She came this night, the way she had come every night for the last month or so. In the never land between dreams and consciousness, she was an imposing vision, always back lit by the brightest of moons. As the full length French doors opened, she seemed to float through to the foot of my bed. I lay there, on this night, naked, paralyzed, and without command of any will whatsoever. Since the first time she came to me, I have become terrified of the night. Now I always sleep with a tiny night light plugged into an outlet near my bed. Tonight it cast the room in an eerie golden glow.
As she moved closer, the soft glow of the light accentuated the color of the rich auburn hair that cascaded around her face in soft waves. Her lips were full and fire red; and as she looked at me, her smile was a smirking foreshadow of the evil ecstasy I would endure. Her skin was milky and soft, without a blemish or line; it radiated an unerring pureness that was a profound reversal of what she embodied. She wore a long, black, sheer robe, draped provocatively over her body, exposing her dramatic and inviting decollete. The vision of her was an epiphany of sexual desire, and unrelenting terror. Tonight was very different from all the other nights she came to me; tonight it was somehow, more real.
In the past, her visits had an eerie dreamlike quality. Each night I would go to sleep, and she would come to me. I would lie still in my bed with the covers pulled tight around my body. When she came, all I sensed was her presence. The next morning, I would remember the experience, but in the way you would remember any incredibly vivid dream. Ordinarily my dreams tend to fade as time went on, but these dreams became an indelible part of my consciousness.
She would appear over me, waking me by gently brushing her lips over my neck. I would feel her warm breath, and a drop of perspiration on my brow, then my eyes would open. She made no sound, and by putting her finger to her mouth, I knew that I was to be silent as well. As she kissed me lightly on my neck, she would tremble, her caress was deliberate and practiced, as if she was holding something back, not allowing herself to let go. I sensed an overpowering frustration as she kissed me softly on those nights. I wanted to scream out, but the sound would not come. I wanted to hold her, but my arms would not move.
The truth was, she was the embodiment of every sexual fantasy I ever had. She had long nails, painted the color of her lips, and when she would lie next to me, she would gently scrape them under my chin, down across my chest, over my abdomen, and then, exercising extra care, she would drag them up the shaft of my aroused penis.
Those nights would be spent in soft, slow, deep, wet kisses that seemed to go on for an eternity. We would lie in a motionless embrace, or softly satisfy each other with our hands, our legs, our mouths. I know now that she was imposing her will on me, tightening her grip on me with each visit. The next morning, I would become more and more preoccupied with the vision of her; almost as if my free will were being supplanted, and desire for her was being put in its place. The one thing that remained a constant for me all along was the doubt as to whether or not her visits could have been just a dream. I was becoming increasingly anxious about what was happening to me. As long as I could convince myself that her visits were all just dreams, as long as I could cling to some shred of evidence that her nocturnal encounters her not real, I would be all right. Tonight all of that ended.
There was a different texture about her visit tonight; there was a different look to everything. My senses were alive, and focused. As she stood at the foot of my bed, she stared at me intensely; her eyes were a brilliant fire green, the color of a fine tsavorite gemstone. I was under her control, no question about it. I wanted to get up; I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. I lay before her ultimately vulnerable, naked, trembling, and at the same time being filled with a desire that burned with the intensity of a ceremonial funeral pyre. She put her knee on the corner of the bed; reaching down she crossed her arms and took hold of the hem of her smock.
She lifted it over her head, exposing a curvaceous, muscular body. She let the smock fall to the floor, turning her head to the side. As I looked at her, I noticed she was breathing heavy, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She leaned over and started to crawl towards me slowly. As she hovered over me she bent down to whisper in my ear. As she did I felt her hardened nipples brush up against my chest. The fire of my passion grew more intense.
"First...," She said. "there's pleasure." And without another word she opened her mouth and gently covered mine.
As we passionately kissed, I was reacting to her automatically. All I owned was my desire for her. I wanted to leave, but I was being compelled to stay. I don't know if it was my desire for her, or some wicked spell that she cast on me; but it was apparent that some part of me was under her control. She put her arm under my shoulder and with a fluid motion she rolled me over on top of her. With a hand on each shoulder she pushed me down. I instinctively moved down, kissing first the nape of her neck, and then the soft underside of her breasts. Her skin was soft, and smooth. The scent of fresh lilies filled my nostrils as I worked my way down her body. It was like I was a slave, receiving instructions directly from her mind, yet the hunger, the yearning for her, was mine alone.
I knelt at the foot of the bed, prepared to worship before the alter of her body. She pointed her toe and slowly lifted it up to my face. I gazed down the line of her smooth, muscular, leg; the vision of it compounding my lust for her. I could feel the lobes of my ears turning bright red, and I could hear the howl of a lone wolf crying out in the night air as I took her foot into my hands. It was soft and delicate, and I started to massage it, working my palm into her arch. She rested her arms behind her head while caressing my hardened sex with her other foot. It seemed to me as if these feet never touched the ground; they were scented and soft, and I put her toes into my mouth, allowing my tongue to caress each one.
.... There is more of this story ...