared again, feeling himself before her, seeking to inspire her with an understanding of beauty. The romance flowed from him like water trickling down a rockface, finding the yielding strata. He caught her gaze and let the words spark between them. She smiled, playing distractedly with a button on her bodice until a sudden glimpse of her creamy breast caught his eye. He stumbled in his reading, lost the words in a fit of coughing.
Every night this week his sprite had come to him, disrupting his thoughts with displays of the secrets she could never quite keep hidden beneath her clothes. He fought to maintain his composure. She laughed as she watched his concentration crumble, tempted away by lusts he could never pursue. He tried to hide the way he felt. He doubt he ever succeeded. His reluctance to be lured was in vain when she bent over to retrieve a pencil that had inevitably fallen from her hand. She was always one to wear skirts, long sweeping skirts that revealed little more tantalising than a dainty pale white ankle or, when the folds parted the trasnlucence of her calves against the dark fabric. Her back was to him when she bent at the waist in a most unladylike fashion, and he couldn't help staring as she lifted that skirt. He held his breath as time halted, fixated to this fresh apparition.
His heartbeat pounded loud as the skirt crept up, taking on a life of its own to reveal the flesh of her upper thigh and the malleable undercurve of her bottom. He exhaled softly as her creamy white paleness spread before him, a contrast to that ominous moon. The wicked imagination at once conjured an image of this elfin creature stripped naked. He had done his best to forget things he should never have thought, but no amount of will seemed capable of erasing the all-too-real spectacle he had enjoyed of that veiled backside, watching her sway in the dark red moonlight. Lying naked beneath his sheet, he wanted her weight upon him. He felt his stiffness firmly nestled between those full cheeks. He imagined the dream sprite putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. He wished she would pull his face between her breasts. He wondered if he could stand it if she sat squirming on his lap.
"Please let me taste you," he dreamed he heard her say as she moved from him, lips teasing, arms beckoning. "You'll have to catch me first though, for I'm a tease tonight. Your teasing flirt."
He watched her dance under that blood red moon. Her dark eyes were opened wide as she appeared to be watching herself in the big looking glass that was propped against the wall, her eyes fixed on her image as she moved back and forth to the rhythm of the siren song and the ceaseless beat of the drums within his head. She tugged at the soft collar of her bodice until it fell off her shoulders and then shook her chest. The cloth was pulled tight and strained to keep her covered. He found himself falling from the bed and lay on the floor in an agony of excited frustration, wanting desperately to get up and touch her, move, anything except hide. He couldn't. He was so aroused and quite afraid, it was all he could do to keep watching.
He studied her appreciatively. As if knowing how much delight she gave him, she wriggled her charms, quickening the beat of his once placid heart. He was filled with wonderderment when she spun around and then stopped abruptly to pose. She enchanted him with her beauty, spining herself in a tight circle until her dress rose up, like a spanish dancer in full flamenco. He gasped when he saw her colourful silken underskirts. He was spell bound watching for further glimses, until it occurred to him that she was trying to expose herself to him. A raw temptation. She seemed to be looking in the mirror and whenever her upper thighs appeared, a lascivious smile crept across her face. She span faster and faster on her toes until her skirt lifted high, revealing her lower body in a blur.
After this game of indiscreet little teases had proceeded for a while, she took the hem of her skirts and lifted them up in open exhibitionism. Right up to her waist. In the candle light he could just make out her curling, curving sexuality. She turned to show herself in profile and then looked over her shoulder at her backside, her twisted body showing all those exquisite curves to full advantage. Bending over she moved through a variety of poses, studying herself with a fiery intensity. Eventually, she returned to dancing, her skirt still bunched at the waist. The siren song ended and she looked towards him again, enticing as ever. She brought her free hand down to rub herself for a moment. A shiver ran through her. A wicked grin crossed her face. Then she knelt down a few feet from the large mirror and squeezed her breasts through the fabric of her dress. She laughed out loud -wildly feral - as the erectile tissue that began to press itself against the bright cloth. She slipped her fingers down the front of her delectably elfin body in a languid motion and made as if to tease herself. Her pretty mouth opened slightly and she allowed herself the pleasure of a small moan.
"Such a wicked, naughty sprite," she murmured as she opened her legs. Leaning back on her arms she took a good look at herself spread wide, a vision that he shared gratefully. She pouted slightly and then patted the stretch of pale pink flesh between her thighs with her hand, chiding herself all the way in that irresistibly girlish pitch. "So very naughty. So very bad."
