A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By a woman wailing for her demon lover!
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan, 1798-99
Peter opened the front door to be greeted by a comic tableaux. Four of his friends, dressed as if they had just stepped out of a certain Chateaux on lake Lucerne at the turn of the 19th century. Unfortunately they had stepped out into one of the intense but sporadic showers of rain that were lashing Yew Tree Manor. Rather soggy, they carried their luggage into the hall.
“The bloody car broke down just outside the garden wall”, explained Mark, “The weather I expect, though when you pay that much for a bloody car …”. “We’re here now”, interrupted Mark’s fiancé, Emily, “Let’s get dried off and get a drink.”. The suggestion of alcohol immediately raised the mood of the bedraggled couples, so Peter led them to the kitchen to open a few bottles of wine.
Equipped with bottles and glasses, as well as their luggage, the newly arrived couples retired to their respective bedrooms. “Where’s Kate?”, asked Luke, “Charlotte wanted to talk to her about arrangements for Christmas. You are still stopping with us, aren’t you?”.
“I think so”, replied Peter, “Kate’s asleep, I’ll wake her up and ask her. See you downstairs in half an hour.”
And indeed Kate was asleep. After their frantic screw over the kitchen sink she had retired to the bedroom. Peter had been concerned, her skin was cold and clammy as he helped her up the stairs to their room. She had lain back on the four poster bed and smiled at him. Not a loving smile, more a benevolent one, a “You served me very well”, type of smile. Peter had been quite disconcerted at the time, but once the moment had passed and she had fallen to sleep he wasn’t so sure. “It was just a smile”, he told himself.
Peter quietly let himself into the bedroom and lay next to Kate. He lay on his side watching her chest rise and fall. The urge to slide his hand up her leg and stroke her inner thigh above her stockings was difficult to resist, but he did. She needed her sleep.
Within a few minutes his eyes had closed, lids heavy, drained from the earlier sweat exertion. He began to breathe deeply and steadily, a contented post-coital slumber.
Kate’s eyes snapped open. She slid off the bed as smoothly and as silently as a snake. Gliding across the carpet and out the door without a sound, she left Peter to his dreams.
Mark and Luke’s voices drifted up from the kitchen below, they had spent just a few minutes straightening their outfits, so as not to miss any serious drinking time. The dark fairy saw a door ajar at the end of the landing. She cocked her head slightly, unblinking eyes studying the sliver of light emanating from the room intently for movement.
She was at the door now, and let herself in, as silent as a malicious whisper.
Emily was on the bed, on her side facing the door. Her eyes were closed. She wore red bra and briefs, nothing more. The dress, carefully chosen, now rather damp, was hung to dry from the curtain rail above the radiator in the window.
Kate walked round the foot of the bed and lay behind Emily. Their bodies were not yet touching but Kate’s hot breath played on the back of Emily’s neck. Emily stirred, “Mmmh, Mark!”. “Yes”, replied the succubus.
Kate slipped her hand around Emily’s waist and slowly drew her middle finger across Emily’s skin from the navel to her cleavage. “Do we have time?”, asked Emily. “Yes. We have all the time we need”, Kate assured her. Emily reached to the front of her bra and undid the clasp, letting her dark-nippled C-cup breasts to spill out.
Kate caressed each one in turn, squeezing the nipples, moulding crushing the mounds in her hand. She dug her purple painted talons into the tender flesh. “Mark!”, exclaimed Emily, surprised, but wanting more. Emily’s juices began to flow, excited by her insistent lover.
Emily turned over and looked into “Mark’s” eyes. “I want you”, she said, blissfully unaware that her desires were of no consequence.
Kate plunged her tongue into Emily’s mouth and her hand into Emily’s panties. Kate’s fingers slid down the moist slit and found the opening she sought. First one, then two, then three fingers penetrated Emily. One made her sigh, two elicited a gasp. Three made her cry out grinding more heavily into Kate’s hand and pressing her exposed tits into Kate’s dress.
Kate’s fingers massaged Emily’s G-spot, juices began to flow down Kate’s arm. Emily’s cries of ecstasy were muffled by the passionate and insistent mouth pressed against hers, her tongue seemingly bound tight by one, or was it two tongues in her mouth.
Kate’s wings began to beat gently, lifting the couple from the bed. Mouths tight together, Kate’s arm around her prey’s back and the other hand buried in the prey’s mound. Emily writhed as Kate massaged her pussy with the strength of one possessed and the knowledge of a woman who had explored her own body many times. When she came, juices dripping from her pussy, down her thighs. Kate held her close. Emily dug her fingers into Kate’s buttocks through the velvet of her dress. Kate left deep indentations with her claw-like nails in the bare flesh of Emily’s back. Only then did Kate’s wings beat slower and lower her to the bed.
Kate drew her hand out of Emily’s panties and across her inner thigh, leaving four red tracks …
Peter woke to the sound of Mark and Luke hammering on the door. “Are you two going to stay in there all night?”.
He roused Kate, and they made their way downstairs.
End of Part 2
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 30, 2005
Yew Tree Manor - Part 1
Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1797-98
The house stood at the very top of a hill surrounded by trees, but visible from all sides. The trees, now leafless as autumn drew on and winter approached, seemed reluctant to grown near its ancient stones. The few that ventured close to its ivy covered garden walls were dark, stunted, twisted, unidentifiable specimens.
The garden wall was of red brick, ten feet tall and only perhaps a century old, yet in the dismal twilight it looked as old as the four hundred year old manor it surrounded. No, as old as the eight hundred year old foundations on which the manor stood.
As Kate’s taxi approached the house up the winding private track which served as access to the house she regarded the property with some satisfaction. “A perfect place to spend Halloween”, she congratulated herself. The house disappeared from view as the car rounded the final turn in the road. As the house reappeared, rain began to fall in huge drops, splattering against the windshield of the car. “Bastard weather!”, commented the driver. Then, “Sorry Miss”. “Miss!”, did he think he was driving an Edwardian Debutant to her “Coming Out” ball in a hansom cab? Kate smiled to herself, “Horrible isn’t it”.
The taxi crunched to a halt next to the porch at the front of the manor. Kate grabbed her shoulder bag and stood, sheltered from the rain under the porch, while the driver lugged her two suitcases from the taxi to the door. She tipped him, far too generously, and had to raise a hand to her face to cover her smile. He actually raised his hand to his head as if to doff a nonexistent cap!
