Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Lesson 5 - Tears

I paced back and forth. I had a mild headache from how severely tight I had braided my hair but the pain took some of the edge off of the anxiety. I tried to find comfort in the chill of the room because it refocused my attention to something other than the turmoil inside. I was so caught up in my racing thoughts that I didn't hear the door open and shut. With my gaze focused at the floor, I hadn't seen it either. I heard footsteps but I didn't pay it any mind. This was a place where very few could enter, those the could I knew would do me no harm.

"Stop," he said in a tone of command that made me freeze and look over at him. He was dressed in a coal black suit with a black dress shirt, black tie, and black handkerchief in the blazer's breast pocket. I just looked at him, not fully comprehending what I saw before me. And then the anxiety returned. I dropped my gaze and hugged my arms around myself, gripping my biceps hard. As he approached me, I couldn't help the urge to pace. As I turned and began to start moving again, his hand landed at the center of my chest. At my attempted step forward, he didn't move and I found myself unable to proceed with out stepping around his outstretched arm. Apathy, however, prevented that.

Instead, I turned on my heel to walk in the opposite direction. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me roughly against him. I stumbled into him. I looked down and tried to push aside the complicated feelings that rose up. Pinning me against himself with one arm, he reached up with his free hand and turned my face up so that he could look in my eyes. My gaze briefly met his before it slid away to the side. Deep within me, some pain I couldn't identify throbbed. In the moment that I was able to see his expression, I saw caution and concern.

"Look at me," he quietly said. I closed my eyes and swallowed past a lump that rose up in my throat. The urge to weep hit me like a physical blow and I bit my lips together from the inside. His thumb ran lightly over them. I turned my face away, trying to breathe through yet another urge to sob. Gently but with irresistible pressure, he turned my face back so that I was facing him directly again. Tears that I hated managed to find their way out from beneath my eyelids and rolled down my cheeks. "You're in pain," he said. There was no question, no uncertainty. It was just a declaration of fact, as though he had said that objects fell at the rate of 32 feet per second per second.

"I can't make it stop," I said after an uncomfortably long moment of silence, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. I wanted to lay my head against his chest and weep. At the same time, I felt like I couldn't show such weakness. His hands moved so that one was upon either side of my face. The gentleness of his touch was as though he was holding a precious artifact made of spun glass and feared of shattering it if he closed his hands too tight. The gentleness only made my anguish worse. A part of me said that pain would clear out this chaos and give me something to focus on to regain my mental balance.

I couldn't help the small noise of pain that came from me. He lowered his head and placed his lips on my right cheek and then on my left. With a feather light touch, he kissed my eyelids before guiding my head to rest against his chest. He ran a hand over my hair. "Hurting yourself is not going to help," he said with the sound of one who had experienced this kind of pain before. He began to unbraid my hair. My hand found its way to lie on his chest as a sob escaped me. With tender care, he ran his fingers through my hair, smoothing out the small tangles from the braid. I gave another sob.

I pushed against him and tried to force myself out of his arms. He, however, held me tighter against himself. "You don't need to fight any more," he murmured in my ear, "You are safe here." I shuddered as I covered my mouth with my hand in a vain attempt to keep the noises of pained misery in. "Stop," he said, "Stop fighting it."

"No," I gasped, "I can't. I can't be like this. I can't be weak." He pulled my hand away from my mouth and turned my face up again towards his own. When he kissed me, I found myself giving another sob. He, however, did not stop or turn away from me. Instead, he kissed my right cheek and cradled my head with his right hand as his left was hard at my back and held me fast against him.

"You are one of the strongest women I know," he said firmly, "Don't tear yourself apart over this. They're not worth it." I blindly struck him on the chest with my right hand balled into a fist. It was a weak blow and he gave no sign of having noticed it. "Let it go," he commanded me quietly, "If you need to cry, then cry. Stop torturing yourself. If nothing else, that's my job." His attempt at humor fell flat as the pain overwhelmed my will and I started crying despite all my attempts not to.

Once the tears started, I couldn't stop them. I began to cry louder as they gained momentum. I clung to him, shuddering with the force of my sobs. Still, he held me and murmured soothingly in my ear how I was safe and that he would protect me. After a time, the storm within me began to abate. Feeling weak from all my weeping, I hiccoughed and looked at him through teary eyes. I expected something stern and dispassionate in his face. Some sort of judgment for my breakdown, perhaps. When he looked at me with an awful expression of understanding and sympathy, I felt my eyes sting with tears. I began to look away again when he turned my fact towards him.

"You are beautiful, even when you cry," he said with all the conviction he could, "You are a strong, powerful woman. Most wouldn't have the courage to fight me, yet you do. Sometimes over the dumbest things, but you do. I wouldn't have you any other way." I dropped my eyes and his voice took on a stern tone. "Look at me, I'm not done yet," he commanded. I raised my eyes, feeling painfully self conscious over how I looked and how my weeping had made his shirt and jacket damp. "You are going to stop this," he said, "You are not going to bottle it all up like this. It is not healthy. If you must cry, then you are going to cry. Divorcing yourself from your emotions is what weakens you. Cutting your heart out of yourself to spite the past will only lengthen your torment."

He brushed a lock of hair out of my face. "I will not allow it," he said, his tone softening, "I will not see you live through the same torment I have. Your serpent can be killed. And that is what we're going to do." I closed my eyes against the great wave of despair that rolled over me at his words. He caught my face between his hands and I looked up at him. "If I must, I will kill it myself," he said, "Either way, this is going to stop. Here and now. She's right, you need to let the tears flow."

"I look ugly when I cry," I said miserably, "I sound ugly when I cry. And I cry over stuff that I should just be able to manage." He set a single finger over my lips.

"You could never be ugly. And you can not just 'manage' soul deep injuries until they don't hurt anymore," he corrected me. He straightened and looked over my shoulder. His hands settled on my shoulders and he turned me. Firmly, he guided me forward into the shadows of the room. Soon, we came to where a large bed stood. He reached past me and threw back the covers. Stooping slightly, he bent over and picked me up. With great care, he set me upon the bed and tucked the wine red covers around me.

He sat by my side and fanned my hair across the pillow. With light touches, he ran his hand over my hair. "Sleep, sweetling," he said, "Sleep will make everything look better in the light."

"Nothing will make everything look better," I said morosely.

"You still need sleep," he countered, "Worry about it all when daybreak comes. I'll be here, watching over you." I turned on my side and threw my arm across his legs as I pressed my face against the outside of his left thigh.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Hunted.

The dead, dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath my feet as I walked. I questioned the wisdom of going out into the wood in the late evening as the sunlight was waning. At the same time, however, I felt an irresistible pull. I told myself that the rising full moon would make things a bit less questionable for walking. I told myself that I wasn't going that far into the woods. I really should have listened to myself.

For now, I found myself on the verge of lost in the woods. The moonlight shone cold through the barren branches of the trees. The stars were just pinpricks of light and the air was cold enough that it nearly stole my breath. I was attempting to follow my tracks back to where I entered the woods but it was hard to see where I had been. Everything looked entirely different in the half light. I rubbed my arms as I walked. "Stupid," I muttered, "Stupid idea. Stupid execution. Stupid ..." My self depreciation was cut short by a sound that chilled me more than the breeze.

The sound of the howl that came from the north was far too close for comfort. I knew the noises of the dogs that the neighbors had. The basset's howl sounded nothing like what I heard. My gut said wolves. My brain insisted that there were no wolves in my area. Still, I began to move faster to the west. I knew if I kept moving, I'd eventually reach the road. I paused to pick up a stout branch with the vain idea that I could defend myself from the animal that howled with it. Then I heard something moving towards me.

Noting that I had stumbled into a clearing of some sort. I moved to the center and paused. I looked towards where the noise came from and held the stick tightly. A part of me screamed that I had to run as the noises drew closer. Then my pursuer stepped forward from the trees. There was no wolves or dogs there. It was a man dressed in leather clothes came towards me. I didn't recognize him. But, I was hopeful that he could possibly guide me to the road. As he approached me, the moonlight glinted in his copper colored hair.

He smiled at me, a small feral expression of someone anticipating a challenge. "If I were you," he said, "I'd run. He's coming for you." I took a step back away from the red haired man. Again that howl sounded, much closer. And I realized it wasn't a wolf but a man's voice. And that I was too close. I threw the stick at the red haired man, turned on my heel, and began to run. Somehow, I managed to avoid trees. Behind me, the man who met me gave a mocking laugh before a sharp whistle that sounded like a hawk's cry. That howling cry answered it  from somewhere off to my left.

I stumbled into a dry stream bed. Thinking only of escape, I ran along the stream bed away from the one pursuing me, going deeper into the forest. I ran until I tripped over a stone that stuck out from the  stream bed at an odd angle. I fell to my knees with a cry of shock. Hitting the rocky ground, I felt pain knife into me from my knees and hands. I heard the sounds of something moving behind me and I pushed myself to my feet. As I began to run again, I could have sworn I heard a laugh behind me.

I found myself coming to a place where the ground was open beside the stream bed. As I scrambled up the bank and started running, the sounds of pursuit came closer. I ran through the clearing and hid in a thicket of bushes. Crouched down, I struggled to breathe quietly and not to let my teeth chatter from the cold. As I watched, a man walked up from the stream bed showing no signs of having run after me for what felt to be an eternity. Dressed in clothing that looked black in the dim light, he seemed to blend into the shadows of the trees where they fell in the clearing. His hair shone in the light but I couldn't gauge what color it was from where I had hidden myself because of how far he was from me.

"I'm coming for you, mouse," he said. As he walked towards me, I shivered and hoped that he would overlook me where I was hiding. When he came closer, I tried to extract myself from the bush. Thorns where there had been none grabbed at the sleeves of my shirt and my feet slipped on the suddenly wet leaves. He laughed and I looked over from trying to pull myself free. I couldn't explain it, but he had suddenly moved from standing halfway across the clearing to just the other side of the bush from me. I was too stunned to scream. His familiar face looked down at me with that hungry smile I had seen only a few times before. "I've caught you," he said.

