376 lines
22 KiB
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376 lines
22 KiB
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #115 |
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- To Sleep, Perchance to Dream 02: -
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The Lady in Lilacs
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by Tal Meta
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Stairs, narrow and steep. The aged, brittle wood of the steps creak
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beneath my weight. The darkness at the top of the stairs does not blind me;
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enough light creeps up from below to illuminate my path.
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That scratching sound is louder now; is it coming from that little
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door over there? I push aside the landlord's forgotten clothing that hangs
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before the door and listen carefully. Yes, the sound _is_ coming from in
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there.
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I switch on my flashlight and tug open the door. But wait... instead
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of the tumble of boxes and jars I remember from last time, the beam of my
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flashlight reveals a goddamn HOLE in the floor!
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I pull myself through the opening of the door and shine my light down
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into the hole. It looks like... a storage closet? I pause for a moment,
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redrawing the floor plan of this house in my head; a hole right there should
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lead down into my dining room, not a closet. There's no ROOM for a closet
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where this hole leads.
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Okay. A hole that shouldn't be there, leading to a place that can't
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possibly be where it seems to be. I leave the door open as I trek back
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downstairs for some supplies.... this just begs for investigation.
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Flashlight: check. Extra batteries? Certainly. Hmmm.... weapon? I pull
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the kukri down from over my bed, and thread its sheath into my belt. I draw
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the blade, and give it a quick toss for luck, then resheath it quickly. A
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quick jaunt out to the car nets me a length of rope and another knife... (What
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can I say? Steel just comforts me.)
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As I climb the stairs again, I consider, briefly, fishing my revolver
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out from its hiding place. I shrug to myself and ignore the impulse. If
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wherever I'm going warrants more than two knives, I'm probably dead meat
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anyway. As I reach the top of the stairs, I notice that my cats, curious
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little bastards that they are, have preceded me. Both are looking eagerly down
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into the hole I'm about the explore. Sensing my arrival, one promptly gets the
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hell away from the hole, but the other jumps straight down.
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Stupid fucking cat. Part of me hopes its curiosity WILL kill it.
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I spend about two minutes playing the flashlight around, looking for a
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good spot to anchor the rope on. I finally decide to anchor it to one of the
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exhaust pipes leading from the septic system to the roof... 4" PVC ought to
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have enough strength to support my weight for short periods.
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"Smudge? C'mere, you little bastard. I'd think by now you'd have
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learned to keep your nose out of trouble." As I play my flashlight around the
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closet, I note that there is one of those forced air heating register things
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lying on the floor, right next to a hole more than adequate for the cat to
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have used to escape punishment... for the moment anyway.
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Forgetting the feline for a moment, I turn my attention to the
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contents of the closet.... mostly old cardboard boxes, stacked on and around
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an antique roll-top desk. Part of me hopes that I didn't damage it on my way
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down. The door to the closet proves to be unlocked, and leads out to a dimly
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lit hallway straight out of the Mauve Decade.
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19th century wallpaper above rich, dark wood paneling. The trim on the
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doors, and along the walls are also of a similar dark wood, perhaps mahogany.
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_Oil_ lamps are spaced alternately down the hallway, their dim, flickering
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radiance giving the entire scene a somehow restful feeling. Shutting off my
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flashlight, I close the door to the closet and start off down the hallway.
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The first door I come to is ajar, so I push it open to reveal an
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elderly maid dusting the top of a dresser in what might be the master bedroom.
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Everything in the room, from the cut of the maid's uniform to the decorations
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on the wall, whisper to my hindbrain that wherever I am, it's not _when_ I
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came from, either. I clear my throat and attempt to get the maid's attention,
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but she continues to dust. I tentatively reach out to touch her and.... yes,
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she's there, all right. My hand doesn't pass through her; at least. I grasp
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her by both shoulders and turn her to face me, but her eyes don't focus on
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me...
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I can see boredom in her eyes... I can even see my own reflection. But
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it's quite clear that she can't, or won't, perceive me. Part of me wonders
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what her reaction would be to a slit throat... but I pass on that little
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voice's suggestion.