Reaching into her shoulder bag Kate retrieved an iron key and slid it into the oak door. Shit, it wouldn’t turn, she wiggled the key in the lock and tried again. This time, with some effort, it turned with a screech of metal on metal. Kate turned on her torch and tried to remember where the light switch was. Flicking the Bakelite knob illuminated the huge hall in yellow light from four aged light fittings high above her. One at a time she dragged in the cases from outside then shut and locked the door.
Two hours later she was showered, changed and eating a piece of celery in the kitchen, waiting for the first guests to arrive. Old though the place was her choice of venue had the benefits of modern plumbing. The wiring on the other hand did not inspire confidence. Every gust of wind from the intensifying storm outside made the lights flicker and fade.
The party was a select affair, three couples, all friends. Catering was a cold buffet and an oven full of nibbles to heat up for later. All prepared by a café in the village and laid out on the kitchen table when she arrived.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, Kate nearly choked on her celery. Cursing Peter for not using the front door she got up and made for the kitchen door, which led to the rear garden. It was secured by two iron bolts of great antiquity that required a real effort to open.
Pulling the door inwards Kate was surprised to find nobody there. She was about to close the door, thinking Peter had walked around to the front of the house, when she saw a figure silhouetted next to the yew tree in the centre of the kitchen garden. It struck her at that moment – the only tree in the garden.
“Peter. Get in here it’s freezing.”. The figure raised its hand and seemed to beckon Kate. “You must be joking!”, Kate shouted, “You know how much this outfit cost.”
He should know, he’d bought it for her. It could best be described as bondage fairy crossed with Morticia Addams. Predominantly black velvet with a purple satin panel in the front. Her firm breasts exposed almost to the nipple. Laced at the back and tight into the waist. Below the waist, short and more black velvet, cut up each thigh almost to the waist. At its longest not quite reaching her knees. Fishnet stocking and leather ankle boots with scandalously high heals. And, she had a pair of black wings, studded wristbands and collar to complete the look.
The figure beckoned again. “Oh, hell, alright …”. Kate picked up an empty metal tray from the table and raised it above her head. Against her better judgement she walked unsteadily across the wet stone slabs of the path towards the sentinel tree and it’s dark companion.
As she approached the tree seemed to grow in stature, a dark black mass against inky blue clouds. The figure moved toward the tree becoming indistinct as it did so, eventually merging with the great yew’s blackness.
Kate stopped. The din from the rain hitting the metal tray the only sound. Where had he gone? Her breath began to quicken, making her full bosom heave. What was going on. She felt the warmth leave her body, icy tendrils of foreboding slid over her pale skin.
She herd, no felt, someone breath a word almost silently in her ear. Kate turned dropping the tray as she did so. She was confronted by … nothing. Just the welcoming glow of the light from the kitchen. Glancing nervously over her shoulder she walked briskly towards the kitchen door only a few feet away, cursing herself for imagining things. Her chest, now wet from the rain, began to rise and fall more rapidly as the kitchen door seemed to recede with every step she took.
Then she felt it. A hand on her shoulder, rough, firm, holding her back. She raised her arm to shrug the hand away. She was now trying to run towards the door. Something held her leg and she stumbled, falling hard onto the stone path. She cried out, screaming at the unseen assailant to let go of her leg.
She tried to raise her face from the cold, wet stone but was held there by a great weight. She tried to scream for help but the words seemed to disappear as they left her lips, muffled in a stifling grey blanket.
Now helpless she felt fingers, stroking her exposed flesh. Rough skin tracing the curve of her calves through her stockings, her thighs and up under her dress. “No!”, she wanted to cry but the words just fell from her lips and evaporated in the greyness surrounding her. Tears welled up in her eyes as the rough hands approached their goal.
Then as she resigned herself to the imminent violation she felt a warm familiar hand on her shoulder. A soft voice in her ear, “Kate. Kate darling”. She sat up at the kitchen table with a start. Peter jumped back, alarmed at the speed of her awakening.
“Are you OK?”, he asked. “I must have dozed off.”, Kate replied. She stood up and stepped towards him. Her arms slid around his waist and her body pressed him against the Belfast sink in front of the kitchen window, “I had a terrible dream.”. She felt safe, protected and loved in his arms, with her head on his shoulder.
He began to grow hard against her. “I want you.”, she whispered in his ear. He raised his hand to her chin, pushing it up so her blue eyes met his. Her raven hair fell away from her face. “We’ll have to be quick, they’ll be here soon …”.
“No.”, Kate snapped, “Here now.”. Peter was shocked but also wildly turned on by this passionate little fairy commanding him to fuck her. She was unbuttoning his trousers and ripping down his briefs before he had chance to object. Not that he was likely to.
Kate grabbed Peter’s cock and said, “You know what I want.”. She turned on her heals, hitched up her skirt and bent over the sink. Peter needed no second bidding and pulled her tiny purple panties to one side. He slid straight into her with the first thrust and felt himself gripped by her in a way he’d never felt before. Her pussy grasping his cock demanding it’s attention, demanding to be fucked.
Peter felt himself bigger and harder than he had ever felt before, powerful and single minded. With only one purpose, to fill Kate with his seed. He steadily and assuredly brought her to orgasm, once, twice, three times. Her fairy wings wavy in front of him Peter came, and came and came. As he did so he growled, gasped, maybe even cried out, he was so consumed by his orgasm that he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that Kate writhed and bucked underneath him, slowly but with a strength that he didn’t know she possessed. Her body demanded his cum and drew it from him, hungry for every last drop of him. Her hands grasped the sink taps, knuckles white. And she screamed, loud and shrill.
Then it was over, the spell broken. That’s what it had felt like a spell. Peter staggered back and lent on the kitchen table while he regained his senses. Kate’s breathing began to return to normal. As she stood up something caught her eye in the garden as moonlight broke through the rain clouds and reflected off its shiny surface.
Her blood ran cold as she recognised the metal tray.
End of Part 1
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1797-98
The house stood at the very top of a hill surrounded by trees, but visible from all sides. The trees, now leafless as autumn drew on and winter approached, seemed reluctant to grown near its ancient stones. The few that ventured close to its ivy covered garden walls were dark, stunted, twisted, unidentifiable specimens.
The garden wall was of red brick, ten feet tall and only perhaps a century old, yet in the dismal twilight it looked as old as the four hundred year old manor it surrounded. No, as old as the eight hundred year old foundations on which the manor stood.