Torn between the terror that came of having been caught by someone who had most assuredly been hunting me, frustration that I had fallen into the trap, and relief that I was with one who meant me no harm, I gave an unintentional whimper. He took hold of my shoulders and pulled me up to standing. As he did so, my shirt where it was snagged pulled hard against the bush. He looked down at where I was caught on the briars and chuckled. "Not funny," I said, deciding that irritation would be the best way to push aside the excitement that came with his laugh and his warm hands taking hold of me. I had my pride at stake, at least in my own mind. That laugh faded and his feral smile returned. "This was a set up," I said, looking down to pull myself free of the thorns.

"Oh yes," he said, "And I'm not done with you yet." I looked over, finding the mixture of alarm and anticipation made me all too aware of how but a mere foot of space separated us from each other. His right hand let go of my shoulder and moved lightly to my neck. As he danced his fingertips over my wildly pounding pulse, I shivered from more than cold. Lightly, he took hold of my chin and raised my face so that I looked him squarely in the face. "Do I frighten you yet?" he asked. I swallowed past a lump in my throat. The smile turned to a grin and I suddenly felt the need to flee slam into me like a physical blow. "Oh good," he said, "I have given you something you wanted. Shall I give you more?"

"I don't know if that would be a good idea," I said quietly, tugging at the snagged cloth a little harder as I tried to look away from his intense gaze. Moonlight fell fully on his face and I once again was struck by the beauty of the line of his jaw, the depth of his gaze, and how perfectly his mouth was formed. For a brief moment, I was distracted from the panic and just stared at him in fascination. The moment was all he really needed. He stepped forward into the bush and seized hold of me even as the thorns let go my clothes. My yelp of surprise turned to a little shriek as he lifted me straight up.

"Now you can't run away," he said to me. I blindly kicked out and caught him in the chest as panic slammed into me again. He laughed and threw me over his shoulder. With one arm, he held my legs firmly against his chest. When his hand fell sharply across my backside, I gasped in shock. "Mmm," he said, "You could fight me but you wouldn't win. But we could do that. Tell me, dear heart, do you want to fight for your pride's sake?"

"I formally protest," I replied. My spouse gave a lusty laugh and proceeded to carry me across the clearing over his shoulder, as I suspected he had other trophies from hunting. He ignored me as I peevishly said, "I can walk, you know. Just put me down." We moved farther away from the bushes where he had caught me. "This isn't funny," I said. He began to whistle the same merry tune that he did when he left me to go out on his earlier hunt. We passed along a path that I hadn't seen before. Soon, I realized we were coming to a place where there was some sort of fire by the light dancing off the trees. I also realized that there were others there.

The sound of men laughing and praising him of the fine 'doe' he had caught made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. We were soon surrounded and several of those rough men peered at me in the face. A few made clownish expressions. Others looked with expressions that I didn't comprehend at first. I was then shocked when I realized that it was envy. And there was amusement. Some asked about how much of a chase I gave him. Others asked if I put up a fight. One or two inquired if I had pinned his ears back for it.

I thought about responding to their playful comments. Just as I found words, I was tossed to the ground. I gave a yelp, expecting to land on the hard earth. It was surprised relief when I landed on to a pile of what could only be pelts, blankets, clothes, and who knows what other goods they carried with them. I looked up at my husband and then around at his hunting party. For a moment, a very brief moment, there was a pregnant silence where I felt their gaze upon me and I was very aware that I was the only female present. Then he began to distract them asking about what they had been cooking. He took a canteen full of some liquid and sat heavily down beside me. As he held it to my lips, he began to tell the story of how he caught me.

I would have laughed at how he embellished my flight from him if it wasn't for the fact that the whiskey would have come out my nose. Taking the canteen back, he took a long pull from it and handed it off to his best friend. The dark haired man with sharp features raised it with a toast in my honor in a language I didn't understand. As the thing was passed around the party, similar toasts were made. Some in my language and others in ones I didn't know. They started out innocent enough but became progressively more bawdy. As I blushed and looked at the ground, my husband wrapped an arm around me.

He whispered in my ear, "I have a sword that needs a sheath tonight." I blushed even more. He moved an errant lock of hair away from my neck before placing a kiss where it had lay. "I have thought of you each night," he said quietly, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his lap. He buried his face in my hair and took a deep breath. I shivered with delight. I lowered my head and tried to hide my face from his companions with my hair. He laughed. "So demure and yet so wanton," he said, moving his hand up my back. As his fingers snaked through my hair, I couldn't help closing my eyes with pleasure.

I gasped in shock when he closed his hand into a fist and gripped my hair tight. He turned my head so that I faced him. He grinned at me with that wild, hungry light in his eyes, clearly entertained by my response, before kissing me. I trembled and began to try to pull away from him, finding myself suddenly feeling very self conscious.  He wrapped his free arm about me and held me hard against his chest as his hungry kiss overwhelmed my ability to think rationally. When he broke the kiss, I stared at him dazedly. Before I had the opportunity to recover from that moment, he pulled my head back and ran his tongue up the column of my neck.

My eyes rolled as I sighed and my efforts to resist were further weakened, with my hands laying lightly on his chest. Holding my head back just far enough that I was forced to arch against him, he muttered something in my ear but I didn't have the mental cohesion to follow it at the feeling of his breath whispering over my neck distracting me. His free hand reached up under my shirt and cupped my right breast as he lightly nipped at my ear. I gave a small noise that was incoherent as he leaned back. The entire time this was unfolding his hunting party talked between themselves. Some commented on how I was responding to him. Others spoke wistfully about their sweethearts.

I, however, didn't have enough awareness outside of what my husband was doing to really comprehend what was happening. When he caressed my side and put my head against his shoulder, I moaned. His now free right hand moved up under the back of my shirt. He set his nails against my skin. When he raked them down my back, I gasped as though cold water was thrown on me and I straightened, throwing my head back. A ripple of silence followed that. I dimly was aware of it but then he dragged his nails up my spine and I couldn't think of anything anymore. I shuddered with pleasure as he laughed softly. He took hold of my shirt and roughly pulled it off over my head. As he threw it away into the dark, I looked at him unable to keep the expression of drugged lust off my face, feeling drunk with it.

He settled me in his lap facing him and lifted me so that my breasts were near his mouth. As he covered them with kisses and love bites, my noises of pleasure grew louder while I cradled his head against me. He laughed and looked up at me before glancing at someone behind me. Next thing I knew, I had my arms pinned behind my back as he resumed his efforts. I shuddered and trembled as I threw my head back. Striking the shoulder of the man holding my arms, I dizzily tried to make sense of what was happening. Warm lips settled on my throat as a masculine voice muttered something I couldn't understand. The sound of his voice and the way his beard rasped against my skin made me groan.

I closed my eyes in pleasure. The feeling of warm hands wandering over my skin and the sound of someone speaking in a low, seductive growl made my breath catch in my throat. By now, there was silence. I started to find my thoughts clearing when hands settled on either side of my face. I opened my eyes and my husband was but a breath away from me. "I know your secrets," he said, "You can not run from them. Not tonight." I confusedly opened my mouth to protest when he kissed me. The hands restraining my wrists let go and moved up my back. As they passed over the scratch marks, the touch was feather light. The feeling was like electricity and I gasped.

Those warm, work hardened hands that ran so lightly over my skin reached under my arms. In a maneuver that defied my confused mind's attempt to understand, the three of us came to our feet. I swayed on my feet and was suddenly grateful for the man that held me up. Those hands moved to wrap about my chest, holding me firmly against him as he kissed my shoulder. I closed my eyes at the sensation of other hands passing over my stomach. I reached up and wrapped an arm blindly about the neck of the man holding me on my feet and against himself. I opened my eyes to look at my husband.

His gaze was brilliant with heat and intensity as he watched me simply melt into the arms that held me. He smiled and began to take off his shirt. I stared at him in fascination until the sensations of hands caressing me brought me back into that state of blind pleasure. I squirmed and the arms about me tightened. Hands divested me of my remaining clothes in such a gentle fashion that it felt as though it was yet more caresses. I shuddered and gave a little cry as the first climax rolled over me. Some one knelt before me and parted my legs. As their mouth settled on my sex, I gasped and would have fallen if it were not for the one holding me up.

They ran their hands up the backs of my legs as they became more vigorous with the way they plied their tongue against me. My second orgasm came with a shuddering, gasping groan. I was soon at the edge of a third when I was carefully lowered to the soft pile of fabric and pelts where I had been sitting earlier. It felt as though many hands set me down, each one pausing to grip me firmly where they had hold of me before slipping away. I squirmed and made noises that were clearly ones of pleasure and lust. Soon, I was laying upon the cool furs with the chill air brushing over me. It felt as though the faintest ghost of a touch and I writhed with little noises, whimpering for more.

I felt someone lay beside me and I opened my eyes. My gloriously nude husband took me into his arms. Where others had been light in their touches, his was firm and demanding. He ran a hand down the side of my face. As he passed it over my neck, I could feel the weight of his hand and I found myself nearly panting with excitement. His left hand joined his right as it made its way down my torso. I sat up and reached for him but he pushed me down with a firm hand squarely on my chest.

"No," he said in a tone that warned me not to argue with him, "Be still." I lifted my hands to grasp at him and he batted them aside. "I said be still," he sternly admonished me. I couldn't help the wordless whine that came from me as I closed my eyes against the frustration building in me. He grasped my left wrist and brought it up to his face. The way his beard prickled against my skin simply fanned the flames of arousal in me. When I felt his lips against the inside of my wrist, I sighed, anticipating merely a kiss. When he bit down on it, my eyes flew open and I gave a cry of surprised ecstasy. I had begun to sit up but his hand was pressing me down hard against the pile of fabric and pelts hard enough that I couldn't. All I could do was strain against him, which I did with a shuddering gasp.

