| return to Softer Things Darkness closed in on her. It seemed to hold her, not necessarily threatening, not necessarily comforting, it just held her. Would he come for her? Would he take her again? She didn’t know, she had no way of knowing. He would come if he wanted to, or if he was told to, she didn’t even know if there was a difference. But she would wait for him, just in case he came. His coming was like no other, not just like no other man, but like no other experience in the whole of her life. She had no idea how many times he had already come to her. She suspected there were times about which she remembered nothing, that there were times when he simply took her while she slept. Dreams, perhaps, maybe those times had been mere dreams, but can a dream be merely a dream? She thought not. His last coming was vivid in her memory. The feel of his wisp of a tongue, just as mist or fog, the feel of it across her neck and face, her breast, her nipples. The moment enveloped her much as the darkness now has, holding her without value or intent or purpose, holding her as his spirit took her, as his spirit made love to her, as his spirit fucked her. Indeed, had she been fucked by a spirit? Yes, she thought. Yes, she believed. Had a ghost moved over her body? Had a ghost moved between her legs? Had a ghost entered her pussy? She thought so, yes. Had a ghost taken her to a level of pleasure she had never experienced before? Yes, she told herself. Did she want to go back, yearn to go back? Definitely. Can a woman be penetrated without being really penetrated? Can she be taken as a woman by metaphysical forces? She truly had no idea, but whatever the experience, whatever the feeling, it excited her, made her wet between her legs, made her nipples hard and her breath short. She only wanted him or it to fuck her, to fuck her again, and then again, never to stop. She wanted to feel it, to have the experience again. But she knew she couldn’t will it or wish it to happen. It just happened. She had absolutely no control. With the passage of some time, she slept fitfully. In her sleep, it happened. In her sleep she was transported to a place dark and forbidden, a place cold, yet hot, a place from which she knew there was no escape. Her legs were held apart by nothing she could see or feel, her mouth was covered by a hand she could only know as being there. She could not scream, she would not if she could. He or it was on top of her pushing inside her, spreading her pussy though nothing she could touch was on her or inside her. And then she gave up to it and let it take her. Something fucked her. Something drove her to orgasm. Something lapped her juices and forced her on to more, forced her to continue cuming. Whatever it was, it was relentless. Her clit throbbed untouched but was being licked and sucked. Her pussy unfilled was being fucked hard, deep, hot, splattering her wetness over her own thighs and ass. Her breasts were uncovered and alone but her nipples were being pulled and twisted and coated with her pussy juice. When he or it came, she knew. The thrill of it’s cuming coursed through her womb into her chest, her throat, her mouth, her nose. And then the wisp was gone, her legs released, her mouth uncovered, her body alone again to mourn the departure, to mourn being alone and having to wait again for its return. She rolled over, reminding herself that she was awake and not dreaming. When the hot cum dripped from her, chilling quickly on her clit before dripping onto her bed, she knew then. She knew.
copyright, 1999 |