As Kate’s taxi approached the house up the winding private track which served as access to the house she regarded the property with some satisfaction. “A perfect place to spend Halloween”, she congratulated herself. The house disappeared from view as the car rounded the final turn in the road. As the house reappeared, rain began to fall in huge drops, splattering against the windshield of the car. “Bastard weather!”, commented the driver. Then, “Sorry Miss”. “Miss!”, did he think he was driving an Edwardian Debutant to her “Coming Out” ball in a hansom cab? Kate smiled to herself, “Horrible isn’t it”.
The taxi crunched to a halt next to the porch at the front of the manor. Kate grabbed her shoulder bag and stood, sheltered from the rain under the porch, while the driver lugged her two suitcases from the taxi to the door. She tipped him, far too generously, and had to raise a hand to her face to cover her smile. He actually raised his hand to his head as if to doff a nonexistent cap!
Reaching into her shoulder bag Kate retrieved an iron key and slid it into the oak door. Shit, it wouldn’t turn, she wiggled the key in the lock and tried again. This time, with some effort, it turned with a screech of metal on metal. Kate turned on her torch and tried to remember where the light switch was. Flicking the Bakelite knob illuminated the huge hall in yellow light from four aged light fittings high above her. One at a time she dragged in the cases from outside then shut and locked the door.
Two hours later she was showered, changed and eating a piece of celery in the kitchen, waiting for the first guests to arrive. Old though the place was her choice of venue had the benefits of modern plumbing. The wiring on the other hand did not inspire confidence. Every gust of wind from the intensifying storm outside made the lights flicker and fade.
The party was a select affair, three couples, all friends. Catering was a cold buffet and an oven full of nibbles to heat up for later. All prepared by a café in the village and laid out on the kitchen table when she arrived.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, Kate nearly choked on her celery. Cursing Peter for not using the front door she got up and made for the kitchen door, which led to the rear garden. It was secured by two iron bolts of great antiquity that required a real effort to open.
Pulling the door inwards Kate was surprised to find nobody there. She was about to close the door, thinking Peter had walked around to the front of the house, when she saw a figure silhouetted next to the yew tree in the centre of the kitchen garden. It struck her at that moment – the only tree in the garden.
“Peter. Get in here it’s freezing.”. The figure raised its hand and seemed to beckon Kate. “You must be joking!”, Kate shouted, “You know how much this outfit cost.”
He should know, he’d bought it for her. It could best be described as bondage fairy crossed with Morticia Addams. Predominantly black velvet with a purple satin panel in the front. Her firm breasts exposed almost to the nipple. Laced at the back and tight into the waist. Below the waist, short and more black velvet, cut up each thigh almost to the waist. At its longest not quite reaching her knees. Fishnet stocking and leather ankle boots with scandalously high heals. And, she had a pair of black wings, studded wristbands and collar to complete the look.
The figure beckoned again. “Oh, hell, alright …”. Kate picked up an empty metal tray from the table and raised it above her head. Against her better judgement she walked unsteadily across the wet stone slabs of the path towards the sentinel tree and it’s dark companion.
As she approached the tree seemed to grow in stature, a dark black mass against inky blue clouds. The figure moved toward the tree becoming indistinct as it did so, eventually merging with the great yew’s blackness.
Kate stopped. The din from the rain hitting the metal tray the only sound. Where had he gone? Her breath began to quicken, making her full bosom heave. What was going on. She felt the warmth leave her body, icy tendrils of foreboding slid over her pale skin.
She herd, no felt, someone breath a word almost silently in her ear. Kate turned dropping the tray as she did so. She was confronted by … nothing. Just the welcoming glow of the light from the kitchen. Glancing nervously over her shoulder she walked briskly towards the kitchen door only a few feet away, cursing herself for imagining things. Her chest, now wet from the rain, began to rise and fall more rapidly as the kitchen door seemed to recede with every step she took.
Then she felt it. A hand on her shoulder, rough, firm, holding her back. She raised her arm to shrug the hand away. She was now trying to run towards the door. Something held her leg and she stumbled, falling hard onto the stone path. She cried out, screaming at the unseen assailant to let go of her leg.
She tried to raise her face from the cold, wet stone but was held there by a great weight. She tried to scream for help but the words seemed to disappear as they left her lips, muffled in a stifling grey blanket.
Now helpless she felt fingers, stroking her exposed flesh. Rough skin tracing the curve of her calves through her stockings, her thighs and up under her dress. “No!”, she wanted to cry but the words just fell from her lips and evaporated in the greyness surrounding her. Tears welled up in her eyes as the rough hands approached their goal.
Then as she resigned herself to the imminent violation she felt a warm familiar hand on her shoulder. A soft voice in her ear, “Kate. Kate darling”. She sat up at the kitchen table with a start. Peter jumped back, alarmed at the speed of her awakening.
“Are you OK?”, he asked. “I must have dozed off.”, Kate replied. She stood up and stepped towards him. Her arms slid around his waist and her body pressed him against the Belfast sink in front of the kitchen window, “I had a terrible dream.”. She felt safe, protected and loved in his arms, with her head on his shoulder.
He began to grow hard against her. “I want you.”, she whispered in his ear. He raised his hand to her chin, pushing it up so her blue eyes met his. Her raven hair fell away from her face. “We’ll have to be quick, they’ll be here soon …”.
“No.”, Kate snapped, “Here now.”. Peter was shocked but also wildly turned on by this passionate little fairy commanding him to fuck her. She was unbuttoning his trousers and ripping down his briefs before he had chance to object. Not that he was likely to.
Kate grabbed Peter’s cock and said, “You know what I want.”. She turned on her heals, hitched up her skirt and bent over the sink. Peter needed no second bidding and pulled her tiny purple panties to one side. He slid straight into her with the first thrust and felt himself gripped by her in a way he’d never felt before. Her pussy grasping his cock demanding it’s attention, demanding to be fucked.
Peter felt himself bigger and harder than he had ever felt before, powerful and single minded. With only one purpose, to fill Kate with his seed. He steadily and assuredly brought her to orgasm, once, twice, three times. Her fairy wings wavy in front of him Peter came, and came and came. As he did so he growled, gasped, maybe even cried out, he was so consumed by his orgasm that he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that Kate writhed and bucked underneath him, slowly but with a strength that he didn’t know she possessed. Her body demanded his cum and drew it from him, hungry for every last drop of him. Her hands grasped the sink taps, knuckles white. And she screamed, loud and shrill.
