Dream Lover

by Lise Horton


Eleanora closed the door to her small chamber and sighed with exhaustion. Gently lighting the single candle sitting atop her bedside table she stood and stretched sore and aching muscles. The day had been a long one and dinner with the joyous bride and groom celebrating while she toiled alone in the grim kitchen had left her suffering the pangs of loneliness and yearning.

Slipping out of the soiled garment she’d worn, she poured a slight amount of the chilly water into the bowl and hastily washed herself, shivering in the cold night air that shifted uncomfortably around her as the wind stole in through the cracks in the wooden planking of the garret.

Pulling her threadbare nightdress over her head she wrapped her arms about her frame and stood for a moment looking out upon the new fall of snow that blanketed the dreary yard beneath in a sparkling cover of purity. The sliver of new moon shone feebly over the snow and shadows were rife. The quiet of the night enhanced her sense of sadness and finally she stepped away, turned to her solitary bed and slid beneath the covers, finally relaxing as her body warmth heated the cocoon.

Midnight came and went and Eleanora twisted fitfully in her sleep. Her dreams fractured and the images swirled and the dreamscape was a misty greyness brightened only by a distant point of reddish light that pierced the gloom.

Warmth, then heat, began to pulse from that point of light and in her dream, her nightdress filmy and flowing about her ankles, Eleanora was drawn toward it. She reached out, but suddenly the world beneath her feet disappeared and she was falling.

“Save me!” her thin cry of despair echoed in the mist.

Then strong hands caught her. She was clutched against a hard body and warm arms encircled her. With a grip like velvet steel her savior cradled her. Soothing hands stroked her flesh and in the blink of an eye she was naked. Her flesh pulsed with awareness as the hands touched her, growing bolder and more demanding.

She lay spread across a bed, the sheets beneath her body soft and clean. Atop her lay a hard male body, his face framed by thick waves of midnight black hair, but his features hidden from hers as his seeking lips caressed her face, her neck, and then down, down, until that hot mouth found the tip of her breast and wicked teeth, then tongue feasted on her flesh. Her body began to writhe as wondrous sensations coursed through her. His hands squeezed and teased and titillated her skin, touching here, then there, growing more intense. Between her thighs fingers probed, testing her, plunging deep until the juices of her desire, unfamiliar but ah, so welcome, flooded from her, scenting the air with want.

As the air grew warmer, then hotter, as her flesh began to tingle with the heat, the bone deep cold of her existence melted away. Arms held her, hands caressed her. The man atop her, thickly muscled and heavy pressed down upon her. His thick male flesh parted her thighs. Hot and hard that flesh pushed between those now damp lips and stretched her, impaled her, filled her until she screamed with the pleasure as he came into her. Harder, then faster, deeper he forced himself into her as her tender body flowered open to the sharp impalement.

Sharp nails began to scratch at the skin over her breasts and she felt the wicked tongue pierce her mouth, searching. The kiss grew feral and her own hunger grew apace. Their bodies surged together and the pulse of need swelled. Her flesh trembled, her breath grew short as the man – as her anonymous lover - possessed her, taking from her with rough demand. Into her he thrust, at her mouth he fed. His nails scored her and she relished the sharp pains that grew until they were all encompassing. Her body throbbed and her spirit strained for a glory she could not name.

When the guttural roar filled her ears, as the man surged forward and poured his hot seed into her she felt the rush of ecstasy fill her, heard her own scream echo through the dreamscape and then – just before the iron grip loosed her and the weight of her lover vanished, a whisper sliced into her ear.

“Mine.”

***

What a strange dream, though Eleanora as she opened drowsy eyes the next morning. Pale light from the dawn filtered into the room and she lay for a moment, rousing herself from slumber.

Her cheeks pinkened at the memory of her erotic night fantasy. Her tempestuous dream. Yet her body felt tight, and sore, and there was an odd stickiness between her thighs. Frowning, Eleanora could make no sense of it.

But there was work to be done. Solace found in dreams was a fancy she had no time for. It was back to the weary existence she’d known for so long.

Rebraiding her hair, she stepped before the wash bowl and the dim glass, and pulled off her night dress. She’d wash quickly before dressing again and then …

…Eleanora stood transfixed before the glass. Rather than the pale, naked body she glimpsed every morning, a wanton stared back.

Her lips appeared swollen. Her breasts seemed fuller, rounder, their peaks hard and ruched. For the first time she noticed her waist flaring to lush hips, and the dark patch of curls that guarded her feminine core glistened.

Her eyes widened. The memories of rough hands on her body were immediate – no dreamy touches, vague and elusive, but harsh and demanding, claiming.