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I follow the hall to its end... a wide, graceful half-spiral staircase
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leading up as well as down. The staircase evokes a strong felling of deja-vou
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{deja vu] in me; sometime, somewhere, I have seen this staircase before. In
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its own way, it is as beautiful as anything can be. Some forgotten part of
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myself can almost remember playing on it as a child... but no relative,
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friend, or other acquaintance of my parents could ever have afforded this kind
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of house.
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At the bottom of the stair is a grand foyer. Wide double doors with
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heavy frosted glass panes glint in the gaslight. I try to touch the doorknobs,
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but suddenly a sense of foreboding fills me, and I take a step back. Turning
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to examine the rest of the room, I note three doors leading away. One stands
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open to reveal a living room, the other two are closed.
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The first door I try is locked; I can hear sounds behind it, but no
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amount of calling out or knocking nets me any response. The other door swings
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open easily, revealing a large kitchen. From beams in the ceiling, a variety
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of meats hang, some salted, some smoked.
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A short hall leads me into a dining room beyond the kitchen. The
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ceiling is high and domed; a crystal chandelier hangs low over the table. Two
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places are set, not at opposite ends of the long table, but across from each
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other at one end - an intimate supper.
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Folding French doors lie half open along one wall, admitting a warm
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breeze. It brings the scent of lilacs, tilled earth, and water, from outside.
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I step through them, and as I do so, night becomes morning. I cannot see the
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sun rise, mind you, but I can tell from the amount of light that it is
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mid-morning, at least.
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Several yards away down the lawn is a medium sized gazebo, with ivy or
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kudzu twining in among the latticework. A pair of winged zebras gambol about
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the lawn, whickering to one another almost as if locked in a cheerful
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conversation. I can see someone, partially obscured, sitting in the gazebo,
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and as I draw closer, I take a deep breath.
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She's simply the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair is a
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dark, lustrous copper-red, falling in long cascades about her shoulders. Her
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skin is the palest color of ivory, and even at this distance I can see that
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her eyelashes are long and full, and frame what I am somehow certain will be
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green, almost emerald eyes. She is small of stature and build, yet has the
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energy of a wild mustang, smoldering inside.
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As I climb the steps to the gazebo, I take in the dress she is
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wearing. It's mostly white, with vibrant purple lilacs embroidered on it. It
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isn't a 'revealing' dress; the neckline is high, and the skirt hides all but a
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hint of her bare feet and ankles. On her lap sits Smudge, my wayward feline.
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Her small, slender hands are kneading his neck, and I can hear his usual
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subdued purr has raised itself to a throaty roar.
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When her eyes meet mine, they are the emerald color I expected. I have
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seen this woman before, but I cannot remember where.
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She rises to greet me, and takes me into her embrace, Smudge
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forgotten. We held each other for I don't know how long, and when I pull back
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from the hug to gaze into her eyes, I find them partially closed, her face
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tilted upwards in a way that any fool should recognize.
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Her mouth seems so small, compared to mine. Her lips are dry, but her
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mouth is moist, and her tongue eagerly seeks out my own. I can feel the
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passion rising between us, and when at last we break our kiss, we are no
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longer in the gazebo, but standing near the dining table I had seen earlier.
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My usual garb has been replaced; where I had formerly worn jeans and a
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sweatshirt, I am now dressed in a formal (if slightly outdated) suit that fits
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me as if tailored specifically for me. My kukri is gone, but I can feel my
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smaller knife still in its ankle sheath. Her hair, which had formerly been
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loose about her shoulders, is now tied above her head into an elaborate hairdo
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held in place by several jade combs. The candles on the table are lit, and our
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food is growing cold, so we both sit and begin to eat.
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Our conversation over dinner is anything but subdued. We laugh and
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chatter like two old friends long separated. At several points during the meal
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our hands touch, and the wine is making our eyes shine in the candlelight. We
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end the meal by feeding one another dessert, at last pulling our chairs around
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so we are seated next to one another.
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After dinner, the sounds of music can be heard from outside, so we
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venture forth to the gazebo again. Moonlight threatens to drown out the stars,
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but the sky is so clear that the stars are still ahead by a margin. We dance
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closely together, swaying in time with the music, holding one another for fear
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that something will sweep us apart. When at last we kiss again, we both know
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it is time to be going back inside.