Then it was over, the spell broken. That’s what it had felt like a spell. Peter staggered back and lent on the kitchen table while he regained his senses. Kate’s breathing began to return to normal. As she stood up something caught her eye in the garden as moonlight broke through the rain clouds and reflected off its shiny surface.
Her blood ran cold as she recognised the metal tray.
End of Part 1
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Yew Tree Manor - Prologue II
The old man sat on the rocky promontory looking out over the bay, and beyond into the Atlantic. Over the horizon, thousands of leagues away was the New World. And it was new, discovered only a few hundred years ago. In universal terms a few centuries is the blink of an eye.
The old man’s rod supported a fishing line that fell away twenty-five metres to the crashing waves below. It was late summer and the ocean was being uncommonly kind to the Iberian coast. In a few months the waves would pound the cliffs so hard that sitting here you would feel the salt spray on your face and taste the ocean.
This was his place, it had been so for, well as long as he could remember. Not for him the precipitous climb down the sheer cliffs a few hundred metres south. It was not very dignified to be using a knotted rope to reach a fishing roost at his age.
“Bom dia, pai” came a bright voice from over his shoulder. Why did she keep calling him that. She wasn’t his daughter. He admonished himself, “You should take it as a compliment, you’re the nearest thing she’s got to family, since … the …”.
“Mãe says you should eat”, said the voice as it’s owner settled next to him.
Her presence drew his gaze from the water. She was kneeling next to him, unpacking her rucksack, laying out her cargo of food and drink. Chicken, bread, piri-piri, a half empty bottle of his own red wine.
He caught himself smiling at her, tried to stop and realised he couldn’t. You’re getting old Chave, he told himself, “It isn’t her fault she is what she is, and while she can’t remember … well let’s keep it that way.
She’d be leaving soon, back to her homeland, if she had such a thing. The land that she was born in at least, it was what her mother would have wanted.
Damn her mother, he thought. Needlessly, because the girl’s mother had been damned a long time ago.
~~~
It took centuries for the grief in John to subside. His heart was shattered by the loss of Elizabeth. Now he knew his three gifts were actually curses.
Immortality, the gift of seeing all around you be born, grow and die in the wink of an immortal’s eye. Watching those you love perish, without the power to stop it.
Prescience, the future laid out before you, glorious in its scale, hideous in its complexity. Only the next few seconds of the universe’s future clear to you. Looking further ahead the choices we all make splitting one clear future into a billion possible futures. It made his mind ache just thinking about the unfathomable complexity of it. He had long ago given up trying to use this “gift”, it had almost sent him insane.
Then the third, and perhaps cruellest gift of all. He could make anyone love him. Really love him. If he saw someone he truly desired they would love him in return. Love him totally, until they died. It sent icy daggers into his heart when he allowed it to happen. To know that a human could love him so completely and that it was not him, but the gift. So he tried not to ensnare these easily enchanted creatures and kept desire from his mind, lest he cause another human such anguish as he had caused Elizabeth. And yet with her he was dazed and confused when he had met her and only just taken corporeal form, so maybe that was the one human who had truly loved him?
So here he stood at the end of what the creatures around him called the 20th century. Aeons old, alone, afraid to love and destined to continue like this until the end of time.
~~~
Kate’s schooling was completed in England. Chave knew her mother would have wanted that. Though why he felt compelled to honour that creature’s wishes he could never work out. Well, he’d done his best for Kate. She would be a woman soon and free to go her own way. He just hoped she never remembered what she was.
~~~
If was 31st December 1999. A wave of parties had swept across the world for twelve hours, and now at ten to midnight, the parties in England were getting ready to pop a million Champagne corks.
Kate stood with a glass of wine on the terrace. The party in the ballroom behind her was loud and expectant. A new millennium, what would it bring? The end of the world? The Millenium bug? A golden age for mankind?
As always at times like this, when everyone else seemed collectively festive, she felt alone, an outsider.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice said, ”Are you coming back inside?”. It was Tim. He was sweet, but loved her far more than she loved him. They had been together for six months, the sex was OK, though it always left her wanting more. And he cared about her. She supposed she ought to be grateful for that.
“No, can we go for a walk?”
“But we’ll miss midnight …”
She smiled at him, just a smile, but all the blood in his body suddenly made a rush for his groin. He tingled as his cock stiffened down the leg of his suit trousers.
Kate took his hand and led him into the garden. She lead him quickly to the centre of the small hedge maze. He followed willingly, enjoyed the sight of her dark hair dancing as she ran in front of him. The pale skin of her back exposed from shoulders to waist by the lace-up backed dress she wore.
A stone monument, altar like in form, fashioned from basalt stood in the centre of the maze. Inscriptions on the side commemorated the family who had built the house and garden in the 18th century, but were obscured by ivy now.
“Help me up.” Said Kate. Tom lifted her by the waist and placed her on the edge of the stone “altar”. Her skimpy, mid-thigh black dress rode up slightly to reveal stocking tops and black suspenders. Tom smiled and ached to release his cock from his trousers, it was becoming uncomfortably hard.
Kate shuffled backward and laid her bare shoulder on the cold stone. Tom hoisted himself up and lay next to her.
Tom’s hand immediately reached for her thigh, tracing her stocking from knee to lacy top. He toyed with the suspender, wrapping it round his fingers. Kates slim fingers stoked his erection through his trousers. He could feel his leg already wet with pre-cum. She deftly unfastened his belt and trousers with one hand and delved inside.
She grasped his cock, felt its heat and hardness, wanted to feel it inside her. With a little difficulty she unhooked it from his underwear so it pointed towards her, plum like head shining in the light from the single faux gaslight that illuminated the maze’s centre.
Her hand slowly slid the skin back and forth, almost milking him. She wiped the end with her index finger and brought it to her mouth to taste the pre-cum. “Mmmm”.
Tom’s hands ventured under her dress, stroking her mound through rapidly moistening silk panties. Her clitoris was sensitive to his every movement, he only had to brush against it now to make her draw in sharp breaths only to release them as decadent moans.
As they kissed, her hands clamped behind his head her lithe tongue challenging his. He slipped two fingers into her fiery hot pussy and felt himself soaked in her juices.