He pressed a knee between my thighs, which I eagerly parted. He looked down at me, his eyes burning with intensity. It was a look that stopped my breath. Utter clarity cut through the arousal as I stared up at him, unable to look away. I realized that he would always pursue me, subdue me, and claim me just as ferociously as he was in chasing me. I shivered beneath that gaze. A part of me yearned to surrender utterly to him. At the same time, another part of me warned that there was danger here. The reckless spark in me, however, delighted in that danger. As these thoughts flashed through me, he watched me with an animalistic intensity that was more predator than a man's lust. When this realization struck me, my eyes widened and I said in a small voice, "Oh my."

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips as he leaned closer to me. Still dizzy with lust, I trembled between the desire to give myself fully over to lust and to bolt. He pinned my left wrist above me. Lowering himself so that his face was just over mine, he said in a tone that was rich with lust and hunger, "Mine. All mine. I've caught you." His hair hung down about his face and formed a curtain that hid my expression from his men. I closed my eyes in an attempt to gain some sort of control over the wildness in my veins. He laughed as he did when he was pursuing me. Lightly, he pressed his lips to my eyelids. Tears of frustration and confused fear slipped down my cheek.

He dipped his head and caught the one on the right side of my face upon his tongue. With maddening gentleness, such that his tongue just barely touched my skin, he traced its path up along my cheek. I found my breath speeding up and heat pooling in my veins. He lifted his head and looked down at me. I lay beneath him, half afraid to move, with my eyes closed. Some how knowing what I desperately yearned for, he kissed me. Where his earlier kissed had been hard, this was a slow gentle kiss. It did more to carve my will to pieces than something more forceful would have.

My body moved of its own volition and I squirmed beneath him. When he broke the kiss and whispered in my ear, I shuddered and would have tossed my head if it weren't for how painfully close he was. "Want to fight me for your pride, little dove?" he said. I gave a small sob. He let go my wrist and slipped his hand beneath my head. Slowly, with irresistible force, he pulled my head back. I gave a high whimpering noise and he laughed. The hand on my chest moved upward and underneath my shoulders. He sat back on his heels, pulling me up with him. "Come on," he said in a tone that made things inside me go molten and soft, "fight me. Or are you willing to give up? Do you surrender? Do you yield?" I gave a strangled groan at the feeling of his hair brushing against my skin. "Answer me, mouse," he said, a laugh barely suppressed.

"I..." I said before my words trailed off into a sigh as the hand at my back added more nail marks to what was there. He smiled at how my eyes rolled. My arms found their way around him and I clung to him as though my very life depended on it. He let go my hair and skimmed both his hands over my back. I gave a liquid sigh, just letting my head loll back. His mouth was at my neck and he bit me hard enough to leave the beginnings of a bruise. I gripped his shoulders harder while I made a pained sound of arousal. Unable to think clearly enough to form words, I just wept softly with frustration as he teased my back.

"Do you surrender?" he sighed, reaching down to drag his nails up the outsides of my thighs. I gave a little keening cry of pleasure and he laughed. He reached up and firmly disentangled himself from my arms. Capturing both my wrists in one hand, he pushed me back. I simply moved as he directed me, too aroused to find words or to think enough to struggle for my pride's sake. He pushed my legs farther apart and I moaned for more. "Tell me," he said, "Or nothing more." I opened my eyes and stared at him pleadingly. He smiled ferociously. My heart hammered at that sight and my mouth went dry.

"Yes," I gasped. The smile turned to an expectant grin. I shivered. "I yield," I said. I thought I was prepared for what he did next. When he lifted my hips and smoothly thrust into me, I felt blinding pleasure roll over me. Lost in a haze of raw lust and carnal delight, I tossed my head and shuddered beneath him. He moved within me, his body pressed to mine. A pressure built up within me. One that made me feel as though I was going to burst with arousal and pleasure. When it reached a point of crisis, I screamed. All turned to that white hot pleasure that blinded me and made me boneless beneath him, that wrenched screams that would have sounded torturous if it weren't for the fact that the listeners knew exactly why I did so. I sobbed and wept when I found myself unable to draw breath enough to scream with my orgasms. As he continued and my will was stripped away, as was my sense of coherent thought, he laughed. At the edge of unconsciousness, shuddering so hard that I could scarcely breathe and gripping his wrists where his hands were to either side of my head hard enough that my nails bit in, we finished with a mutual climax.

He molded my weak body to his as he laid on his side. Pulling something of the warm fabric beneath us over our bodies, he smiled. I blinked owlishly at him, too breathless to say anything and to dazed to think of something to day. "I know you'll run again," he said in my ear with a tone that promised more, "And I will catch you again." I shuddered with a weak orgasm that came from the feeling of his breath against my skin and the promise in his voice. "The day will come where you won't run," he continued, running a hand over my chest and making me shiver beneath the covers over us, "And then I will have truly caught you, mouse." I whimpered and he laughed softly in my ear.

Cradled against him, I found my consciousness slipping away. As I did so, I could hear him talking with his men. The sound of their laughter and quiet voices soothed me even as the warmth of his body did. I dropped down into sleep feeling utterly exhausted and safe. The last thing I was aware of was his lips pressed against my brow.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Lesson 4: Trust

The feeling of a hand moving along my bare thigh pulled me from sleep more quickly than the fact that the blanket had been pulled off me. Without thinking about it, I held my breath and did my best to lay completely still. The presence at my side moved closer. "Wake up, little girl," he said. I couldn't help the little gasp at the erotic tone of his voice. "Open your eyes, sweetling," he whispered in my ear as he bent over me and set his hand on the bed beside me. His tone was full of awful promise and scorching sexual heat.

My immediate arousal made visible by how my breath quickened and my nipples hardened amused him and he chuckled. The night before's blur of blinding pleasure, pain, and lust came to mind and I shut my eyes tighter in an attempt to will myself into calmness. I could almost hear him smile as he said, "I know you're awake. Look at me." With a shiver, I remembered the ferocity of how he battered down my defenses and the joy he took in doing so. Concerned that I would be placed into a situation even more uncomfortable if I kept my eyes closed, I opened my eyes and looked across the bed before me.

His hand moved to my jaw and firmly turned my face so that I was looking up at him. A catlike smile was on his face. His gaze was sultry, seemingly filled with the smokey heat of a fire that would eventually burn the world to ashes. I swallowed uncomfortably. The sense that I had walked into a very dangerous situation came over me, yet again, as I looked at him. His grip on my jaw softened and he lightly ran his hand down my throat. As it settled over my heart, I couldn't help the wild sense of arousal that lashed at me. He leaned down and kissed me.

It was a deceptively chaste press of his lips against mine. The way that I relaxed would have been imperceptible to most but he caught it instantly. In that moment, he slipped his free hand beneath my head and gripped a fistful of hair. I opened my eyes and gasped in shock. His kiss became demanding as he pressed his advantage to overwhelm what protestations I might have made. Soon, I found myself sighing with arousal. He broke the kiss and watched me breathe shakily, attempting to regain some sense of equilibrium.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said in that ominously suggestive tone. I trembled as a wave of anxiety rolled over me to accompany the arousal. He leaned back and looked me over from head to toe. With mock pity, he said, "Poor thing, you're cold. Let me fix that for you." His tone only heightened my awareness of him and strengthened the urge to reach for him, to kiss him until I could not breathe anymore. He lay down beside me and I realized with mild alarm that he was as naked as I was. A thick woolen blanket was pulled up over us, but I couldn't help my shivering.

He pulled me against himself, smiling at how I weakly began to move away from him before he did so. His hands closed over my breasts. The heat of his touch was shocking to me. I felt as though I lay against something that had been near a fire or a stone that had been out in the sun during the height of summer. I made a noise of discomfort and he held me tighter. "Body heat will warm you, dear," he said with a breathy tone in my ear. The way his breath curled over the sensitive spot behind my ear, how I was held so firmly that I couldn't evade with out a real struggle, and the fact that he was naked came together to make me close my eyes with a little pained sound of arousal.

He slid his right hand away from my breast and over my stomach. He drew lazy spirals over my skin and I gave a shuddering gasp of pain laced pleasure at how it burned. Inch by torturous inch, he explored my upper body. As he lightly caressed my face, I couldn't help the small whimper of pain. A a few tears rolled down my cheek. He caught them on his fingertips and held them before my eyes when I opened them again. I looked at the sheen of water on his fingers. "Would these be sweet or bitter?" he asked me.

A flood of anxiety rushed through my veins. Unsure how to answer his question, I stammered, "I don't know." He moved his hand and I twisted my head to follow it. I watched him lick my tears off his fingertips. He expression had been thoughtful. After a moment, he looked down at me. His dark eyes flashed with something akin to what I had seen in them the night before moments before he utterly, physically dominated me. While my heart leaped at that sight, I couldn't help the nervousness that made me cringed away from him. He smiled hungrily. "Oh dear," I said in a small voice, feeling like a cornered mouse.

He leaned down and licked the path that the tear from my right eye had made on my cheek. The heat from his mouth was painful enough that my eyes began to smart with tears again as I gasped and tried to pull my head away only to fail because of how close he was and the bed beneath us. I whimpered pathetically. I started to try to squirm out of his arms when he wrapped a leg over me. The sudden sensation of heat along the side and front of my legs where it fell made me cry out. He paused a moment and looked down at me as I shut my eyes tightly and turned my face away from him.

He pressed his face close to my neck and drew in a deep breath. The coolness of his breath in contrast with the heat of his presence made me groan in pleasure. He settled against the bed again. With his right hand, he brushed the hair away from my face. "You want this, don't you?" he asked. There was no cat-and-mouse game behind his words. While it was still hungry, there was a genuine questioning tone behind it. Confused, I gave a little sob. Inwardly, I was torn between begging him for more and the urge to break out of his arms and put as much distance between us as possible. "You want to surrender but you feel like you shouldn't. You feel like you must fight," he said quietly, explaining my struggle to me. I gave another little sob of frustrated confusion.

His touch cooled somewhat as he ran his hand soothingly through my hair. This unexpected act of gentleness only made me cry with greater confusion. "You trust me," he continued in that quiet, authoritative and strangely calming tone, "Stop fighting yourself. If I must, I will rip this out of your hands. I will break your will as surely as I did last night and feed it back to you in all its delicious little bits. I know you trust me or you wouldn't be here. Let it go."

