Just yesterday I announced here that my next book Alice had been delivered to my publisher. Now, @RebelsNotes issued a writing challenge (something I cannot resist) with the starter “Alice tried to remember who had given her the key…” which was a natural tie in to the upcoming book, so here is my … prequel to the new book. The book is just called Alice and will be available when ever the publisher thinks it should be.
Alice tried to remember who had given her the key, but the dull iron in her palm remained an enigma she couldn’t unwrap. It had simply been there when she’d awoke and the presence of the ancient twisted metal was a counterpoint to the nerves that still sang through her from her tender sex to the flush of her cheeks.
The dream had been so vivid, so wild, Alice was sure she was hell-bound for imagining such a dire thing, but the look of that throbbing, turgid cock in front of her was so real she could even remember the dusky, manly smell of it.
He’d simply stood by her bed as though he’d always been there and always would. A large dark shadow among so many, but the muscles on his chest shone back the light of the embers that lay snuggled under the ash of the fireplace. Thick strong legs, heavy arms and a most impressive shaft that stuck on his waist like a master sculptor’s afterthought. He seemed to move with a cat-like grace even when standing still.
His hand reached for her throat and wrapped around her neck. She expected fear, but his grip was loose. He held her as though he owned her, as though his grip was a collar, his arm the leash. Alice breathed in the dream, the fear never came. His grasp, as visceral as it was, seemed oddly comforting.
Alice lifted her hips as he slid the small nightgown upward against her cooling skin. He revealed her as completely as he was revealed, all the while holding her throat as tenderly as if she were a kitten or a new born foal.
The shadow moved again, releasing her neck and taking her hips. Somehow, in the dream, she couldn’t remember, somehow he spun her on the mattress so her legs hung off the side of the bed and took her ankles in his strong grasp. He lifted her legs and lowered himself to one knee beneath her so he could lay his head onto her bare slit.
Alice jumped and squirmed when she felt his tongue touch her, squealing in the sweetness of a dream, writhing in the night’s embrace as the shadow figure drove his wet mouth over her sex and nibbled at the flaps of her moistening sex.
Shadows rose and Alice felt small and fragile under their gaze. The bed held her in down fingers and her little struggles only fueled the fire growing in her belly and hardened the silk shaft before her.
In her dream, the quiet strength of the shadow man lifted her legs and rolled her wet aching sex up to meet his hardness. She felt him part her lips, the ache and need doubling in her, making her scared and excited and wonton in ways no other wet dream had done before.
The dark shaft was hot; she’d not been expecting that. Shadows are cold, heat stealing things, but this was warm and stiff and covered with small veins. Her sex was struck by the hardness of his tip and parted. Her legs bent over her suddenly tender breasts and the sense of exposure and helplessness rose. She knew it all for a dream and counted herself clever for having made that connection.
When he thrust into her, she knew nothing more at all.
Alice fell into the bedding; her sex stretched and filled, the hot shaft sliding past her lips and invading her belly. He took her as a man takes a woman, as a conqueror takes a prize and her upward thrust to meet his only fired them both as he drove into her sex again and again.
She latched on to him as best she could, but her legs were prisoners in his grasp and the bed held her in powerful arms only a dream can explain. She lay back, helpless, vulnerable and feeling more and more aroused by her helpless state until the moment began to build in her.
It came suddenly, unexpectedly. It wasn’t a slow growth to a warm orgasm as was so often the case by her own hand, this was sudden, explosive, a violent attack of pleasure and pain in her body that shattered her thoughts and Alice felt as though for a pure moment of agonizing bliss that she was flung from her body and cast adrift in indescribable sensations and only the rapid slamming of her heart against her chest still remained to lead her back to the battered and used body that still lay twitching on the mattress.
The shattered thought lead to scattered dreams and Alice awoke with the pale reasoning sunlight scrubbing away the last of the shadows. Her nightgown was drenched and torn, her wetness had flooded the sheets and the lassitude of her exertions felt like a heavy weight on her naked skin.
Of the dream, a single moan and an old iron key were all that were left.
Alice weighed the iron in her palm and at once thought of the door in the back of her uncle’s wine cellar, the one she’d never been allowed to go into.
Tonight. She would go tonight.