"Naughty," she repeated, turning her head to one side, biting her lip and moaning. A dark promontory peeked stiffly above the top of her bodice and his lips gave voice to his frustration at her teasings. He tried to count the number of times he she had exposed herself to him - it must have been a dozen times, at least, and her flesh had seemed whiter every time. A song slid into his head, and she seemed to hear it too, tensing her muscles to the imagined rhythm, lifting her bottom, sticking a finger up and out her wetness, pinching and twisting her hips to the music, spreading herself for the mirror, moving her lythe body in a wild erotic dance of self-love, a perfect poetic beauty brought to life. He was mesmerised. The music came to an end, and she slowed her pace.
Through it all, he came to think of her as his. The ritual of their flirtation had become a sort of relationship which he cherished in its own right. She seemed to understand and he thought she laughed cruelly, taunting his pain with disdain. He felt confused and realised that the unspoken and impossible nature of what they shared offered him nothing to lean upon. His wants were in conflict with his shoulds. Hope fruitlessly battled with can't. Every encounter with her left him unsettled. His blood ran hot and then cold, angry and pained, fierce and defeated. His lips snarled with scorn.
"Naughty, naughty wenchlet," she managed to repeat, sotto voce, as she rubbed herself hard, watching herself as she did. He could recite with frigid passion and alarm her with an angry glance only to find that she wasn't even looking his way. She had turned, distracted by a moonbeam, to laugh at herself in the mirror, smiling vainly, trying to make out her reflection, a deliberate stab at his devotion, or so he felt. She could win him back by simply turning back to face him, spreading her lean thighs. His heart leapt when he saw the faint sheen of white flesh in the shadows under her skirt. He stopped, lost and looked back to the text. He enjoyed the naughty flashes of his sprite.
At the same time, he was infuriated by the glimpse she was showing him. He couldn't help feeling that she was deliberately playing with him, a catch to be drawn in on her line, teasing him with wicked thoughts of pleasures that he, for one, could never enjoy. It seemed that the less attention he tried to pay, the more intent she became on distracting him. Her legs drifted further apart to allow every casual glance to reveal her intimately. At one point, when she had managed to tempt him into a brief stare, she began to scratch her thigh, letting a finger rub the cotton veil with a touch of lewdness. He dropped his book with a clatter and became annoyed at his embarrassment. She rolled her eyes and blew him a mock kiss. A rush of white-hot anger blinded him and he rose in a fury:
"I will not tolerate...," he stuttered unable to finish and took a deep breath. " If you continue, I will have to . . ."
In his fury he couldn't imagine what he could do.
"Have to what?" she responded dryly. "Spank me?"
The words shot through the clammy air like a sharp retort. The tang of fresh blood from the cheek that he had just bitten inside, roused to a froth the dream world that had suddenly turned red. He took her by the arm, pulling her back roughly, spilling her towards the floor, in his grip again. He pushed her down over the nightstand. She taunted him with a wiggle of her pretty backside. He made to smack her insolence, knowing that she was but a mirage, a wraith conjured by his vivid imagination. She lifted her skirt, completely unafraid of tempting his wrath.
"Come," she murmured, running her tongue over her lips, letting the subsequent broken and incomplete temptations drift on as an elypsis: "Taste my flesh.....for I will taste yours."
He stared for a moment at the veil of her last underskirt clinging to her. Reaching back without a moment's hesitation, she stretched the silken veil up over the fullness of her bottom, and then pushed the cloth up until she left a roll of linen around her waist. He paused, stunned by the sight. Dampness glistened in the bright stream of moonlight shining through the window. Arousal pushed her nether lips obscenely between her thighs. His erotic fury rose up - a tempest within him. He wanted to strike her bare bottom hard. He hesitated and she groaned deeply, a sound caught between the anticipation of sharp pain and tones of ecstasy.
"Come," she whispered. "Aren't I bad enough for your taste?"
"You slut," he said under his breath. The words surprised him as an angered lust stole his last shred of self-control.
"Yes," she said eagerly, " a slut. I'm such a naughty slut." Each syllable seemed to beg him for another blow. "I'm your naughty slut, your naughty, fucking slut."
He was distracted by the alluring mellifluous sound of her voice. She trembled and pushed her bottom back toward him. She invited more than mere spanks. So much more. The blossoming flower opened, her rosy petals were enflamed around the moist scarlet of her entrance. Her moans came in a cascade of low purrs. All his rage deflated as he watched this sprite shudder in obvious theatrical pretended ecstasy. She shivered again and laughed. He touched her apple-white bottom tenderly. He kissed the skin that would have been flaming, as though his lips could erase the harsh punishment that had been dealt her in his mind. Her giggles rose in a challenging tease and he moved to really inflict chastisement.