"But I shouldn't..." I started when his hand suddenly gripped me around the throat. White hot arousal nearly blinded me as he pulled me back against his shoulder hard.

His tone turned hard and harsh as he said, "You don't make that decision anymore." I couldn't help the way my head lolled back or the small moan that came from me. I couldn't help the way my whole body felt full of electricity or the ache for more. "This," he hissed as he squeezed my throat and made me tremble with pleasure, "This is what you need. We both know it. Stop fighting."

"I... I can't," I said with a pained wail that was abruptly cut off when he squeezed again and I gasped. He wormed his left arm up my side to replace the right hand with his left. His hands burned with painful heat that left faint marks behind where they passed. As his right hand settled high at the inside of my right thigh I froze. The heat of his touch made me cry softly, the confused arousal of equal anguish as the pain. "Please," I said with a whine of fear, "Please don't." His fingertips edged closer to where my thighs met.

"Trust me," he commanded. I sobbed but didn't resist as he parted my thighs. His fingertips, cooled to that of a normal man's hands temperature, brushed against my labia. I gasped as though ice cold water had been thrown on me. Slowly and gently, he toyed with my sex. All confusion and attending distress were washed away with the motion of his hand and the way it made a different heat burn through my body. As the orgasm began to build, the anxiety began to rise again. "Let it pass," he said, slowing down.

With great gasps, I trembled. His relentless stimulation of my most sensitive bit of flesh soon put me into a place where there was only him and the storm within my skin. When the storm broke, I screamed. My body shuddered. I would have writhed if it wasn't for how tightly he held me. He drew a few more screaming climaxes out of me before setting his hand upon my stomach. His hold about me softened except for where he held my neck firmly against his shoulder. Thus restrained, I still found myself at the edge of greater pleasure and I squirmed.

Lost in that haze of arousal, I almost missed what he said. "I told you that I wouldn't break you," he said quietly in my ear, "I'll hurt you as much as you need. I'll crush your will, but I won't break you. Not even if you asked me." I whined wordlessly, desperate for something more. He slipped his arm out from under me and rolled to the side. I moaned in protest, rolling to my back and reaching for him. He settled himself over me, his long hair falling about his face and leaving him in shadow. I parted my thighs wider and ran my hands over his burningly hot skin.

So wild with arousal that I didn't care anymore about the heat, I reached to pull his hips to mine. He laughed softly and batted them aside. He lifted my hips to meet his. I panted and arched, desperate to feel his skin against mine. "Please," I gasped. The head of his erection brushed against my labia and I closed my eyes against tears of frustration.

"Do you trust me?" he asked. I wept in frustration but nothing happened. I tried to wiggle my hips and somehow get him inside me but discovered I couldn't move them because of how he held me. I tossed my head and grabbed at him "Stop," he commanded and I let my hands fall to the mattress. All I could think to do was plead. "Answer the question," he said, "Or you'll get nothing." I made a pained noise.

He began to lower my hips to the mattress when I cried out, "I trust you."

"Is this lust talking?" he asked.

"No," I wailed, "No, I trust you. I swear I trust you." I was about to continue my protestations when he thrust into me. I gave a high, keening wail that dropped down into a sensual moan as he began to move inside me. What little bit of clarity I had, I spent gasping, "I trust you." as the orgasams rolled over me. Above me, he gave a husky laugh while pleasure simply overwhelmed my awareness of anything more.

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Lesson 3: Surrender

I walked through the room, rubbing my arms in an effort to ward off the chill. As I walked up to a device that looked suspiciously like a medieval torture device, I heard the door close. "You're late," he said, sounding amused with me. I turned as he walked over. I noted with some surprise that his hair was unbound. I was struck with the urge to run my fingers through that inky black silky mane and I gripped my arms a little tighter. He smiled at me. He knew. He always knew when I was rocked by temptation. It was his specialty.

As he walked up to me, I realized that the room was a bit brighter than the last time I had been here. Then he was right in front of me and I simply couldn't avoid looking at him. His eyes always managed to fascinate me. They shone with something I couldn't identify as he looked down at me. His brief look of indifference that crossed his face as he finished crossing the distance between us was replaced with a slow smile. It was a knowing smile and, as my heart skipped a beat, it widened. "You missed this," he said. I blushed furiously and took a small step back in a sudden burst of nervousness.

He reached forward and caught the collar of my shirt in his hand. Slowly, he pulled me to him. I swallowed past a lump in my throat as my mouth went dry. He wrapped his free arm around my waist, holding me hard against him. A part of me screamed that I needed to flee. Somehow knowing that struggle going on within me, he grinned. "Oh no, little bird," he said in a voice that brimmed with amusement, "You're not going anywhere right now. The cat's caught you, dear."

I shivered. Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips delicately to mine. It was a deliberate gesture of gentleness that made me nervous as to what was going to happen next. "We have a new... game," he said, lifting his head just enough so that his face was a breath away from mine, "We're going to try your will, of course. Because you like that. You're addicted to that." He gave a small satisfied sounding sigh at how I paled a little at his words. "So pretty when you're startled," he mused, "I could just eat you up."

I gave a little noise of alarm and attempted to step back, only to find myself well and truly caught in his arms. He chuckled. "Come, lets get you ready," he said. He opened his arms and I moved to step away from him. The speed with which he moved alarmed me as he took hold of my left arm and put me into a vicious shoulder lock. "No, no," he said chidingly, "No escape, naughty girl. You're here now." I whimpered and he increased the pressure of the lock. As pain radiated from my shoulder, I gasped. "Do I have your attention now?" he asked in my ear with a voice that dripped with sexual tension and promise.

"Yes," I said, unable to keep the pain out of my voice. He eased up on my shoulder. Keeping my arm trapped behind my back, he steered me through the equipment in the room. We reached an open place where the floor was padded. As I looked at it, all I could think was that it looked like somewhere someone would be practicing tumbling or sparring for some martial art. He walked me to the center of the mat and pushed me down to my knees.

"Wait here," he commanded. I watched him walk away and tried to guess what was coming next. When he returned, he had a length of rope with him. He looked at me, then at the rope. He gave a little nod. His eyes flicked over from regarding the white braided rope in his hand to me. Again, that incomprehensible light lit his eyes. "Strip," he said flatly. I blinked at him for a moment, not comprehending what he said. "Clothes, off," he said in that same harsh tone. I pulled my shirt off over my head and felt like I had to cover myself with my arms. My lack of a bra made me feel much more vulnerable than I had anticipated. As I started to rise to my feet to take off my leggings, he made a noise of disapproval. Awkwardly, I sat on the mat and managed to get the rest of my clothes off. I looked up at him and dropped my eyes at the raw hunger in his gaze, blushing furiously.

He reached forward and took hold of my hair. Slowly, he pulled upward. Awkwardly following the silent command to rise, I restrained a yelp of pain at how my stumbling resulted in the pull on my hair getting harder. When I was on my feet, he stepped closer. "Now this," he said. He forced a foot between mine and gave a little kick to the side. I widened my stance, unconsciously putting a foot back to support myself more. "Good," he said in a tone warm with approval, "After we get you ... dressed, we're going to dance." I looked at him in confusion. Then he put the rope around the back of my neck. In studious silence, he tied the rope around me into an intricate series of knots, spaced just enough so that I wound up with a rope harness bound around me. A strategically placed knot pressed firmly against my clit, shifting slightly as I moved a little to regain my footing.

He stepped back and looked at his handiwork. He smiled. Reaching forward, he grabbed hold of the knot at the center of my chest and pulled, hard. I staggered to my knees, wincing at how hard I landed on the mat. He looked down at me and reached up to cradle my face in the palm of his hand. It was an unexpected gesture of gentleness that confused me. He stepped away only to return bearing two rattan swords. I looked at them and swallowed nervously. "Keep your weapon and you'll be ... rewarded," he said, "Lose it and you'll pay a price."

"What price?" I asked. He smiled. It was the same smile he had when he had brought out the single tail whip last time. I couldn't help the expression of dread that washed over my face. "Please, not that," I said in a small voice. His smile turned to a grin.

"Consider it your motivation," he replied before dropping one of the swords before me. I looked at it and then up at him. His grin was my only warning before he swung his own at me. I grabbed hold of the sword before me and rolled away to the side, just barely dodging his swing. As he reversed his swing, I brought my own weapon up. The rattan sword was struck with enough force that it nearly was knocked out of my hands. He took a step towards me but I rolled away again before coming to my feet.

He watched take up a defensive stance and laughed. It was that dark, dangerously erotic laugh that made a thrill go up my spine. I briefly closed my eyes against the lust that rolled through me. Then yowled in pain as the rattan practice sword came down across my shoulders. As I dropped to my knees, he swung a second blow that I only barely blocked, again nearly losing my weapon. With each motion of my body, the knot at my groin rubbed. I tried to scramble away from him, only to find myself becoming confusedly aroused.

I was on my hands and knees, trying to regain my bearings when the rattan sword he carried came down sharply across my buttocks. I cried out and he laughed again. "Get up, girl," he said suggestively, "Defend yourself." I glared at him, finding myself getting angry with the frustration. I stood and attempted to attack him when he laughed again and batted my sword aside. He reached forward and gripped the harness and hauled me forward, making me stumble. He grinned down at me and my anger turned to mild distress. "Don't you want to fight me?" he said seductively, "Why don't you resist? You try so hard at other times. Why not now, pretty girl?"

I tried to pull myself out of his grip and failed. The light shone brilliantly in his face and the scars on his lips somehow became yet more visible. He gave me a hard shake, making me stumble. "Fight me," he whispered, "earn your prize." With a hard push, he let me go. I stumbled and barely managed to regain my feet when he was bearing down on me with his weapon. I gave a cry of alarm despite myself. My weak defense was knocked aside as he swung through it and landed a hard blow on my right side. "You've gotta do better than that," he said, "Unless you're going to yield."