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Hand in hand we climb that beautiful staircase, heading, I'm quite
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sure, to the room I saw the maid cleaning earlier in the 'day'. Once the door
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closes, she is in my arms again, kissing me with a ferocity that surprises
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even me. I take her head in my hands, slowly removing each of the combs that
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bind it until her hair is free once more; if anything it, seems longer than
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before, cascading down her back nearly to her thighs. I bury my face in it,
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smelling the glorious scent of it.
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As we stand by the side of the bed, I can feel all the longing for
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that "certain someone" welling up inside myself.. If any woman on this Earth
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was meant for me, it is her. She turns away from me, lifting her hair to allow
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me to unbutton the back of her dress. Twelve opal buttons later, we slowly
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begin removing it, one arm at a time, until it falls in a bunch at her feet.
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Beneath she wears a silk camisole, lace panties, garter belt, and silk hose.
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I slip off my jacket as she begins unbuttoning my shirt. As she
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reveals more and more of my chest, she places one hand inside to caress my
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skin, and brings her mouth close to deliver gentle nips as she works her way
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down. When my shirt is completely undone, it too is discarded on the floor
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with her dress.
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I run my hands along her sides, delighting in the feeling of the silk.
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Her whole body shudders as my hands cup her breasts through the fabric,
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although her nipples don't respond to my touch as yet. I trace the curves of
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her body, taking in every bit of the sensation of her quivering form under my
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fingers. She is looking at me with a half-smile on her face... behind her eyes
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I can sense that she is growing just a little impatient with my taking so much
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time.
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Forgetting the camisole for a moment, I turn my attentions to her
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delicate panties, gently pulling them down over the curve of her buttocks,
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exposing her full and softly glowing mound of pubic hair. I plant a quick kiss
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at the upper edge of it, which makes her knees buckle slightly... I catch her
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before she falls, and in straightening her, lift the camisole up over her
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shoulders, purposefully dragging the silk across her slowly awakening nipples.
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The slight chill in the air makes her nipples harden and crinkle, and if
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anything they grow harder as I brush the palms of my hands over them. With one
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finger I flick the two tiny hairs growing from the edge of the left nipple's
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areola, which sends shudders through her body anew.
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She pushes me back, so that I am sitting on the bed. I gently push off
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my shoes with my feet, as she kneels before me, her hands reaching down to
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undo my belt and unbutton the fly of my slacks. As her hands brush against me,
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I can feel my excitement mounting... her merest touch is causing me to grow
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harder and harder.
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Once my slacks are undone, I stand again, letting them fall to the
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floor, as she tugs off my underwear, gently nibbling and kissing her way down
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my stomach to my manhood. She once again pushes me backwards onto the bed, and
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then quickly engulfs me in her mouth. Her hands are busy removing my socks and
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undoing the ankle sheath of my knife, but once they are free she uses them to
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gently tickle my inner thighs, causing me to buck my hips and pull myself from
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her mouth.
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We stand together, and embrace once again, my hardness pressing
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against the softness of her belly. This time I take the initiative, and push
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her backwards onto the bed. Her hands catch my shoulders, pulling me down on
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top of her. Our lips meet again, and soon I am tracing the curves of her neck
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and breasts with my tongue. Her nails rake their way upwards from the small of
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my back to my shoulders, urging me downwards, as I ease myself down the length
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of her body, stopping here and there to lick or nibble at her belly.
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Her sighs of pleasure have become more palpable, but a note of
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frustration enters into them as I move my attentions from the edge of her
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pubic hair and far down to her knees. My hands straighten her legs and I
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gently release her legs from their silken hose, pause to nip and the back of
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her knees, then proceed to slowly edge my hands forward as I slowly lick my
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way towards the heart of her womanhood. Once my hands have cupped her
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buttocks, I use my thumbs to part the flower of her vulva, and I gently
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insinuate my tongue within the humid folds.
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Her whole body spasms as my tongue finds her clitoris, and I gently
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clutch it with my lips as my tongue traces an elaborate pattern over it.
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Whispering to me in shuddering breaths, she bids me to lie beside her, so that
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we can both sample the taste of each other, sharing passion's most succulent
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pleasures.
