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!”
