Woman of His Dreams - Part XL
Welcome to Part 40 of "Woman of His Dreams"! If you're new to my dark little erotic tale, you can find the start here.
Stay sexy, and follow your dreams – at your own peril.
~AC
"Woman of His Dreams"
Part 40
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2011
The spring air blessed her skin. She was barely eighteen, the excitement of escaping from Mrs. Laurde’s stern chaperonage almost as invigorating as being by the lake with Ralph. Exposed in body and soul, her petticoats and blouse discarded in the pile of clothes they’d made at the foot of the blanket, she reached beyond the night and the stars, took flesh into her hands, into her mouth, and tasted her first cock. Would they still let Abby graduate if Mrs. Laurde’s reported her tryst? Everyone at Margaret Boskin’s School for Girls knew about Abby’s recent, failed rendezvous with Ralph Neffles. Mrs. Laurde would suspect correctly where Abby had run away to, and maybe the old woman would burst through the trees, but Abby didn’t care. She took Ralph’s cock into her mouth, almost gagging even as she thrilled at the passage of his veined length beyond her lips, even as she savored the strangeness of heat and salt, the friction and the wonderful weight on her tongue. The thin, fragile ribbon that still tied her to innocence, frayed with each slide of his cock into her throat.
Yes.
Ralph led the way. She fell in love for the first time that night as Ralph’s spend coated her tongue and slid down her throat. That had been real, not a story. Real.
Another saltiness coated her tongue as Cassia’s left fist broke Cynthia’s lip against her teeth – iron tang, hot and real, just like Ralph’s jerking seed that night by the lake.
But this moment’s blood had more weight, more immediacy. And, of course, it was married to pain.
Cynthia, still gripping the curled talon of Cassia’s right hand, still holding Rascal’s cock in her cunt, looked up at Cassia, spitting out the red froth.
A noise rose from outside, the shouting of a crowd, but far more savage and wild than any crowd Cynthia had ever heard.
“What’s out there?” Rascal asked, some sense of danger apparently penetrating the aura of spent yet newly churning lust that had settled over him.
“Death,” Cynthia said. “If we don’t do something about this damned book.”
“Death is relative,” Cassia breathed.
What the hell did that mean? I’ve died, she thought. I’ve already died.
Eliana looked at the dark man between her thighs, basked in the power she exercised over his guttural groans and his uneven thrusts into her. His graying hair and lined face masked the virility of his passion. Yes, many parts of him were wrinkled – his cock was not one of them. Eliana knew Nikris would find her again one day, find her and claim her, but for now she was her own woman – whore most would say – but she lived well, rented a modest room in a home owned by a blind widow and made her clients come to her. This gray-hair was no exception. Word of mouth kept her in linen, paid the widow and put food on the table. She whored when called upon, but that did not stop her seeking new strands of the mystery Nikris had teased her with.
That mystery still lay out there, beyond the city of glass, beyond the realm of Nikris, and someday she would find it again. Even if it meant whoring herself to things that were not human.
To gods.
Cynthia groaned as Rascal, his cock hard again, began to fuck her in earnest. He gripped her arms and pulled them back, her shoulder sockets burning against the angle. He wrestled her down onto him, thrusting hard, the sudden roughness both a concern and sharply arousing. Her pussy swelled around his meat even as he tore her, adding to the blood she’d spilled that night.
“Yes…Gods, Rascal, yes!” Her eyes closed as she arched back, head falling until her throat skin stretched against her windpipe. “Don’t stop, lover, whatever you do, do not stop!” Orgasm bloomed just beyond her reach, so close, so true, his prick growing inside her like the thick root of an ancient redwood – old, graying – timeless, stretching the earth around it, splitting rocks with the living pressure until…
“So easy to just…” Cassia’s voice almost hissed as she stroked Cynthia’s throat, her fingers erotically light, tracing the path of her jugular, pushing her closer toward the cliff of bliss.
A flash of white danced behind Cynthia’s lids, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the last traces of the light right before the cold bite of the blade, the pain pushing against the rising orgasm.
“You think you’ve got what it takes, sweetheart?” Cassia asked, her words like shards of glass against Cynthia’s ear.
“You think I don’t?” Cynthia panted, squirming against Rascal’s hips. “Do you think I’m unworthy? I have always been worthy.”
“Maybe, but I know what you are – I used to be like you.”
“Like me? No… I don’t think so,” she clenched her pussy around Rascal’s cock. “I’m different.”
Cassia laughed. “I said that once.”
Cynthia smiled, a painted grin of dismissal.
Cassia snarled, her arm tightening. “Remember, you fucking cunt, who has the blade.”
Rascal thrust hard, pulling Cynthia down, his cock spreading within her, caressing every erotic nerve in her core, mercilessly holding her at the edge of release even as Cassia’s blade scraped her neck as Rascal pulled and pushed her against the edge. Warm blood cooled on her skin, thick caramel that oozed past her collarbone.
Outside, the savage clamor grew louder. She heard a familiar voice rise above the din. Stephen’s voice, screaming. She realized the room had changed around them, the light outside different, the walls ancient plaster, and she knew she had fallen back into the book and that this time would be different.
Cynthia’s head dropped to her left and she focused on Cassia, the blade cutting another nick into her tender neck. Rascal’s thrusts became almost violent, demanding her attention, her body’s homage to its precision, length, girth and…omniscience. She saw the edge, felt the wave as it began to curl over, to suspend a moment before the crash. One more thrust into her, one more stab of his cock into her flesh, and she fell, the impact obliterating, the angry foam and spray of ecstasy only enhanced by the thin cut across her throat, the warm gush from her neck as magnificent and completing as Rascal’s orgasm inside her.
“Rascal, yes!!” she cried, a gurgle trailing the breath she’d used to say the words, her love in that moment complete, amazed and divine, her devotion to this one act whole-hearted and without regret. She sagged, bleeding, her body a chorus of rejoicing as the orgasm rose beyond her skin, beyond her soul into some other strata.
To gods.
Rivers of pleasure flowed through her as she sagged against Rascal, her vision turning black, her body’s fading echo of pleasure leaving her nothing but weakness and fading twitches…
Cassia caught her hair, kissing the ragged wound in Cynthia’s throat, tenderly tonguing the healing edge. “It’s not that easy,” she said. “You’re not going to die. You both are coming with me.
“We’re going outside.”
Continued in Chapter 41.
Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Copyright 2011 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 3/12/2011 8:05 AM 
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: Woman of His Dreams Angela Caperton dark erotica Lovecraft
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: Woman of His Dreams Angela Caperton dark erotica Lovecraft
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