She rolled over and presented her ass to him. He rose to his knees, his proud member waving in front to him. He pushed her dress to her waist to expose her satin covered cheeks. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down, in his haste, ripping then. “Oooh wow!”, giggled Kate playfully.
His cock nuzzled against her lips and slid in with little hesitation and only the sweat velvety resistance he had come to expect of her pussy.
She moaned and so did he. Pumping furiously, she became wild with excitement as orgasm after orgasm made her shudder. Then begin to thrash about, her moans changed almost to shrieks.
Tom was excited by her behaviour, he had never seen this raging animal before, and he liked it. He growled at her, feeding off her animal passion.
He felt his own orgasm rising quickly from the depths of his soul, more powerful than he’d ever felt before. It rolled out of him like a huge breaker on a shingle beach. Loud, crashing, filled with power, driving to the high water mark. Then with the backwash and the shuddering aftershocks he collapsed across her back. Her shrieks of pleasure still echoing around the garden.
Kate shrugged him off her. He rolled to the edge of the “altar”. She rose and stood astride him. When he opened his eyes to look in to her sweet face his expression turned from post orgasmic bliss to one filled with fear and incomprehension.
Kate stood, her black wings unfurling. Dark soulless eyes staring deep into his mind. Her slim fingers were now tipped with nails that glinted like steel. Her speech menacing and seemingly composed of two voices, the one he knew and another, malevolent, voice which froze his blood. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”
She pounced on his exposed groin. Tom was unable to move as a thick forked tongue whipped out of her mouth and encircled his cock, licking the cum from it. Then she took him in her mouth, almost instantly he was hard again. “This can’t be”, he thought, “I must be dreaming”. Sharp teeth raked the skin of his cock.
He came again with Kate’s talons ripping the flesh from his bones. With his orgasm he gave her the last of his seed and his very soul.
The old man’s rod supported a fishing line that fell away twenty-five metres to the crashing waves below. It was late summer and the ocean was being uncommonly kind to the Iberian coast. In a few months the waves would pound the cliffs so hard that sitting here you would feel the salt spray on your face and taste the ocean.
This was his place, it had been so for, well as long as he could remember. Not for him the precipitous climb down the sheer cliffs a few hundred metres south. It was not very dignified to be using a knotted rope to reach a fishing roost at his age.
“Bom dia, pai” came a bright voice from over his shoulder. Why did she keep calling him that. She wasn’t his daughter. He admonished himself, “You should take it as a compliment, you’re the nearest thing she’s got to family, since … the …”.
“Mãe says you should eat”, said the voice as it’s owner settled next to him.
Her presence drew his gaze from the water. She was kneeling next to him, unpacking her rucksack, laying out her cargo of food and drink. Chicken, bread, piri-piri, a half empty bottle of his own red wine.
He caught himself smiling at her, tried to stop and realised he couldn’t. You’re getting old Chave, he told himself, “It isn’t her fault she is what she is, and while she can’t remember … well let’s keep it that way.
She’d be leaving soon, back to her homeland, if she had such a thing. The land that she was born in at least, it was what her mother would have wanted.
Damn her mother, he thought. Needlessly, because the girl’s mother had been damned a long time ago.
~~~
It took centuries for the grief in John to subside. His heart was shattered by the loss of Elizabeth. Now he knew his three gifts were actually curses.
Immortality, the gift of seeing all around you be born, grow and die in the wink of an immortal’s eye. Watching those you love perish, without the power to stop it.
Prescience, the future laid out before you, glorious in its scale, hideous in its complexity. Only the next few seconds of the universe’s future clear to you. Looking further ahead the choices we all make splitting one clear future into a billion possible futures. It made his mind ache just thinking about the unfathomable complexity of it. He had long ago given up trying to use this “gift”, it had almost sent him insane.
Then the third, and perhaps cruellest gift of all. He could make anyone love him. Really love him. If he saw someone he truly desired they would love him in return. Love him totally, until they died. It sent icy daggers into his heart when he allowed it to happen. To know that a human could love him so completely and that it was not him, but the gift. So he tried not to ensnare these easily enchanted creatures and kept desire from his mind, lest he cause another human such anguish as he had caused Elizabeth. And yet with her he was dazed and confused when he had met her and only just taken corporeal form, so maybe that was the one human who had truly loved him?
So here he stood at the end of what the creatures around him called the 20th century. Aeons old, alone, afraid to love and destined to continue like this until the end of time.
~~~
Kate’s schooling was completed in England. Chave knew her mother would have wanted that. Though why he felt compelled to honour that creature’s wishes he could never work out. Well, he’d done his best for Kate. She would be a woman soon and free to go her own way. He just hoped she never remembered what she was.
~~~
If was 31st December 1999. A wave of parties had swept across the world for twelve hours, and now at ten to midnight, the parties in England were getting ready to pop a million Champagne corks.
Kate stood with a glass of wine on the terrace. The party in the ballroom behind her was loud and expectant. A new millennium, what would it bring? The end of the world? The Millenium bug? A golden age for mankind?
As always at times like this, when everyone else seemed collectively festive, she felt alone, an outsider.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice said, ”Are you coming back inside?”. It was Tim. He was sweet, but loved her far more than she loved him. They had been together for six months, the sex was OK, though it always left her wanting more. And he cared about her. She supposed she ought to be grateful for that.
“No, can we go for a walk?”
“But we’ll miss midnight …”
She smiled at him, just a smile, but all the blood in his body suddenly made a rush for his groin. He tingled as his cock stiffened down the leg of his suit trousers.
Kate took his hand and led him into the garden. She lead him quickly to the centre of the small hedge maze. He followed willingly, enjoyed the sight of her dark hair dancing as she ran in front of him. The pale skin of her back exposed from shoulders to waist by the lace-up backed dress she wore.
A stone monument, altar like in form, fashioned from basalt stood in the centre of the maze. Inscriptions on the side commemorated the family who had built the house and garden in the 18th century, but were obscured by ivy now.
“Help me up.” Said Kate. Tom lifted her by the waist and placed her on the edge of the stone “altar”. Her skimpy, mid-thigh black dress rode up slightly to reveal stocking tops and black suspenders. Tom smiled and ached to release his cock from his trousers, it was becoming uncomfortably hard.
Kate shuffled backward and laid her bare shoulder on the cold stone. Tom hoisted himself up and lay next to her.