"Mmm," she murmured, "that's nice."
"So you'd tantalise would you, wench?" a deep voice bellowed suddenly. She quailed and he froze, perturbed by the realisation that the voice was his, echoing through his bedchamber. The blush in her face turned as crimson as the moon as she pulled at her skirts and jumped up off the floor. She smoothed the skirt down, not realising her nipple was still exposed. The gentle being within him wanted to warn her, but couldn't.
"I would if you permit," she mused, trying to keep the panic from her voice, recognising a new note.
"Why do you do it?" that angry voice yelled. "Why do you tease me so?"
"It is my wont and your pleasure," she whispered quizzically.
"Why do you persist in tantalising me so?"
"I merely desire a taste of all your emotions, all of you, my friend," she responded, looking around nervously.
"What were you trying to do, then?"
"I was just dancing to your tune.....," and then grinning irrisitibly she added a teasing: "Sir."
"You slut," he repeated, smiling and forgiving her at once for this teasing respect. "Get over here."
He stood broad shouldered to lift this sprite by the arm. Without another word, he tossed her down like a ragdoll against the old sofa across the far wall. He turned her deliberately so she was bent over the armrest, her bottom lifted high. His heart pounded ferociously. He feared it would burst from his chest. He could hardly focus his eyes to see the swollen lips of her sex pressed between her thighs and the tight anal bud. A hand pressed firmly against her back and another hand was high above her.
"I won't have any insolence in this domain," he declared firmly.
"While this domain is yours, you will have it.........Sir."
Her bare bottom glowed white for a brief instant. His hand struck the soft flesh venemously with a resounding smack.
"I'm sorry," she cried. "I was being naughty." He spanked her again.
"I won't do it again....," she mewled....."Until next time."
The sprite snickered hysterically at his efforts and he stepped away.
"I am bad," she said thoughtfully, "but I win and you have to . ."
......he knelt, following her unspoken desire.
"Yes, and you know what is needed now don't you?"
His lips caressed her backside. He teased her with his tongue.
"Mmm," she said, "you are bad, horribly bad. As bad as me."
She ground her bottom into his face. He licked her softly, slowly descending until he could taste the heat of her sex.
"I want you," she said. He caressed her deftly with his tongue. She arched her back to bring her clitoris to his kiss.
"I have always wanted you, even before I knew you."
"No," he said softly. "You can't have me."
"Yes, I can and I will," she said. He stopped himself and stood up, shaking his head.
"I want you now," she frowned, looking back, her eyes desiring him to continue. "Come to me."
"Oh," she added, or perhaps it was "No," but he didn't care at that point. She wanted him and that was enough for us both. He would have plunged into her wetness with a deliberate harshness. She would have moaned as he took her furiously, crying out at each stroke. Each plunge into the melting pot of her desires would have excited her more. He could have grabbed her hard then , pulling her against his rhythm, scratching into the ravaged flesh with his nails. He wanted to focus on her and wanted silence but she only moaned louder. She was focused on her own inner demons and raised her voice louder, until her squeals were nearly a full-throated scream, rising to a crescendo and then dying again
"Let me taste now," she demanded, holding out her hand, her lips partly open, her tongue, waiting within to lap and excite and devour. He pulled out of her and pushed towards her mouth. She put her arms around him and pressed her lips lovingly, letting him slide in and then slip out. She gave a muffled purr, and kissed his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his throat. Her lips framing sharp white teeth in the darkness, sharp knives to prick the flesh and to send rivulets of life flowing into forever.
She bites. She takes. She possesses. The darkness surrounding her mouth is a marriage between shadow and predator. The flame pulses and reaches that precise unison of shadow and predator. A fantasy at the very edge of reality. She can easily transcend this reality.
She has only to lick her smeared blood red lips, blowing out the candle. This will take him beyond control. It will ensure that the moon retains that reassuringly blood red hue forever in his imagination. In the momentary reality remaining to him, all rage and frustration evaporates. There is a last faint exhalation. A life flashes before her eyes. He dared to summon her for his libinous designs. He dared, for an audacious while at least, to call her his. Now the tables were turned. He must reciprocate and mouth the surrender in the pleading last request: "Call me yours."
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