"I thought that wasn't an option," I hissed through the pain. He grinned. A rapid series of blows fell about my head and shoulders, none landing quite hard enough to put me into as much pain as the strike to my ribs did. I staggered. Recognizing that he was going to continue to press his assault, I dropped to my knees. His strike stopped immediately above my head and he looked down at me.

"Are you surrendering so soon?" he said in mock disappointment. He crouched down before me and looked at me like some predator sizing up their prey. His smile at how I trembled only made me more uneasy. He brought his sword up so that the tip of it was beneath my chin and forced my head up. He waited for me to say something. When I didn't he chuckled. "Giving me your weapon is a way out of this," he said, "But are you sure you want to do it? Because you don't know what I'm going to do with you then."

I tried to keep my breath even and slow. I tried to put aside the way I wanted to throw myself at him and kiss his cruelly smiling mouth. I tried so very hard to think clearly. All I knew was that I didn't have the strength or focus to defend myself. Knowing that having the sword knocked out of my hands meant more quality time with the single tail whip, I shivered. Slowly, I set my sword at his feet. I had no idea what was going to come next, only that I couldn't defend myself against him.

He looked down at the sword I had placed at his feet. He then looked at me. I couldn't help how I quaked and the way I paled at the smile that lit his face. All of the darkness that I had seen hints of in our previous sessions was revealed. All of the hunger was plain. I found myself unable to look away and aching to feel his hands on me. "Such a brave girl," he purred in a tone of pure amusement and hunger, "Now, I'm going to have fun with you." I suddenly felt the primal urge to flee. Before I could do so, he had thrown the practice sword aside and knocked me to the mat.

Laying atop me, I couldn't help but notice the bulge in his jeans straining against the fabric. He wrapped his left arm around me. He reached up behind me and grabbed my hair, roughly yanking my head back. He closed his teeth over my wildly pounding pulse and began to bring them together. I froze as he growled softly. For a moment, I found myself fearful that he was going to bite through. As that moment made my breath and heart stop, he chuckled. My eyes rolled and I gasped at the sensation of powerful arousal that washed over me. It was something stronger than what I had before, something that washed away all care of safety and simply filled me with need.

He dragged his tongue over the bite mark and I groaned. He moved his face up to beside mine, taking a deep breath as he did so. "You're afraid of me but you want me," he whispered in my ear. I started to reach up to him when he grabbed my wrists and slammed them down to the mat. I gave a small cry of pain and arched against him. He caught my earlobe between his teeth as he slid his hands down from my wrists along my arms. As he bit me, he shifted himself over me. I gave a shuddering gasp.

Gripping hold of the rope at my chest, he went up on his knees, pulling me to a sitting position beneath him. Having released my ear, he stared into my face. I found myself unable to help reaching for him. His predatory expression only whipped the lust within me into a greater fervor. I closed my eyes and shivered. "Keep your eyes open," he said, "I want to watch your will crumble." Feeling like I was in a dream, I opened my eyes and stared at him with the fascination of a bird watching a snake.

As my hands settled on his chest, he leaned forward and kissed me. It was a slow, demanding kiss. I squirmed beneath him with a little moan. When he broke the kiss, he smiled at the lust drugged look on my face. He stood up and pulled me to my feet with him. For the brief moment where I was half on my knees and half hanging from his grip, he grinned at how my eyes rolled with pleasure. "Is that what you want?" he said. I stared at him, not understanding the words he said. He turned and dragged me after him as he walked away from where the swords and my clothes lay.

Unable to resist the arousal that came from how the knot rubbed at me or the sensation of being irresistibly dragged forward, my breath came in little gasps. We walked through the room, my attention only focused on how he pulled me forward and the little jolts of pleasure that came with each movement. We stopped at a bench. He sat down and pulled me down so that my face was near his. He looked intently over my expression, as though seeing it for the first time. He let go of the rope and thrust his hands into my hair. His kiss was urgent and hungry. I sighed and simply submitted to him. This seemed to only fuel his hunger.

He broke the kiss and placed love bites down along my neck and on my shoulder. He pulled me into his lap and forced me to arch my back. His bruisingly forceful bites came down to my breasts. I wept and tried to pull away but he held me still. He lifted his head, watching the way pain warred with pleasure over my expression. He turned, dragging me onto the bench. Dazedly, I was shocked when he pushed me back. My head hit the bench and I yelped with pain.

He ignored this as he drew the knife at his back. The feeling of the steel against my thigh made me freeze and shiver. Slowly, he began to cut the rope off of me. I moaned and panted, unable to help myself as I reacted to him. He had only cut a few of the ties before I was close to orgasm. He made a thoughtful noise before cutting the rest. As he did so, I began to squirm. He put a heavy hand on my throat and I stilled. I only shuddered and made animalistic noises of pleasure as the last of my resistance fell away with my orgasms.

With all the cord cut away, he lightly traced the marks left by it with the tip of the knife. I sobbed when I wasn't groaning with pleasure. Slowly, he increased the pressure as he passed his blade over me. When he scored a fine line over my stomach, my head whipped back against the bench and I gave a agonized cry with my orgasm. Deliberately and carefully, he made very shallow cuts over me. With each one, I wailed. My hands grasped at the empty air and I shuddered.

I tearfully plead for mercy as my pleasure reached a point where I couldn't think. Only the irrational fear that I was going to die from it was there. He took a piece of cord and wrapped it about my throat. Slowly, he tightened it, his knife forgotten on the floor. I wept and begged him not to kill me, all sense lost and not realizing that the pressure wasn't as intense as it was under his hand earlier. Incoherent and entirely lost in sensation, I simply reacted to what I felt. The air brushing over my skin where it was bruised from the blows earlier and the shallow cuts he had left made me shudder and cum. The cord about my neck held me on the edge of something more.

He passed a hand over my body and I arched up with a gasping cry. I sobbed, trapped somewhere between terror and blinding pleasure. I didn't notice when he moved away from me to take off his clothes. But when he lifted my hips and thrust into me, I gasped as though someone had thrown ice cold water on me. It was only after a few moments of work, that he had me screaming. A wordless, primal shriek was all I could do as I came. He took his leisure pleasuring himself with my body. Too weak to thrash or grasp at him, all I could do was scream in pleasure. When he found himself drawing close to his own climax, he became harsher in his handling of me. By this time, my screams had dropped down to hoarse moans. As I shuddered beneath him with successive orgasms, he gave himself over to his pleasure.

When all was finished, I lay on the edge of unconsciousness with my body responding weakly to the faintest breath of air curling over my skin. Though I felt the pull to drop down into sleep, he kept me awake. I stared up at him, helpless in pleasure and adoration. He smiled down at me. "Now, you are mine," he said in a tone of deep satisfaction and possessiveness. I shuddered and moaned at the sound of his voice. As unconsciousness claimed me, the last sound I heard was his dark chuckle of amusement.

Cinderella Pt. 8

It was dusk the evening of the third ball. Ella had been busy with so many tasks that she began to get confused. Her anxiety over her stepmother's wrath had only turned to terror after the beating she received when it became apparent there was no secret accounts or any sources of wealth hidden. Her little room over the kitchen was in shambles. Ella's stepmother and her daughters made a tumult of the room in their efforts to find the gown that she had worn. Now, having helped her sisters array themselves in their finery, she was locked in that tiny ransacked room, watching as the carriage clattered away.

Ella sank down with her back against the locked door of her chamber. Putting her head into her hands, she wept. Her back hurt, especially the shoulder. Her arms were bruised where the woman struck them with her cane. It seemed the only places that she wasn't beaten was her face, her hands, and her feet. As she wrapped her arms about her legs and set her forehead down against her knees, Ella silently plead with what ever good angel it was that aided her before to transport her out of the place of agony she was in.

Ella no longer wanted to go to the ball. As nice as it was to be the center of the prince's attention, Ella would have been happy working as a laundress somewhere far away if it meant that she was free from her tyrannical stepmother. Lost in her fantasy of escape, Ella nearly missed the sound of a footstep in the hall. Her heart was caught in her throat as she suddenly feared that a thief was in the house. The footsteps stopped before the door into Ella's room and there was a knock.

Ella scrambled to her feet and backed away from the door when there was a second knock. "Come forth, child," called the sweet voice from beside the pear tree, "Do you not wish to go to the ball?" Ella held back a sob.

"I can't go," she said, "I can't leave here. She'll kill me if I do." Ella heard the sound of the door unlocking. Anticipating the sight of some ethereal figure, Ella watched with her breath held as the door opened. No person stood before her. Sitting on the threshold of the doorway was a key and a common pear. Ella knelt and picked up the key. It was an ornate key that she had never seen before. She turned it over in her hands in wonderment.

She looked to the pear. It was nothing unusual for the fruit of a pear tree. No gems or other adornments were upon it. For all her attempts to divine if the pear was something more, Ella could only tell it was a normal fruit. Her stomach gurgled with hunger. It had been a long day and her stepmother forbade her from eating. Deciding that the pear was intended to assuage that hunger, Ella ate the fruit.

As she did so, she discovered that her hunger diminished and she felt as though she had eaten a great meal. The pain of her bruises faded away with the gnawing hunger in her belly. Assuming this was the magic of the pair, Ella turned towards her little cot, nibbling on the last of the pear. She gasped in surprise and dropped the pear when she saw the gown laying upon it. Of a simple and ancient design, the gown was the color of the deepest of sapphires. An under dress made of such fine linen that it seemed nearly see through lay beside it. Ella walked towards the gown and the shift.

"What is this?" she said quietly. Something like mist crept into the room through the open door. Ella looked around herself, alarmed that there may be a fire. The mist coalesced into a figure. A woman who looked much like Ella stood before her, ghostly and pale. "What are you?" she breathed as the woman walked towards her. A ghostly hand came up and touched her face. It was cold but it felt as solid as her own, which troubled the young woman.