Tom’s hand immediately reached for her thigh, tracing her stocking from knee to lacy top. He toyed with the suspender, wrapping it round his fingers. Kates slim fingers stoked his erection through his trousers. He could feel his leg already wet with pre-cum. She deftly unfastened his belt and trousers with one hand and delved inside.
She grasped his cock, felt its heat and hardness, wanted to feel it inside her. With a little difficulty she unhooked it from his underwear so it pointed towards her, plum like head shining in the light from the single faux gaslight that illuminated the maze’s centre.
Her hand slowly slid the skin back and forth, almost milking him. She wiped the end with her index finger and brought it to her mouth to taste the pre-cum. “Mmmm”.
Tom’s hands ventured under her dress, stroking her mound through rapidly moistening silk panties. Her clitoris was sensitive to his every movement, he only had to brush against it now to make her draw in sharp breaths only to release them as decadent moans.
As they kissed, her hands clamped behind his head her lithe tongue challenging his. He slipped two fingers into her fiery hot pussy and felt himself soaked in her juices.
She rolled over and presented her ass to him. He rose to his knees, his proud member waving in front to him. He pushed her dress to her waist to expose her satin covered cheeks. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down, in his haste, ripping then. “Oooh wow!”, giggled Kate playfully.
His cock nuzzled against her lips and slid in with little hesitation and only the sweat velvety resistance he had come to expect of her pussy.
She moaned and so did he. Pumping furiously, she became wild with excitement as orgasm after orgasm made her shudder. Then begin to thrash about, her moans changed almost to shrieks.
Tom was excited by her behaviour, he had never seen this raging animal before, and he liked it. He growled at her, feeding off her animal passion.
He felt his own orgasm rising quickly from the depths of his soul, more powerful than he’d ever felt before. It rolled out of him like a huge breaker on a shingle beach. Loud, crashing, filled with power, driving to the high water mark. Then with the backwash and the shuddering aftershocks he collapsed across her back. Her shrieks of pleasure still echoing around the garden.
Kate shrugged him off her. He rolled to the edge of the “altar”. She rose and stood astride him. When he opened his eyes to look in to her sweet face his expression turned from post orgasmic bliss to one filled with fear and incomprehension.
Kate stood, her black wings unfurling. Dark soulless eyes staring deep into his mind. Her slim fingers were now tipped with nails that glinted like steel. Her speech menacing and seemingly composed of two voices, the one he knew and another, malevolent, voice which froze his blood. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”
She pounced on his exposed groin. Tom was unable to move as a thick forked tongue whipped out of her mouth and encircled his cock, licking the cum from it. Then she took him in her mouth, almost instantly he was hard again. “This can’t be”, he thought, “I must be dreaming”. Sharp teeth raked the skin of his cock.
He came again with Kate’s talons ripping the flesh from his bones. With his orgasm he gave her the last of his seed and his very soul.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Yew Tree Manor - Prologue I
We are the sum of our experiences. Aside from our physical makeup we are forged by our hopes and fears, our triumphs and our defeats, our love and our loathing. The choices we make change the course of our lives, perhaps minutely, perhaps wrenching us from one path onto another. But once made, they resonate throughout the rest of our existence.
None of us can foresee the outcome of the choices we make with certainty, and some of us are asked to make choices far too soon …
~~~
One moment there was no universe. Then, the fabric of reality rippled. It had done this before, many times, creating reality after reality. Some lasting for only a few milliseconds by our reckoning, yet teeming with life. Others lasting aeons, evolving into nothing but a grey void, before winking out of existence.
This one was going to be different.
For a millennium reality expanded. Within the primordial dust a consciousness coalesced. The first consciousness. It knew it was the first.
Its first though was a question, “Who am I?”.
“You are the first.”, came the reply, it was a female voice.
“If I am the first, then who are you?”.
“I am always”.
I’m glad we cleared that up thought the first.
“You are the first.”, repeated the voice, “You will exist as long as this reality exists. As the first you can choose two of these gifts.”
“Only two? Three seems more appropriate for some reason.”, said the first.
“Is immortality not a gift?”
“Point taken”. The first saw the gifts arrayed in front of him. He made his choice.
“They always pick those two …”, mumbled she who is always.
“They?”
“Never mind.”, said Always, “I’ll see you at the end of this reality.”
~~~
It was early May. Elizabeth was walking alone across the downs towards the white horse. She climbed up the hill and over the earth ramparts of the hill fort. She was enjoying the solitude, and she needed to be alone after the morning she had just endured.
On the way to church she had argued with her father, again, about his choice of husband. Couldn’t she choose her own husband? Apparently not. He was a hard working man, from a wealthy family, dependable, she was lucky her father had chosen him for her. Or as Elizabeth would have it, he was dull, boring and snobbish.
As she mounted the last rampart she caught sight of the horse. It covered one side of the hill, cut into the turf by the hands of her ancestors. Scoured every third year by her village to prevent the turf overgrowing it. She walked carefully down hill towards the horse’s head. She liked to sit in the eye to think when things were getting too much for her.
Almost at the head Elizabeth stumbled on the rough ground and fell to her knees. When she raised her eyes again there was a figure curled up in the eye. It hadn’t been there before. No, it must have been …
It was a man. A young man. A broad young man, muscular forearms covered by a light linen shirt. A mop of short, black hair. As Elizabeth got closer she could make out his face, strong jawed, slightly olive complexion. A handsome, powerful face.
Elizabeth felt her heart flutter. Her stomach felt uncomfortable. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, heart beating so hard it could have burst out of her chest. Then further down, between her legs, a feeling that she’d never experienced before. A tingling, pulsing warmth as blood rushed to her sex. Her nipples became hard under her clothing, could this be due to the cold or arousal deep within her. Was she right to feel this way about a perfect stranger? The stirrings within her made her want to kneel beside him, take in his scent, perhaps steal a kiss.
She reached out to touch the unmoving vision of masculine perfection in front of her.
His eyes snapped open. They were icy blue. Then just for a moment black and infinitely deep. Then back to that compelling blue again.
She stepped back, flustered. “Are you not well?”.
“I’m not sure.”, the handsome stranger replied. He stood, slowly, swaying a little at first. He looked down at Elizabeth. Her thick dark brown hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him. Her face flushed, “What’s your name?”.
“Err, …, John yes John”, he floundered, as if trying to convince himself of it. “I think I’ll need somewhere to stay. I’ve got a feeling I’ll not be going home for a while.”
