"In my darkest hour, when I lost both my best friend, a man I truly loved, and the man I thought I loved, I remembered you, my lord. That's when I had the first dream..."
"For six months I waited here!” He gripped the cross passionately, staring into her eyes. “I wondered why I didn't leave, Sofia, why I didn't just sell the land and take off to Europe for a year or two, see more of the world, maybe visit India or Japan, or both. Anne and I lived here for five years, the memory of her poisoned every goddamn leaf and blade of grass, yet I endured it because, for some reason, I couldn't leave. Her ghost faded sooner than I thought it would, and then I was glad I'd stayed, but I was still making plans to go away, to lock up the house and take off for a long time, when at last you showed up. You almost made me wait too long, my love. God knows when I would have come back, if ever, and by then you might not have been living here anymore, and even if you were, you'd probably be with the wrong man again. A beautiful woman like you can't be alone for long.” He let go of the cross. “You shouldn't be."
"No, John, I wouldn't have been with another man, I would have been dreaming of you and waiting for you, I know I would have, but I'm so glad I didn't have to! I'm so glad you stayed!” He had called her my love but she couldn't think about that yet, if she did her knees might give way and the chicken would burn and she wouldn't be able to concentrate on serving it, or on anything else.
He picked up the wine bottle, and topped off both their glasses. “Do we have time to sit out on the porch and talk for a while before dinner?"
"Of course."
"Good, because I know more about your past life than I do about this one."
* * * *
S ofia hadn't talked so much since before Robert died, only with this man she didn't have to hold any of herself back, she felt she could—and she did—tell him everything she could think of. They talked out on the porch until the expensive organic bird in the oven was in danger of burning, then they came back inside and continued conversing by candlelight as they dined. Even if he had left right after dinner, it would still have been the perfect evening, but it didn't end there. He told her to get a flashlight and slip on some comfortable shoes, and together they walked out to the chicken coop. The hens were already inside; all she had to do was close the wire-mesh door and lock it with the metal clasp he had made raccoon-proof. Her favorite part of the coop was the back, where there were three little panels that lifted up so she could reach inside and grab the freshly laid eggs. With their large, brilliant orange yokes, the eggs he had given her tasted far better than the organic eggs she bought at Whole Foods. She was falling in love with the man standing beside her in the dark and with everything; she couldn't tell the difference. She didn't want to admit it, but he was right, she couldn't have endured living out here all alone, not for long, and just thinking about what might have happened filled her with despair. She remembered how during their first meeting he had warned her there were a lot of predators out here, yet that was how she felt about the city, where she had lived in apartments like chicken coops surrounded by emotional, physical and spiritual perils she was only now becoming fully aware of. Out here she was free to be herself like never before as she truly began plumbing the depths of who she was, and the deeper she looked inside herself, the more mystery she saw and the older she felt in an invigorating sense that made her feel timelessly young.
He switched off the flashlight and they walked back to the house in the dark, guided by the glimmer of candles still burning on the dining room table more faintly than the stars sparkling overhead in the clear black sky.
"You need some furniture,” he had observed at dinner. “I'd be happy to build you some."
She had discovered that her lover was a capitalist, a farmer and a craftsman, and since apparently he was wealthy enough to travel the world for a few years at will, she added investment banker to the list. That he was also the most sexually exciting man she had ever met was part of the whole mysteriously fascinating equation of who he was.
"That's a Templar cross you're wearing around your neck,” he remarked as he filled her glass with the wonderful red wine he had brought.
She had replied without a second thought, “You were once a Templar, my lord, a true knight of God."
"You think so?"
She was beginning to recognize the cool tone of voice with which he greeted her most intense remarks—it meant he was more pleased by her comment than he cared to admit.
They talked briefly about where they grew up and where they went to school, about her career and his former entrepreneurship, about their favorite music and movies and foods, but they avoided discussing any details about their respective “dark” years, which had culminated in this emotionally luminous evening that made her feel her life had only just begun.
As they walked back into the house, the open space echoing the sound of his boots, he asked, “Are you going to let me build you some furniture, Sofia?"
"Of course, I would be honored! It just seems like so much trouble..."
"Nothing is too much trouble for you.” He went into the kitchen to put the flashlight back in the laundry room, and while he was gone she slipped back into her high-heels. “Besides, it's not trouble, it's pleasure,” he said firmly when he returned. “I love working with my hands.” He reached down and pulled her dress off, leaving her no choice but to raise her arms over her head and assist him in stripping her. He stood gazing at her naked body by the flickering candlelight, walking slowly around her holding her dress in both his hands, and for some reason she thought of a priest performing a sacrament.
"Your body belongs to me as much as to you now, Sofia."
"Yes, my lord."