Leaning forward, peering closer at her reflection in the mirror in the grey morning gloom she touched her breasts. They ached. There, the marks of teeth. And there, a long red scratch. Below, on her stomach, bluish bruises, the imprints of fingers marred the pale white of her skin.

And between her thighs the telltale wash of blood stained her. Her heart began to beat faster. What was this madness?

Her mind whirled, but suddenly, just as the sun peeked over the Eastern horizon, a heated whisper washed through her very soul.

“Mine!”

If You Can't Stand The Heat ....

“Lay down.”

Camille raised an eyebrow at Jackson. “I beg your pardon?”

“Take off your dress and lay down on the table.”

The last customers had been long gone. The entire staff had left. Camille remained, alone with her new tempestuous chef, Jackson Cole. They’d had words on several occasions during the first services of the new restaurant.

During the last argument, he had leaned in, grabbed her by the neck and to her shock and altogether too pleased surprise, kissed her hard. Then he had growled in her ear.

“I will get my revenge. Count on it.”

He stood in front of her, towering at six foot five, broad shouldered, his arms crossed over his impressive chest. His eyes blazed and while he didn’t look mad – he looked dangerous.

“I told you there’d be payback.” He walked forward, trapping her between the table and his imposing form. “Now. Take. Your. Dress. Off.”

For some inexplicable reason, Camille lifted her hands to the buttons that ran down the front of her brand new, sleek and sexy royal blue dress. The one that matched the graphic in their logo, and the stripe on their china. One after another she slid them through the buttonholes until her dress gaped and her pristine white push-up was exposed.

Jackson swooped down. His hands clasped her around the waist and he buried his mouth between her breasts, nuzzling and kissing before taking a soft mouthful and biting.

“I’m hungry.” He then pulled her dress down her arms, and with a tug, yanked the remaining buttons off. Lifting her effortlessly, he picked her up and sat her down on the table. Swiping one arm across the table he pushed all the cutlery and plates to the floor with a crash.

“Jackson!”

“Quiet. I don’t like noise while I eat.”

None too gently, he pushed her backwards on the table, pulled her thong off and smiled down. Taking an ankle in each hand he spread her wide, and then looked up into her eyes.

“I’ve been planning on feasting on you for days. But I think we need a little something extra spicy here. Planting each foot, still clad in her heels, on one corner of the table, he pointed one finger at her. “Don’t move. Or I won’t let you come.”

Camille didn’t budge. She was suddenly breathless and the entire absurdity of the situation occurred to her but oddly, she just didn’t care. The sexual tension between her and Jackson had been ratcheting up every day that they worked – and clashed – together. Now he was just overwhelming her and while her common sense screamed at her that she was insane, this time, just this once in her life, she was going to take a walk on the wild side.

“Now this will be just right. Gonna tingle a little, but you know how I like my food hot and spicy.”

Then he bent over her and drizzled his specialty hot sauce right onto her. The liquid dripped through the moisture and instantly she began to feel the burn. She started to twitch, but Jackson slapped her right between the legs.

“Don’t move, I told you.”

Then he put his mouth on her.

He wiggled his tongue, ran it up and down the length of her labia. Insinuated it into her with a wicked movement. She could feel his tongue – feel him licking her inside, feel the stinging, sizzling burn of the hot sauce as he lapped at her. Everything was thrumming, throbbing, liquefying and she was panting.

Then he spread her wide with two fingers and thrust his tongue deep, probing, and retreating, and sucking and the feel of him rasping over her clit, swiping the hot sauce across that needy little bead of flesh until with a suddenness that overwhelmed her, the orgasm slammed into her. Writhing in his hands, her back bowing as the jolt hit her groin, then spread throughout, her stomach, her breasts, right to the very tips of her fingers until it felt as if her entire body was one tsunami of orgasm.

And Camille decided that she would be fighting with Jackson Cole on a regular basis.

Then he lifted his head, looking at her with a devilish grin as he licked his lips.

“Mighty fine. This should be on the menu. Pussy Diablo.”