So Elizabeth took him home to meet her father.
~~~
Elizabeth’s father never did get to see her marry. She and John took flight a few days later, heading off into the night with a bundle of clothes and a few coins she had stashed under her mattress.
That was the first night they made love, the first of many.
As the darkness closed in on them they spotted the barn and made for it’s sheltering walls. They curled up together in the remains of last autumn’s hay. Kissing as they had done at every opportunity in the days since she found him. But here in their first embrace, free from the possibility of discovery, the fiery, smouldering passion in Elizabeth ignited.
They held each other close, hands exploring. He stroked her neck and shoulder with sure strong fingers, making her shiver and arch her back. Her hands first stroked then raked his back as her animal urges took hold.
They kissed, tongues darting, probing, jousting, giving form to their lust. She could feel his cock against her, hard and larger than she’d expected. But then what had she expected? Just the “essentials” that her mother had explained to her, on a quiet summer afternoon. “So you know what to expect on your wedding night.”.
Her hand reached down, to his groin, fingers unable to resist wrapping themselves around his throbbing member. He drew a sharp breath as her hand closed around him. He had only been a corporeal being for a few days. The sensations were new, and this was, overwhelming.
They each tugged at each other’s clothes, breathing fast and shallow. Their body heat rising despite the chill in the air. Soon they were in each other’s arms, naked, caressing every inch of skin, every contour. Elizabeth’s hands were ceaseless in their exploration of Johns beautifully toned body. She traced the curves formed by his muscles, feeling herself become moist, then dripping wet between her legs. His scent filled her nostrils, making her heart flutter.
John felt his consciousness split in two. One half fixed on the beautiful Elizabeth, the passion in her eyes exciting him. The other half intent on the burning desire in his loins and the raging, pulsating erection poised at the entrance to Elizabeth’s pussy.
He eased into her. Her labia parting to accept his thick cock. Slowly he pushed deeper, not wanting to hurt her, fighting the lust which urged him to spear her deep and hard, pound her mercilessly. She stretched to accommodate him. The tiniest spec of doubt entered her expression as he encountered the resistance. He almost stopped, but her eyes implored him to drive deeper. As he did so the resistance was suddenly gone. He felt the change and was able to slide into her until her thighs rested on him.
Elizabeth gasped, or was it sobbed. A tear welled in the corner of her eye. Not so much in pain but perhaps a lament for the passing of her virginity. But she could not have given it more gladly and would never wish that it was not John who had taken it. Now she was a woman, possessed by this powerful man. This enchanting man.
He began to slide in and out of her. She moaned and urged him on with sweet words of love. He increased the speed of his thrusts as his lust took over. She drove him on, the flames of her own lust fanned by the intense stimulation from the amazing cock within her.
They both came very quickly, together and loudly. She screaming in her passion and he growling like an animal, howling like a wolf. The sound of their passion cut through the cool night air, across the surrounding fields. It was powerful and terrifying, animal and primitive.
~~~
Smoke rose from smithy chimney as it did every day. But this day was different. The dense forest surrounding the ramshackle building was wreathed in dense mist. The trees themselves, covered in moss, dripping with moisture, seemed to lean in expectantly, waiting.
The hand bellows had been pumped for an hour. Strong hands, blackened with soot drove air through the white-hot hearth. Sparks leapt upward in dancing clouds. The strip of metal was withdrawn, hammered on the anvil until it turned from white to cherry red, then plunged again into its own personal Hades.
Each hammer blow sent shivers across the forest, not from the force but from the passion behind the strokes. With each one the smith and the metal became closer, until those whose sight was keen enough would recognise they were one.
~~~
Elizabeth tugged at the donkey’s halter as it refused to move up the track. She wanted to get back, it was cold and she was too old to be out in the damp forest. But she could sense something ahead, powerful, but familiar.
Then she heard the scream, not through her ears but in the pit of her stomach. She ran, abandoning the donkey, stumbling into the quickening twilight.
~~~
As the smith plunged the metal into the water he felt like his sole was being torn from him. He screamed out loud, but a more powerful wail of exaltation and pain flowed from him into the earth itself.
He collapsed onto the beaten earth floor.
That was where Elizabeth found him. How she dragged his almost lifeless body to bed he would never know. He awoke to find her mopping his brow, her fine silver hair as always in a neat plait over her left shoulder.
He smiled, a weak smile. He felt like the life was leaving him, but he knew it would return. As for her, he could see the last of her life-force guttering like a candle in a gale. She laid her head gently on his chest.
He held her until, with morning’s first light, the last breath left her body. And he cried, feeling a loss he had never known before and vowed never to feel again.
None of us can foresee the outcome of the choices we make with certainty, and some of us are asked to make choices far too soon …
~~~
One moment there was no universe. Then, the fabric of reality rippled. It had done this before, many times, creating reality after reality. Some lasting for only a few milliseconds by our reckoning, yet teeming with life. Others lasting aeons, evolving into nothing but a grey void, before winking out of existence.
This one was going to be different.
For a millennium reality expanded. Within the primordial dust a consciousness coalesced. The first consciousness. It knew it was the first.
Its first though was a question, “Who am I?”.
“You are the first.”, came the reply, it was a female voice.
“If I am the first, then who are you?”.
“I am always”.
I’m glad we cleared that up thought the first.
“You are the first.”, repeated the voice, “You will exist as long as this reality exists. As the first you can choose two of these gifts.”
“Only two? Three seems more appropriate for some reason.”, said the first.
“Is immortality not a gift?”
“Point taken”. The first saw the gifts arrayed in front of him. He made his choice.
“They always pick those two …”, mumbled she who is always.
“They?”
“Never mind.”, said Always, “I’ll see you at the end of this reality.”
~~~
It was early May. Elizabeth was walking alone across the downs towards the white horse. She climbed up the hill and over the earth ramparts of the hill fort. She was enjoying the solitude, and she needed to be alone after the morning she had just endured.
On the way to church she had argued with her father, again, about his choice of husband. Couldn’t she choose her own husband? Apparently not. He was a hard working man, from a wealthy family, dependable, she was lucky her father had chosen him for her. Or as Elizabeth would have it, he was dull, boring and snobbish.
