Woman of His Dreams - Part XVIII
Welcome to Part 18 of "Woman of His Dreams"! If you're new to my dark little erotic tale, you can find the start here!
Enjoy, and remember, dreams often have a life of their own...
~AC
Cynthia looked up at Stephen and the years melted away. Had it been so long ago when she’d been a starry-eyed grad student and Professor Wentworth had licked her out so thoroughly she’d lost her voice from the screams?
She took his hands, her pussy creaming anew with the memories, but her mind oddly clear, a sense of seeking and the powerful sense of preservation whipping back the lust. This man, this gorgeous, mature man with a deliciously thick cock had answers she needed, answers Brigitte needed and Tony.
Tony.
She gripped Stephen’s outstretched hands, her cheeks burning crimson flames as she quickly assessed her battered, bruised, over-sexed and nearly bare appearance. She stood, heart racing, weaving with vertigo.
“Stephen,” she barely whispered, catching him with a desperate, boneless grip. She wavered on the edge of darkness, a thick gray fog floating in from all sides. Strong arms wrapped around her middle, a warm living bar across her lower back. She swung the bag with the book over her shoulder and accepted his help.
“What happened to your clothes, Cynthia? You look like you’ve just crawled out of bed. Did you spend the night out there?” His voice chimed with humor, but the undertone melted her spine and tapped on her instincts. He knew. She’d been right to come here.
“I’ve not been feeling well, Stephen. I’m so sorry, I was coming down the stairs and this wave of …heat just overwhelmed me. I don’t know what happened. I think I fainted.”
“Well, I didn’t see anyone else out there, so I don’t think you were… attacked. Where’s your blouse?”
“I don’t know. I’m sick, I think. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to infect you.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she thought. It was funny how truth could be sliced and slivered.
“Then best we get you into my office.” He helped guide her like he might an elderly woman, and she let him, happy to bury her face in his chest, pull the clean spice of his masculinity into her lungs, to let his warmth ease the tension from her soul.
She needed this man. She needed his mind, his knowledge, the calm of his years.
His cock in her ass.
She stumbled as the image blasted new lust through her body, electric, bold and living.
He eased her through the door of his office, a room of dark panels and furnishings that she remembered – heavy wood and crimson cloth. She’d stepped back into Victorian England with her gentleman’s arm brazenly around her.
He lowered her into a chair in front of his desk and brought her a cup of water in a delicate porcelain tea cup stained by years of Earl Grey. She drained the cup in one swallow.
“Cynthia, while I’m delighted to see you, I am quite rightly intrigued as to why you’re here.” To the point. It had been one of the things she’d always liked about him.
She pulled the bag into her lap, her fingers pulsing over the hard cover of the book.
“Let me see that,” he said, taking the book from her. She hesitated to let go of it for even a moment, but then surrendered to his assurance. “Tales?”
“That’s why I’m here, Stephen. I need help.”
He opened the volume, and she saw his eyes widen a little, flicking left to right as he read a page, before he closed them and resolutely closed the book too. “Where did you get this?” he asked her and when he opened his eyes and looked at her again, she saw in them an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Disappointment and a twinge of jealousy batted at her brain. She knew she wasn’t the inspiration for his passion.
Fucking book.
“My … friend Tony found it, in an old store.”
“He’s the bookseller, right? Well, I’d say he made a real find this time. I’ve never seen this particular volume before, but I’ve seen something like it. This thing makes you dream, right?”
She nodded as he laid the book aside then put his hand on her bare shoulder, warm, fingers stroking but not to comfort.
“And it makes you want other things, yes?” He slipped her bra strap down her shoulder, thumb trailing down to tease her bared, stiffening nipple. “I can help you, Cynthia, but first you need to trust me.”
She moaned as he circled the swollen tip, his touch warmer and more adept than any she could remember. She parted her legs, glad her panties had vanished, ready for his touch there too, for his tongue. When he slid past the denim waist to her pussy, she moaned like a porn star, unashamed and ready. When he put a finger in her and began to pump slowly, she thrust her hips against his hand, the orgasm building fast.
“What you have here is very powerful and very dangerous,” he said, his voice as plain and logical as it had been when he’d lectured on Djoser’s reign during the third dynasty.
She came, just like that, her pussy clenching around his finger, breathless, the crazy lust spending itself in a stifled cry. Fuck Djoser.
“I need you to focus on what I am going to tell you and I can’t have you … distracted.”
She sagged and he righted her before carrying her to the leather sofa and laying her down there. Without a break in motion, he began to undress.
“First, though, I’m going to exhaust you,” he promised, again his voice the rod of a professor, matter-of-fact and exact. She almost came again.
Bare, his beautiful, thick cock standing out perpendicular to his body, he reached down, took her legs in his hands and turned her over, her butt exposed to the cool air, her jeans a bunched mess around her knees. She heard him spit, then felt the pressure of his cock against her aching ass.
“Then I’ll tell you a story.”
Enjoy, and remember, dreams often have a life of their own...