Men Out of Uniform

I’d always loved Fleet Week in NYC, but this year I got a whole new reason to look forward to it from now on. My little funky burger joint and bar always gets a lot of sailors. We’re right in the heart of Times Square, where the action is, so to speak. Unfortunately we were short-handed, so I was doubling as waitress and bartender, and it was a madhouse. By the time we gave last call I was ready to get off my feet and have a nice cold drink of my own. “You look bushed.” The sailor I’d been serving, along with his buddy, grinned. And it was a helluva grin. They were both incredibly sexy and they were wearing officers’ beige. Both were tanned, swarthy and definitely drool worthy. “Long night.” I passed them their last couple of brews and rolled my eyes. I’d been chatting with them all night, giving them some tips on good places to visit. They’d been to the City quite a few times, but I knew of some new attractions, like the Hi-Line. “Anyplace else still open around here? We’re not ready to head back to our hotel yet.” “Nope. We’re the last bar standing, guys. But your hotel probably has a bar if you want a last nightcap.” I dropped my towel and bent down to pick it up and when I stood, they were both grinning again, and looking at my ass. “Subtle, guys.” I returned to the bar, cashed out the few tabs and then started shutting down. But the sailors were milking the last few minutes and I’m a patriot, so I didn’t kick them out. When they saw me start turning off the lights, though, they got up and tucked away their change, before handing over a nice tip to me. “Thanks. You made our night.” “Happy to be of service, gentlemen. We New Yawkers aim to please.” For a second there was a pregnant pause and I realized my words might have sounded flirtatious. Not that I hadn’t wanted to flirt. Two gorgeous studs like these guys were rare in my place. “Maybe you’d be willing to extend a bit more local courtesy?” The black-haired guy had a twinkle in his eye when he said it, and if I hadn’t figured it out, he took a couple of steps closer and took my hand in his. “Exactly. Help show two poor sailors a bit more … hospitality?” The sun-kissed brunette moved in a bit closer too. My mouth dried right up. I had a very good idea what these guys were suggesting, and I will admit that while I’m no shrinking violet by any means, the image they gave me of being the filling in a sailor sandwich was, well, incredibly damned hot. Parts of me started tingling, big time. “I, uh – “ “How about a drink at our hotel and we’ll talk?” That let me say yes without saying yes, exactly, if you know what I mean but an hour later, after two tall, icy G&T, I was certainly entertaining some distinctly kinky ideas. When the hotel barman said goodnight, the two of them, each holding a hand, started easing me toward the elevators. “C’mon,” they said in unison. Then my dark-haired sailor Rick, leaned over and whispered. “You showed us such a great time, we want to return the favor.” “We give good …” added Don. “What?” I said “Everything.” What girl could resist? Their room was small, but nice, but that’s the only thing I saw before they had me stripped, and wide-eyed at their equipment. Maybe it was the fresh, salt air, and lots of exercise, but they were both nicely muscled, and hard, hard, hard. In all the right places. They were take charge guys, and I never had a chance. When they suggested I’d be one happy camper with a big cock in my pussy, and a thick hard one up my ass? I practically raised my hand like the good Catholic schoolgirl I’d been and said ‘Yes, Please!’. They had some fun little kinks that I indulged with zeal, I learned I was a lot more flexible than I thought, and trust me when I say I’ll never look at a bottle of seltzer the same way again. There were some hot games of tie me up, tie me down, and summer fun with suntan oil. The guys made everything seem like fun, and it was even when my ass got paddled so hard I knew I’d have no trouble staying on my feet for my next shift. The naughty schoolgirl who got paddled also had to bend over and submit to a Vaseline coated butt plug before being ordered to her knees to suck off her two teachers as punishment. Trust me when I say I’d have gotten better grades at City college if my professors had been half so attentive. All in all, I felt a lot like a horny, female Oliver Twist cuz all night long, no matter how long and hard they gave it to me, I kept begging for more. And like the Officers and Gentlemen they were, they gave it to me.

Ghostly Lover

Caroline moaned. His hands were touching her hot, moist flesh. His gaze never left her face. His body rose above hers, moving, yet tense with his passion. He filled her body, his love filled her soul. She reached out for him, but felt nothing. No warmth, no heated skin. She longed to taste him, but he turned his face away, refusing her his lips. Around her the world was a vacuous, shadowy darkness. But there, in her bed, his presence overwhelmed her. She could feel the heat. The delectable swelling between her thighs as his cock impaled her with brutal, inexorable strokes. Again, and again, her desire rose and rose, until finally, it crested, and swept her away with orgasmic possession. “My love! My life!” The whisper touched her ears as she writhed in desperate delight. Between her legs, the testimony of the body’s joy flowed freely, coating her thighs and anointing the sheets. From one second to the next, as the rays of dawn touched the window, Caroline was suddenly, once again, alone. The weight upon her vanished. Cool air breathed once again across her now damp flesh. She lay twisted in the sheets and blankets as her blood throbbed. Then she awoke. Caroline opened her eyes and looked around the solitary space. Yet she could feel the presence. Feel HIM. The power of his thighs, the steely heat of his cock, and the grip of his hands. She looked down at her arms. Were those the faint marks of fingers on her flesh? Between her legs, her pussy felt used, deliciously tender. A breeze played across her face. His musky scent filled her nostrils. His whisper filled her ears. “Until tonight, my love . . .”