"Come, child, you must dress or you shall be late," the woman said. Ella turned to the gown and swallowed uncomfortably. The ghostly woman helped Ella out of her day dress and into the shift. As the sapphire gown slipped over her head, Ella couldn't help the sudden fear that something evil was happening. Dressed in the gown, Ella looked down at her feet. The ghostly woman leaned down and touched Ella's callused right foot. Something warm came over her, and Ella watched with amazement as gold colored stockings appeared before sapphire blue slippers covered them. The ghostly woman held out a golden girdle. As she bound it about Ella's waist, Ella smelled something familiar about her. Ella tried to place the scent as a gold silk lined cape was wrapped about her shoulders.

"Your carriage awaits, child," the woman with the angelic voice said, "Remember, the magic ends at midnight. You will find yourself dressed in the rags that she left you with." Ella reached up to touch her hair and discovered with some amazement that it had been bound up in complicated braids. With a little shiver of trepidation, Ella left her small room and went downstairs. Before the house stood a white coach with a team of white horses. On the doors, a coat of arms were emblazoned. a lily was over a golden pennant upon a sapphire blue field. Ella hesitated before getting in the coach.

Remembering the warning that the magic was going to fade at midnight, she stepped into the coach and went away to the ball. When she stepped from the coach, Ella had the hood of the cape pulled over her head to protect herself from the chill drizzle that began to fall. A servant moved forward to take her cape as she entered the chateau. Letting the hood of the cape fall back, Ella noted the servant's look of surprise. Once the cape was removed, the servant's amazement deepened. He watched Ella as she walked towards the ballroom. She entered and she felt eyes turning upon her. Ella felt painfully conscious that her gown did not match those of the other women. She lowered her eyes and focused upon walking down the steps.

At the foot of the steps, Ella found a clearing in the press of people. She was still looking downward when she nearly ran in to someone. Ella raised her eyes, ready to apologize, only to discover the Prince himself standing before her. He caught her hand and pressed his lips to it in a brief gesture. Heat lit in his eyes and Ella blushed. She moved to curtsey when he took a step back and pulled her with him. Ella followed him, even more uncomfortable with the way people looked at her. They walked to the doors out into the gardens. The threat of rain had turned to mist as he lead her out and away from the ball. Whispers ran through the ballroom.

The prince lead her along a path to a spot hidden from prying eyes. He let go her hand and turned to face her. Ella wrung her hands, suddenly very nervous. "You are Lady Ambrey," he said, not bothering to phrase it as a question, "Your father was the second son of Lord Ambrey who served my father. The house of Ambrey was driven into poverty when your uncle, the heir, died and his creditors came to collect his debts. Your father became a merchant in the city. Your mother died at your birth. And he remarried your stepmother." Ella blanched and took a step back.

"I have spoken with my father. The lands of Ambrey are restored to you as the rightful heir. The taxes and tithes of those lands are yours by law," he continued, taking a step forward and capturing her hands in his own. "I do not know everything," he said, "but it is enough. Your title is enough. Let me take you from her. I will install you in your proper place." Ella shook her head as panic began to rise in her eyes.

"No," she whispered, "She'll kill me. She'll..." The prince pulled her into his arms. He took her face between his hands and stilled her protestations with a kiss. Ella, too stunned to do anything, shivered as he kissed her. Slowly, he deepened the kiss as Ella swayed against him, becoming dizzy with breathlessness. The prince let his hands fall to her shoulders and then glide down her back. He held her against him, delighting in how she trembled and the little gasp she made as he broke the kiss.

"Be mine," he whispered in her ear, "You are all I can think about. When I close my eyes, it is your face I see. All these women, they pale next to you. Give yourself to me, I don't think I can live with this hunger." Ella couldn't help the warm flush that went across her cheeks. She couldn't help the way the longing in the prince's voice made her feel delightfully weak. Held against him, Ella couldn't ignore the strength in his arms or the warmth of his body in the chill evening.

"I can't," she said sadly, "I can't. She'll kill me." The prince tightened his hold about her. Ella gave a little sigh, though she couldn't tell if it was sorrow or delight. He buried his face against the hollow of her shoulder. As he took in a deep breath, Ella trembled. He muttered something against her neck. Ella cautiously slipped a hand from between them up to let it settle at the back of his head. He raised his head and took hold of her wrist. As he placed a kiss in the palm of her hand, Ella blinked tears out of her eyes.

"She is nothing to me," he said, looking down at her as she ducked her head, "A fly. An annoyance to be brushed aside. You don't need to fear her anymore. I will send men to take you from her house if she tries to keep you from me. Or remain here with me. Stay here. Everything you need will be provided. She will not be able to reach you here." Ella closed her eyes as tears escaped them. The prince looked at her and frowned. "You fear her this much?" he asked.

Ella said nothing as she trembled. The prince gave a small determined nod. "Very well," he said, "I will find a different solution. I must have you. That does not change." Ella looked up at him. In his determination, he looked fierce and she found herself feeling anxious. His gaze fixed on her face rather than the inwardly focused one he had moments before. His eyes burned brightly with that hunger that came to the fore earlier. "You will be mine, Lady Ambery," he said in a tone that brooked no argument, "If I must march through the gates of hell, so be it."

"I'm nobody," Ella said. The prince smiled. It was something that made Ella's heart skip a beat even as she grew uneasy. "I only came to see you one last time," she continued, "I promised I would try. And so I am here. You must forget me." The prince's smile grew hungry and Ella stammered, "She is my guardian. She would never approve this. It simply can not be." The caught her face between his hands and turned it up to face him again.

He kissed her again. This time, Ella did not stiffen in shock. Shyly, Ella kissed him back. The prince, however, pressed his suit. His kiss became crushingly forceful as he gripped her tightly to himself. Dizzily, Ella found herself eager for more. The prince broke the kiss and she swayed towards him. He laughed softly and kissed her again, a hand moving down to her hip. He pressed her hips against his own and smiled at how she looked surprised to feel something of a bulge pressed against her. Ella swallowed uncomfortably with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry.

"What I want," he said, "I make mine. And I want you. I would have you come willingly. But I have no qualms about just taking you." His emphasis upon the word take made something within Ella shiver deep within. "We must return. They'll talk if we do not," he said stepping back. He took Ella's hand in his own and lead her through the garden back to the entry into the ballroom. As they rejoined the party in progress, the prince smiled graciously at a courtier who wished him good evening.

With a firm hold on Ella's hand, he went to the dais. He sat on his throne and fixed Ella with a stern look. She meekly sat upon the chair set near him. After a brief time of the prince talking about the nobles and indicating who was who, Ella forgot the uncomfortable conversation they had. He lead her out to dance a few simple sets and then they resumed their seat. The hour drew later and the prince smiled. He had decided that she would not escape him again. He spoke of what he learned of Ella's family, noticing quickly that it was a topic that she seemed entranced by.

The clock began to chime. Ella suddenly tensed. As it rung ten times, she started to rise. At eleven, she managed to slip out of his grasp. She kilted up her skirts and ran through the ballroom. Unwilling to see his prize get away, the prince pursued her. She fled down the steps, losing a sapphire colored slipper in the process. He watched her get into the coach and clatter off as though the devil himself was after her. A rider that he had waiting soon set off after it. He stooped and picked up the slipper.

He watched with wonderment as the final bell tolled and it transformed from leather to glass. He turned and walked into the ball. A stern voice called his name and the prince looked up. His father had come to learn who he had picked to be his bride. The prince smiled. He approached his father and bowed, holding his relic carefully. "Lady Ambery," he said. The king nodded.

"Where is she?" the king demanded.

The prince looked down at the glass slipper. "She has fled but I will find her," he said, "A rider is pursuing the carriage to find where it is she flees to. Lady Ambery is in fear of her life. This is why she leaves each night." The king frowned at his son. "I shall find her and she will fear no more," the prince said firmly. The king looked at his son. He was reluctant to believe that he had found the lost scion of Ambery's line. Still, the wonder that he held in his hands suggested that he had found someone. The king decided that it had to be enough, because the glass slipper was jeweled and bore signs of being a rare treasure. What ever woman who wore such fine things, he thought, would clearly be worthy of his youngest son.

Ella's carriage gave a shudder. She looked down at her gown and noted how it was beginning to dull. The carriage stopped just before the door of her home. Amazed that the magic some how remained past the stroke of midnight, Ella darted into the house. She slipped her sapphire colored slipper off and ran up the stairs to her room. She shut the door and pushed the ornate key into the lock. Somehow, the door locked itself from the inside, though the key barely fit. Ella sat down on her cot and looked down at the slipper in her hands.

She stared with amazement as it transformed to a glass slipper covered in sapphires. Ella put the slipper into the pocket of her apron with the key. She then laid down on her cot. Outside, she heard a rider go past. A few hours later, Ella woke to the sound of her stepmother's carriage clattering before the house. Ella looked down at her ragged dress, one that had once been her mothers that her stepmother had torn to shreds before Ella before throwing it at her and telling her if she mended it, she'd have been allowed to the ball a few nights before. Hastily, Ella changed into the dress she wore earlier and made her way to the door. She listened to the sound of her stepmother rushing up the stairs.

She stepped back from the door just as the older woman tried it. The door rattled but was clearly still locked. The key jangled and soon the door opened to show Ella's stepmother glaring countenance. She looked at Ella with an expression of loathing. When she went to the little window, she discovered it was still shuttered and had the thin layer of dust it had earlier, undisturbed. The woman turned and looked at Ella. "I don't know how you did it," she sneered, "But you're not getting out again until the Prince is married."

Ella stared at her stepmother as she walked out of the room and locked the door. Ella thought of the prince's words earlier. She closed her eyes and wept. For she knew that her imprisonment was surely a death sentence because her stepmother never fed her in confinement and the prince would not know where to find her. The next day, Ella woke and tried the door of her room. It was still locked. She sat down on her cot. With a sigh, she strained to listen to the noises of the house below. She slipped into a doze.