~AC
"Woman of His Dreams"
Part 18
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010
Part 18
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010
Cynthia looked up at Stephen and the years melted away. Had it been so long ago when she’d been a starry-eyed grad student and Professor Wentworth had licked her out so thoroughly she’d lost her voice from the screams?She took his hands, her pussy creaming anew with the memories, but her mind oddly clear, a sense of seeking and the powerful sense of preservation whipping back the lust. This man, this gorgeous, mature man with a deliciously thick cock had answers she needed, answers Brigitte needed and Tony.
Tony.
She gripped Stephen’s outstretched hands, her cheeks burning crimson flames as she quickly assessed her battered, bruised, over-sexed and nearly bare appearance. She stood, heart racing, weaving with vertigo.
“Stephen,” she barely whispered, catching him with a desperate, boneless grip. She wavered on the edge of darkness, a thick gray fog floating in from all sides. Strong arms wrapped around her middle, a warm living bar across her lower back. She swung the bag with the book over her shoulder and accepted his help.
“What happened to your clothes, Cynthia? You look like you’ve just crawled out of bed. Did you spend the night out there?” His voice chimed with humor, but the undertone melted her spine and tapped on her instincts. He knew. She’d been right to come here.
“I’ve not been feeling well, Stephen. I’m so sorry, I was coming down the stairs and this wave of …heat just overwhelmed me. I don’t know what happened. I think I fainted.”
“Well, I didn’t see anyone else out there, so I don’t think you were… attacked. Where’s your blouse?”
“I don’t know. I’m sick, I think. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to infect you.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she thought. It was funny how truth could be sliced and slivered.
“Then best we get you into my office.” He helped guide her like he might an elderly woman, and she let him, happy to bury her face in his chest, pull the clean spice of his masculinity into her lungs, to let his warmth ease the tension from her soul.
She needed this man. She needed his mind, his knowledge, the calm of his years.
His cock in her ass.
She stumbled as the image blasted new lust through her body, electric, bold and living.
He eased her through the door of his office, a room of dark panels and furnishings that she remembered – heavy wood and crimson cloth. She’d stepped back into Victorian England with her gentleman’s arm brazenly around her.
He lowered her into a chair in front of his desk and brought her a cup of water in a delicate porcelain tea cup stained by years of Earl Grey. She drained the cup in one swallow.
“Cynthia, while I’m delighted to see you, I am quite rightly intrigued as to why you’re here.” To the point. It had been one of the things she’d always liked about him.
She pulled the bag into her lap, her fingers pulsing over the hard cover of the book.
“Let me see that,” he said, taking the book from her. She hesitated to let go of it for even a moment, but then surrendered to his assurance. “Tales?”
“That’s why I’m here, Stephen. I need help.”
He opened the volume, and she saw his eyes widen a little, flicking left to right as he read a page, before he closed them and resolutely closed the book too. “Where did you get this?” he asked her and when he opened his eyes and looked at her again, she saw in them an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Disappointment and a twinge of jealousy batted at her brain. She knew she wasn’t the inspiration for his passion.
Fucking book.
“My … friend Tony found it, in an old store.”
“He’s the bookseller, right? Well, I’d say he made a real find this time. I’ve never seen this particular volume before, but I’ve seen something like it. This thing makes you dream, right?”
She nodded as he laid the book aside then put his hand on her bare shoulder, warm, fingers stroking but not to comfort.
“And it makes you want other things, yes?” He slipped her bra strap down her shoulder, thumb trailing down to tease her bared, stiffening nipple. “I can help you, Cynthia, but first you need to trust me.”
She moaned as he circled the swollen tip, his touch warmer and more adept than any she could remember. She parted her legs, glad her panties had vanished, ready for his touch there too, for his tongue. When he slid past the denim waist to her pussy, she moaned like a porn star, unashamed and ready. When he put a finger in her and began to pump slowly, she thrust her hips against his hand, the orgasm building fast.
“What you have here is very powerful and very dangerous,” he said, his voice as plain and logical as it had been when he’d lectured on Djoser’s reign during the third dynasty.
She came, just like that, her pussy clenching around his finger, breathless, the crazy lust spending itself in a stifled cry. Fuck Djoser.
“I need you to focus on what I am going to tell you and I can’t have you … distracted.”
She sagged and he righted her before carrying her to the leather sofa and laying her down there. Without a break in motion, he began to undress.
“First, though, I’m going to exhaust you,” he promised, again his voice the rod of a professor, matter-of-fact and exact. She almost came again.
Bare, his beautiful, thick cock standing out perpendicular to his body, he reached down, took her legs in his hands and turned her over, her butt exposed to the cool air, her jeans a bunched mess around her knees. She heard him spit, then felt the pressure of his cock against her aching ass.
“Then I’ll tell you a story.”
Continued in Part 19.
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Posted by Angela Caperton at 9/18/2010 8:27 AM 
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: dark erotica Lovecraft Angela Caperton Woman of His Dreams
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: dark erotica Lovecraft Angela Caperton Woman of His Dreams
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