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As we assume the position the ancients called the two-backed beast, I
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find myself delving deeper and deeper into the folds of her vagina, until it
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feels as if I'm completely surrounded by it. Pressure surrounds me on all
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sides, squeezing me forwards, pressure so tight it almost hurts. Somewhere in
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the distance I can hear cries, and ahead of me I see what can only be that
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thing called light...
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All around me is water. Sounds seem incredibly amplified, and the
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cries of my fellows could be heard for literally miles all around me. I drive
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for the surface, pushing against the liquid medium all around me, finally
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leaping free into the air and drawing my first, triumphant breath. The sea
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rolls out beneath me, and the shower of water droplets that accompany me into
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the air create a mini-rainbow that follows my arc back into the water.
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At the edge of the horizon a storm is brewing. I turn towards the
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raging waters, heedless of the danger. On the surface, rain beats down and
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waves crash, but here, underneath the waves, there is naught but the currents
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and the omnipresent sound of the fury of the storm above. I am making my way
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by leaping from swell to swell, laughing at the fury all around me. As I
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plunge into the next swell, I can feel her legs wrapped around my back,
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pushing me deeper into her. Sweat covers both of us, making our bodies shine
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in the gaslight.
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Her back is arched, her breasts upthrust, as I slowly penetrate her. I
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lean against her, and bend my head downwards, kissing her and nuzzling her
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earlobes until she gets the shivers. As her nails gently rasp against my
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sholderblades, I can feel her lower lip gently scraping against my earlobe
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while her tongue gently insinuates itself into my ear canal. Her breath is
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hot, and the feel of her saliva drying under the ministrations of her breath
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makes my penis throb even harder within her. Her hair is splayed out behind
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her like a fan, blazing in the flickering glow that fills the room. As I move
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within her, her hair seems to catch the radiance until it begins to spread and
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rise up on its own. Soon the flames of her hair have engulfed us both, and I
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can feel myself running with her, hand in hand, through a raging fire.
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Fire is everywhere. A fallen tree lies across the path of least
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resistance, but it offers no problem. While narrow, my legs now have great
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strength, and the four of them are more than sufficient to give me the
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strength to leap over any obstacle. I turn behind me to watch her clear the
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log, and the sight of it nearly takes my breath away.
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Her face and torso remain unchanged, still the ivory color they were
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before. But where her legs used to be she is melded to a horse's body; a
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centaur. The creamy ivory skin ends only at her hair and tail... both are the
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color of the flames, and as she moves fiery motes trail out behind her,
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lighting new fires amid the underbrush. My own form mirrors hers, except that
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where she is bright, I am dark. My skin is the color of soot, and my hair is
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streaked silver and ash. Together we streak off into the forest, until we
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cross a stream, and follow its path to the sea.
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The sand on the beach shimmers with a million colors in the moonlight,
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as if it were made of tiny diamonds. The spray from the waves extinguishes the
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flames of her hair, and as we stand in the surf, the danger of the fire we
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left behind is forgotten. We embrace, as we had done before, our hands and
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mouths exploring every inch of these new bodies.
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As I move around behind her, she twists her torso around to face me.
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My forelegs climb her back, and she arches her tail to give me better access
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as I plunge my arm-length penis into her quivering flesh. Her hair spills out
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and down over her left arm as she rests her head against the disheveled
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mattress. My hands clutch at her hips, striving to force myself deeper and
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deeper within her innermost recesses.
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I can feel her vagina contracting around me, almost milking me inside
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her when I pause for a breath of air. I can feel her fingers brushing against
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my testicles as she stimulates her clitoris. Reaching under and down, I take
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her breasts into my hands and caress them for a moment, pinching the nipples
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between my fingers. As i feel her breath growing shorter, and the contractions
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within her vulva growing stronger, I redouble my efforts, achieving my own
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climax as close to hers as possible.
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Like a siren, her cries cut through the night as her orgasm consumes
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her. Her hair thrashes with the movements of her head like something alive,
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and she is bucking her hips against me so hard I need to lean into them to
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keep her from throwing us both to the floor. I feel as though I were standing
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upon a precipice, with the moment of culmination just an instant away....
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...when the sound of her cries becomes the sound of my alarm clock.
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Another day in Hell begins.
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� �� � � �� �
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����������� Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ �۲��������
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