There was the sound of voices in the kitchen below. Unfamiliar voices that woke Ella. A male voice spoke of his search for Lady Ambrey. Her stepmother declared herself to be Lady Ambrey. The man asked after her daughters. They soon were heard below. There was some sort of flurry of activity that moved off towards the side of the house where the parlor was. Ella looked at her apron. She sighed, wishing that the magic had not faded. She walked over and picked it up, stunned to discover that the slipper remained with the key. Ella picked up the key and cautiously tried it at the lock again.

Soundlessly, the door opened. With her bare feet, Ella crept down the hallway. She sneaked down the stairs and peeked around the corner. Someone stood in the doorway from the parlor into the kitchen. The portly servant with the cheerful smile held something that winked in the light before her tall, skinny stepsister as she sat in the chair and held out her foot. He talked ceaselessly about the delight that Lady Ambrey was at the ball. As he spoke, Ella's stepmother gave a little huff of distaste, leaning on her cane. Ella's eyes widened as she saw the mate of the glass slipper in her apron pocket.

Her stepsister's foot proved too wide for the slipper. She rubbed her toes, looking as uncomfortable as her sister who had blood oozing from her own toes where it seemed she had cut them in anticipation of putting them in to the slipper. The servant looked at Ella's stepmother. He saw Ella in the shadows behind her. "Have you another daughter?" he asked. Ella's stepmother's eyes widened slightly. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ella standing there.

"No," she replied, looking at Ella with hatred, "Only a servant."

A familiar voice said from the other doorway, "Let her come forward." As the prince's servant turned to approach Ella, her stepmother moved her cane. She knocked it into the servant in a seemingly accidental motion as she turned. The glass slipper fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. The servant blanched. Ella's sisters gasped. Ella timidly walked forward. As soon as she was in eyesight, the prince recognized her.

Divested of her finery and having lingering bruises on her wrists and shins, the prince still knew the woman he saw standing before him with her eyes lowered. "What a pity," her stepmother said, "The slipper is lost. I fear you shall not find the one you seek, my lord." Ella felt the weight of the slipper in her pocket. As she came forward, she pulled it out. Ella's stepsisters gawked at her in shock at the sight of the slipper. Her stepmother's face darkened with anger.

She raised her cane. Ella looked over her shoulder at her stepmother and blanched, nearly dropping the glass slipper in her hand. The prince crossed the room with a few swift strides. He wrenched the cane from the stepmother's hand. She glared up at him. "No more," he said, dropping the cane to the ground at her feet. "Come, maiden, the carriage awaits," he said to Ella. She looked at him and trembled. He stepped up beside her and took her left hand firmly in his own. "Come," he said, "my father awaits you." Ella flushed and took a hesitant step with the prince as he began to walk out of the house. He looked over at her and she saw his fierce look of determination. Lowering her eyes demurely, Ella walked with him.

Ella's stepmother called after them, "I forbid it. This will not happen." The prince ignored her as he lead Ella to the carriage. He personally helped Ella into the carriage and then entered himself. The servant bustled out to the carriage and made his way inside. As he sat across from the prince and Ella, he smiled. Ella's stepmother watched furiously as the carriage left. Her daughters asked if Ella's marriage to the prince would give them title and wealth. The woman turned and shrieked at them to leave her alone.

Friday, October 9, 2015

Public Notice RE: Comments

Hi everybody,

I just wanted to make something crystal clear. You are welcome to comment on my posts. I moderate them to make sure that everything is respectful and above board. I would appreciate if people kept their comments on topic with what the post covers. That said, I recognize that sometimes it is hard to tell if a comment matches the topic. So, I try to keep that in mind with respect to what comments get posted up here.

That said, I do not take kindly to people using this platform to harass, belittle, or otherwise be a dick to people. It is one thing if you have something funny to say. Sometimes, vulgar humor is pretty funny. But, if it strikes me as offensive regardless of how well intentioned something is, I'm not giving you air time on my blog.

Additionally, if any sort of products, services, or other related material goes up on here, it is because I am posting it. If you want to recommend something to me or request a review of something, email me. I have an account that is set up to take messages just from my blogs. I check it every few days. (I'm actually going to do that right after I hit publish on this post.) I am not going to permit people to use the comments on my blog to bandy about some product or service. You don't get free advertising.

If you want to advertise, contact me. We can work out an arrangement. I'll even make sure that there is a Twitter post to the blog entry, provided you compensate me for it. You have any questions or comments about this, email me.

This is MY blog. My blog is a benevolent dictatorship. My word here is law. If you don't like it, don't post in the comments. In fact, I invite you to take my blog off of your reading list. Because if you can't respect me and my rules, I'm pretty sure you're not going to like what I post.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Distraction

I stared at the page before me. As much as I wanted to will words into existence, nothing came to mind. Inspiration had been in short supply for the last few weeks. I was beginning to despair that I would have nothing more to write. I leaned back, picked up my cup of cold coffee, and tried to let go of my anxiety.

He walked into the room and found me with my eyes closed, sniffing the aroma of my beverage. "Hi there, beautiful," he said cheerfully. When I didn't smile back at him or really have much of a response, he walked up and set his hands on my shoulders. I could feel him peering at the screen over my shoulder. "Stuck again?" he asked, sounding sympathetic. I nodded. It felt like confessing defeat.

"Well, we could completely change the topic," he suggested, "Switch to something like Alice in Wonderland. Go for something completely surreal and bizarre." I scoffed. He chuckled. "No," he mused, "That's not really your style, is it." I noisily slurped my coffee to express my annoyance with his teasing. It didn't have much of an effect on the situation. "Perhaps you should take a break and come back to it later," he said as he stood up.

I opened my eyes and set my coffee cup down on the coaster to the left of my keyboard. "Can't do that," I said, "Deadline." He began to massage the knots in my shoulders. I quietly wondered when I got so tense and if that was why my back hurt. "What are you working on, anyways? Didn't you say that you had a project that was due sometime in the next few days?" I asked him.

"It's done. Now I can spend the evening with you. Get you out of this slump," he said in a tone that was meant to be consoling but came off sounding almost suggestive. "Get up and get away from that keyboard. It can wait for a few minutes," he exhorted me. I sighed and pushed my chair back. As I stood up, I shook my head, still looking at the two paragraphs I had typed with disgust. When I looked over at him, I blinked in shock.

"You're not wearing a shirt," I said, "Aren't you chilly?" He smiled. I couldn't help but admire his tanned chest. Well muscled and scarred with old battle scars, he cut a striking figure. His rust red hair had been cut short again. I wasn't sure how I felt about it or the fact that he had shaved his face. I had to confess, I was fond of the scruffy look he had a few days ago. Now, however, he looked like he did when we first met. Except he didn't have that olive drab t-shirt on.

He smiled at me as I stared at him, baffled by his lack of a shirt. "I'm not going to be wearing much any longer," he said. I tipped my head slightly to the right, not grasping what he was saying. He caught my right wrist in his hand and brought it up to his face. As I cupped his face with my hand, I could feel the stubble along his jaw poking into my palm. He slid his hand down my forearm. It felt warm, even through the nubbly fabric of my sweater and the ragged sweatshirt I was wearing. "Come with me," he urged me, setting his right hand on my hip.

"Where are we going?" I said dryly, deciding that I would probably follow him out into the chilly night outside if I could get a few more minutes to just look at him. "And am I over dressed?" I added. He gave me a wicked smirk and suddenly I felt like I put my foot in my mouth. There was heat in his gaze that made me blush and feel thick witted. I started to turn away, uncomfortable with the hunger in his expression. I had work to do, I didn't have time for a tumble. Or so I thought.

He wrapped his left arm about my shoulders and pulled me up close to him. It was a swift gesture that caught me by surprise. I looked up with a gasp and watched his smirk turn into a grin. "You're definitely over dressed," he purred, "I'll have to help you with that."

"Oh no you don't," I said, suddenly filled with the need to turn everything back to that neutral point we were at when he walked into the room. Or should I say, the neutral point that I was at. "I need to finish this," I said, looking over at the computer. He laughed and pulled me with him as he backed up a pace. Torn between this overwhelming shyness and the desire to find out just why I was over dressed, I stumbled along with him.

"I'm helping," he said as we moved a few more paces into the other room.

"A rather curious form of helping, then," I retorted. He smiled at me with a suggestive look.

"What you need is a distraction," he replied, dancing around me as soon as we were past the table and chairs of the dining room. He set his hands on my shoulders and pushed me gently forward towards the hallway. "I am very good at distracting you," he said in my ear with a voice that was brimming with amusement.

"Not helping," I answered and he laughed. A part of me insisted I had to get back to the computer and to my work. It was a feeling that it was vital to the continued existence of the universe. And then there was the part of me that was merrily allowing me to be steered into the bedroom. The part of me that trembled with anticipation as his hands moved from my shoulders to my back and then passed around my sides. The part of me that couldn't help closing my eyes and giving a small, unconscious sigh of pleasure as his hands cupped my breasts through the fabric of my shirt.

"Completely helping," he murmured as he unbuttoned my sweater and began to slip it off my shoulders. He casually threw it aside. He slipped his hands up underneath the bottom hem of my shirt and ran them up my sides. "Completely and totally helping," he said as he placed a kiss on my neck. His warm hands wandered over my skin. I couldn't help closing my eyes and leaning my head back against his shoulder. In that moment, all thought of my work just fell away. There was only bliss and the delight that came from being with him.

The smell of him was something warm and comforting. It was something that both soothed me and lit a slow fuse. That fuse burned shorter as he disrobed me. With each inch of flesh revealed, he paid homage with his lips. I sighed and reached to embrace him. But each time, he slipped out of my grasp and moved to the next item of clothing. By the time he had me completely undressed, I didn't care about how chilly the room felt. I didn't care that I was naked. I just wanted to feel his skin against mine.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath as I watched him shimmy out of his jeans. I smiled and let out a little sigh of pleasure at the sight of him. I couldn't really comprehend how he managed to look so magnificent in any state of dress I saw him in. I stared at how the light played over his skin. I was fascinated by the pattern of the freckles on his left shoulder and how it moved up along his neck. Lost in my reverie, I was caught off guard when he took a step towards me. I took a step back despite myself and a quick, mischievous grin appeared on his face.