As she mounted the last rampart she caught sight of the horse. It covered one side of the hill, cut into the turf by the hands of her ancestors. Scoured every third year by her village to prevent the turf overgrowing it. She walked carefully down hill towards the horse’s head. She liked to sit in the eye to think when things were getting too much for her.
Almost at the head Elizabeth stumbled on the rough ground and fell to her knees. When she raised her eyes again there was a figure curled up in the eye. It hadn’t been there before. No, it must have been …
It was a man. A young man. A broad young man, muscular forearms covered by a light linen shirt. A mop of short, black hair. As Elizabeth got closer she could make out his face, strong jawed, slightly olive complexion. A handsome, powerful face.
Elizabeth felt her heart flutter. Her stomach felt uncomfortable. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, heart beating so hard it could have burst out of her chest. Then further down, between her legs, a feeling that she’d never experienced before. A tingling, pulsing warmth as blood rushed to her sex. Her nipples became hard under her clothing, could this be due to the cold or arousal deep within her. Was she right to feel this way about a perfect stranger? The stirrings within her made her want to kneel beside him, take in his scent, perhaps steal a kiss.
She reached out to touch the unmoving vision of masculine perfection in front of her.
His eyes snapped open. They were icy blue. Then just for a moment black and infinitely deep. Then back to that compelling blue again.
She stepped back, flustered. “Are you not well?”.
“I’m not sure.”, the handsome stranger replied. He stood, slowly, swaying a little at first. He looked down at Elizabeth. Her thick dark brown hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him. Her face flushed, “What’s your name?”.
“Err, …, John yes John”, he floundered, as if trying to convince himself of it. “I think I’ll need somewhere to stay. I’ve got a feeling I’ll not be going home for a while.”
So Elizabeth took him home to meet her father.
~~~
Elizabeth’s father never did get to see her marry. She and John took flight a few days later, heading off into the night with a bundle of clothes and a few coins she had stashed under her mattress.
That was the first night they made love, the first of many.
As the darkness closed in on them they spotted the barn and made for it’s sheltering walls. They curled up together in the remains of last autumn’s hay. Kissing as they had done at every opportunity in the days since she found him. But here in their first embrace, free from the possibility of discovery, the fiery, smouldering passion in Elizabeth ignited.
They held each other close, hands exploring. He stroked her neck and shoulder with sure strong fingers, making her shiver and arch her back. Her hands first stroked then raked his back as her animal urges took hold.
They kissed, tongues darting, probing, jousting, giving form to their lust. She could feel his cock against her, hard and larger than she’d expected. But then what had she expected? Just the “essentials” that her mother had explained to her, on a quiet summer afternoon. “So you know what to expect on your wedding night.”.
Her hand reached down, to his groin, fingers unable to resist wrapping themselves around his throbbing member. He drew a sharp breath as her hand closed around him. He had only been a corporeal being for a few days. The sensations were new, and this was, overwhelming.
They each tugged at each other’s clothes, breathing fast and shallow. Their body heat rising despite the chill in the air. Soon they were in each other’s arms, naked, caressing every inch of skin, every contour. Elizabeth’s hands were ceaseless in their exploration of Johns beautifully toned body. She traced the curves formed by his muscles, feeling herself become moist, then dripping wet between her legs. His scent filled her nostrils, making her heart flutter.
John felt his consciousness split in two. One half fixed on the beautiful Elizabeth, the passion in her eyes exciting him. The other half intent on the burning desire in his loins and the raging, pulsating erection poised at the entrance to Elizabeth’s pussy.
He eased into her. Her labia parting to accept his thick cock. Slowly he pushed deeper, not wanting to hurt her, fighting the lust which urged him to spear her deep and hard, pound her mercilessly. She stretched to accommodate him. The tiniest spec of doubt entered her expression as he encountered the resistance. He almost stopped, but her eyes implored him to drive deeper. As he did so the resistance was suddenly gone. He felt the change and was able to slide into her until her thighs rested on him.
Elizabeth gasped, or was it sobbed. A tear welled in the corner of her eye. Not so much in pain but perhaps a lament for the passing of her virginity. But she could not have given it more gladly and would never wish that it was not John who had taken it. Now she was a woman, possessed by this powerful man. This enchanting man.
He began to slide in and out of her. She moaned and urged him on with sweet words of love. He increased the speed of his thrusts as his lust took over. She drove him on, the flames of her own lust fanned by the intense stimulation from the amazing cock within her.
They both came very quickly, together and loudly. She screaming in her passion and he growling like an animal, howling like a wolf. The sound of their passion cut through the cool night air, across the surrounding fields. It was powerful and terrifying, animal and primitive.
~~~
Smoke rose from smithy chimney as it did every day. But this day was different. The dense forest surrounding the ramshackle building was wreathed in dense mist. The trees themselves, covered in moss, dripping with moisture, seemed to lean in expectantly, waiting.
The hand bellows had been pumped for an hour. Strong hands, blackened with soot drove air through the white-hot hearth. Sparks leapt upward in dancing clouds. The strip of metal was withdrawn, hammered on the anvil until it turned from white to cherry red, then plunged again into its own personal Hades.
Each hammer blow sent shivers across the forest, not from the force but from the passion behind the strokes. With each one the smith and the metal became closer, until those whose sight was keen enough would recognise they were one.
~~~
Elizabeth tugged at the donkey’s halter as it refused to move up the track. She wanted to get back, it was cold and she was too old to be out in the damp forest. But she could sense something ahead, powerful, but familiar.
Then she heard the scream, not through her ears but in the pit of her stomach. She ran, abandoning the donkey, stumbling into the quickening twilight.
~~~
As the smith plunged the metal into the water he felt like his sole was being torn from him. He screamed out loud, but a more powerful wail of exaltation and pain flowed from him into the earth itself.
He collapsed onto the beaten earth floor.
That was where Elizabeth found him. How she dragged his almost lifeless body to bed he would never know. He awoke to find her mopping his brow, her fine silver hair as always in a neat plait over her left shoulder.
He smiled, a weak smile. He felt like the life was leaving him, but he knew it would return. As for her, he could see the last of her life-force guttering like a candle in a gale. She laid her head gently on his chest.
He held her until, with morning’s first light, the last breath left her body. And he cried, feeling a loss he had never known before and vowed never to feel again.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Erotic Library
This is a place were all our erotic fiction will be kept. It'll be published on AlexSuze as well, but here it'll be more accessible if the fictional stories is what you're looking for.
Alex & Suze
Alex & Suze
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