My silent admiration quickly turned to wary caution. It was a look that I was not entirely familiar with and I took another step back. He came forward and I retreated until I bumped into the wall behind me. Unable to evade him, I simply stood still and watched him as he walked right up to me. He leaned against me and delicate shiver passed through me. I closed my eyes as I reached to wrap my arms around him.

My surprised yelp when he pinned my wrists to the wall to either side of my head made him chuckle. He looked at me and said, "Caught you." I swallowed, suddenly very nervous despite my intense arousal. "Now, what will I do with you?" he said in what could have passed for a thoughtfully inquisitive tone, if it weren't for the intensity in his demeanor. I couldn't help the blush that washed over my face and fanned across my chest as his hungry eyes met my own wide ones. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.

As he kissed me, I couldn't help closing my eyes and sighing with pleasure. The heat of his body seemed to pour from his mouth into mine when he deepened that kiss. I tried to slip my wrists out of his hands to bring my own hands to cradle his face but he tightened his grip on my wrists. He broke the kiss and looked at me with an expression that was a curious mixture of solemnity and lust. "No, not tonight," he said, "Tonight, it is all about you. I give, you receive."

"And what are you going to give me?" I asked breathlessly. That grin returned and I swallowed uncomfortably.

"That's a good question," he said, "Want to find out the answer?"

"What if I say no?" I said, unable to keep the tremor of discomfort out of my voice.

"You go back to your writing and I'll get a cup of coffee, with clothes of course," he said. His hold on my wrists lightened and he glided his hands gently down my forearms. "But, you really don't want to say no, do you?" he said knowingly. I blushed and, for a moment, that awful need to return to my writing slammed into me along with the sensation that I was in deep water. "Do you?" he asked. I found myself too tongue tied to say anything so I gave a little shakes of the head. He smiled again. "Thought so," he purred with a triumphant, satisfied tone in his voice.

He ran his hands down my arms and along my sides. When they settled at my hips, I discovered that I had wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I was briefly perplexed by this but then his hot mouth was on my neck and all coherent thought flew away. His soft kisses made me sigh with delight. Then, at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, he brought his teeth together. It was a relatively light nip, but it surprised me and I gave a little cry. He chuckled and nipped me again, this time harder.

I would have stepped away if it weren't for the wall behind me. I'd have protested that it was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong anything for him to do that. But, I didn't have that luxury. I couldn't evade the way my heart quickened and how my breath caught in my throat. His hands moved along my hips to my back. I tightened my hold about his shoulders as that part of my mind that was so quick with an argument against my own pleasure fumbled for some protest.

He leaned down and closed his mouth over my left breast. I gasped and rolled my eyes with pleasure at how his tongue felt against my nipple. His hands moved up my back, pulling me forward and making my back arch. All thoughts of resistance fell away as he gently rolled my nipple between his teeth. I gave a groan of pleasure and let my head fall back against the wall. I sighed when he repeated his action on the right side. He raised his head and I could feel his gaze upon me like the faintest of caresses.

"Admit it," he said huskily. I looked down at him confusedly. "Admit what you want," he said, "I'll give it to you. You just have to say something." I stared at him, trying to put my jumbled thoughts into order as he straightened. My body felt a strange cross between boneless relaxation and trembling tension. It confused me and I desperately tried to figure out what I was supposed to say.

As his hands moved back down to my hips and the left continued on towards my knee, I sighed. "What do you want?" he said before nuzzling the hollow between my breasts.

"You," I said weakly as I cradled the back of his head with my right hand. He chuckled and slipped his hand behind my right knee. As he straightened, he pulled my leg upward until my knee was at his hip and I could feel his erection pressed between us. I wrapped my leg about his waist as he slipped his hands beneath my ass.

"Me," he said smiling at me. I nodded, too caught up in the rush of arousal that came from how it felt to be in that position. He pulled my body upward until I was balancing on my toes. "I suppose I can give you that," he drawled, sounding more cavalier about it all than what his body betrayed. "Wrap that pretty little leg around me," he said. As I wrapped my other leg around his hips, he leaned us against the wall. With my arms around his shoulders and my legs about his waist, he didn't have too much trouble holding me against himself with one arm. He reached between us with his free hand and guided himself into me.

I trembled and gave a soft, throaty moan as he entered into me. When he held me with both hands and began to move inside me, my moan turned into a shuddering gasp. "So quiet," he said with amusement, "Clearly I am not doing this right." He thrust faster and harder. My noises of pleasure became louder as his breath began to come in short little gasps with his effort. He took a deep breath and then bit my shoulder. I gave a little wail even as my hold on him tightened. He gave a breathy little laugh before doing it again.

Somewhere in the midst of the time between when he bit me and when he stopped, the world went white. My body was wracked with a powerful shuddering orgasm. I struggled to breathe and he laughed again. A second orgasm rolled over me and I gave a strangled groan.

"Mmm," he breathed against my tender neck, "Not enough." I whimpered and clung to him. I had barely enough time to realize what was happening before we landed on the bed. Freed of the burden of holding me aloft, his efforts to fuck me hard and fast were redoubled. Animalistic noises came from me as I writhed beneath him. I didn't realize when it happened, but I began to give little cries with my orgasms.

I was frantic for more when he suddenly stopped. I stared up at him, unable to keep my desperation out of my expression. He smiled down at me. I reached up to pull him down to me and he pinned my wrists to the bed. "There she is," he said happily. I made a pained noise and tossed my head as I arched in a desperate attempt to feel more of his skin against mine. "Tell me what you want," he said.

My answer came out in an almost agonized sounding wail. "More, give me more," I cried. He smiled and threw himself gleefuly into the fray. I screamed with pleasure and would have been nearly thrashing beneath him if it weren't for how utterly pinned I was. Just as I felt on the edge of an orgasm that was terrifyingly powerful, he came. I wept and begged him not to stop.

He kissed my tearful cheeks, smiling and giving a blissful sigh. "Later," he said in my ear, "You have work to do." I sobbed and he chuckled.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Cinderella Pt. 7

The carriage clattered over the stones in the road as Ella looked anxiously out the windows. As they drew closer to the house, Ella felt a curious sensation. It seemed the carriage was shrinking and the fabric of her gown growing coarse. The carriage began to slow. She tapped the door to her left. "Let me out," she called. The driver reined in the horse. The sense that things were changing was no longer something of a suspicion as Ella felt the frame of the carriage door contracting beneath her hand. In a burst of panic, she threw herself out of the carriage.

The moment Ella's feet hit the cobblestones, she was off and running for the garden gate. She felt the dress transforming as she ran with her skirts held up in her hands. Her hair fell down out of its elaborate coiffure. Her apron bounced against her russet colored skirts as she opened the gate and dared to look back. Where the white carriage had stood, there was now the white pumpkin she had picked earlier. The rats and lizard were not visible, but Ella knew that they had transformed back to their proper nature and most likely were seeking shelter from the rain which began to fall.

As she hurried through the garden and into the kitchen, Ella could hear the clattering of a carriage in the distance. The city's streets did odd things to the noise of the carriage's approach. It sounded to Ella as though it was closer than it truly was.  She lit a lamp and took off her apron. As she hung the apron upon its peg, Ella looked about vainly for something to appear to have been doing. Spotting a basket of knitting nearby, the lamp and sat in the chair beside it. She picked up the needles and had gotten half of a row finished when the carriage came to a halt before the front entrance of the house. Ella set aside the knitting, taking care to make it clear she was interrupted mid stitch.

She lifted her lamp and reached the door as her stepmother and stepsisters did. Ella opened the door and gasped in surprise to find the woman she feared glaring at her with an expression of near murderous rage. "You," she hissed, stepping over the threshold as Ella retreated back a pace. "You were there. Where is the gown? Where are the horses and the man? Where have you been hiding your wealth, Lady Ambery?" the graying woman said as she stalked forward, turning the title into a sneered insult. "Why don't you still smell of your work, girl?" she demanded.

"I.. I bathed," Ella stammered, "I did so after you left." The second wife of the late Lord Ambery raised her hand to slap her unwanted stepdaughter when she saw the lamp in Ella's hand and reconsidered. She did everything she could to acquire what fortune her late husband could acquire in the years after he came into the city. It was she who poisoned Ella's father, though the blame was never discovered. Ambery was a kind man who thought his second wife merely ambitious.

At her urging, he took up the trade of a merchant. His business went quite well, for Ambery had an eye for what was truly fine quality. The creditors still came to harass him over his deceased brother's accounts. So, what wealth that could have come into her hands, went into theirs. She blamed Ella. If Ambery didn't have his daughter, she was sure that he would have spent more upon her and her daughters. Instead, he put money by for Ella. He arranged so that Ella was the only one to draw funds from the account. And it was a considerable amount that he managed to hide from his brother's creditors.

Ella's stepmother was furious that she somehow managed to attend the ball. She was doubly so at the signs of wealth that her unwanted stepdaughter wore. "Tomorrow, we are to find what became of your fine dress," she hissed, "Then it will be torn to rags and sold. Even as rags, it will fetch a high price. You will remain here until the Prince has chosen a bride. Maybe, after then, you will be allowed freedom." Ella did her best to conceal the trembling in her hands as she watched her stepmother motion her daughters in.

"Set the lamp down," the older woman commanded. The moment the lamp was safely on the table, Ella was struck by something hard upon her shoulders. She cried out in surprise and pain, but the blows continued to fall. Ella fled towards the kitchen but her stepmother followed, continuing to beat her. Ella fell to the floor and covered her head with her hands as yet more blows fell. When her stepmother stopped, Ella was crying. She stared up at her tormentor who held a parasol in her hand. "Perhaps now you won't be so fine to the eyes of others. I'd strike your face but I need you to look well when we go to the bank tomorrow and I learn how much you truly have," the stepmother said, "Now, attend me and my daughters."

Ella rose with some pain, biting back additional cries of pain as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She regretted going to the pear tree that night. She regretted going to the ball. But she could not bring herself to regret the Prince.