He draped the dress over a chair and picked up one of the candles burning in an antique brass pillar. “Come here.” He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. Her heels ticked like a clock even as she was possessed by a sense of timelessness.
He set the candle down on the nightstand, and surprised her by perching on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots before he spread himself back across it.
"Come here,” he said again, and she happily slipped out of her shoes to lie beside him, cradling her head against his chest and slipping her hand into his shirt. The top three buttons were undone, but she couldn't caress enough of his chest to satisfy her, and she moaned in frustration.
"Did you masturbate after I left this afternoon, Sofia?"
The question shocked her, and then she wondered why. “Yes, my lord..."
"You've wanted my cock all day, haven't you?"
"Yes..."
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. “Suck it.” He shoved his underwear down and wrested his hard-on out straight up into her mouth because she was already crouching hungrily over him.
He tasted like the wine she had drunk and warm flesh and smelled of earth and soap, and something else indefinably irresistible. His skin was smooth and silky, and she relished the slick, ravenous sounds she made sucking him down, bracing herself on his hard thighs as she took all of him into her mouth; ringing the full length of his erection with her lips while swirling her tongue around it, submerging him in a whirlpool of firm, soft and hot sensations even as she moved a hand down to cradle his cool and tender balls, clutching them gently but possessively. She wasn't satisfied until he groaned, almost inaudibly, but the quiet sound reverberated triumphantly through her soul and inspired her to give him the blowjob of his life. When he abruptly grabbed her head with both hands, she moaned too, in gratitude that he was using her orifice they way she longed for him to, completely, not just concentrating on her devoted lips and energetic tongue but savoring her vulnerable throat, too. He caressed as much of his dick as he could with the inside of her neck, moving her face swiftly up and down over him. He threaded his fingers through her hair to get a better grip on her head, and she concentrated on breathing through her nose as he used her selfishly, never even giving her a chance to swallow the semen collecting i
n the hollow of her throat and threatening to gag her in combination with his thrusts. She was increasingly uncomfortable, and utterly content.
He skull-fucked her for such a long time she was surprised and disappointed when he didn't come in her mouth in the end. He pulled out and commanded her silently, with his hands gripping her arms, to sit on his cock. She straddled him breathlessly, bracing herself on his chest with one hand while with the other she stroked her clitoris, afraid she couldn't take how big and hard he was so swiftly. He gave her just a few seconds before he gripped her hips and slid her cunt down around him. She cried out as he forced his erection past her dry opening into the slick, warm depths that embraced him with intense relief that he was finally filling up the smoldering wet emptiness she had suffered all day.
"Touch yourself the way you did this afternoon, Sofia. I want to see you come. And don't close your eyes. You're going to watch me watching you."
She moaned and obeyed him, of course, it was the easiest thing in the world to do, and the hardest, too, because even by the soft glow of candlelight she felt shy wondering if her face would be contorted by ecstasy or somehow become lovelier than ever.
He reached up and rubbed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing and rubbing in rhythm with her wrists working between her legs. She didn't slide her pussy up and down his cock; she kept it planted as deep inside her as possible, the open folds of his jeans tormenting her because they prevented her from getting absolutely all of him inside her.
"I said look at me,” he commanded when she forgot and closed her eyes to follow the luminous path of the climax igniting in her pelvis and swiftly escalating towards an implosion of pure pleasure her flesh would somehow contain and survive.
She opened her eyes again and somehow kept them open staring down into his even as the orgasm she gave herself impaled on his erection literally blew her mind. She didn't care at all what she looked or sounded like as he lifted his hips off the bed and rammed his pulsing dick in and out of her pussy as he came with her.
Chapter Fourteen
S he was in an empty church. It was the dead of night. She had rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, then a second later she opened them again and was there. It wasn't a normal dream because she knew where her body was—lying in bed in another dimension that wasn't as real as this one. At first all she could feel was relief to finally be here. Then she was consumed by sadness at how long it had taken her awareness to shift the vital degree needed to put the reality that always existed just outside her flesh into focus, so she could truly see it and experience it. She had been in this particular place before, of that she was certain even though a long time had passed since her soul commanded a mind with the knowledge to realize it. Relief and regret gave way to an excitement tempered by uncertainty, because she didn't quite know what she was doing here now. She felt she should know, that it was imperative she remember, but the truth was buried too deep inside her.
Sofia looked around her, amazed by the clarity of the details her dreaming eyes could perceive and focus on for more than a blurry second. She had to write all this down when she woke up so she wouldn't forget anything, and she looked forward to telling John about the intricately carved columns. It was dark in the church, but not cold; the atmosphere vibrated on the same frequency as her feelings. She searched for the source of the faint illumination that just barely enabled her to make out the carvings, but she couldn't find it. The golden glow was subtle as candlelight, yet it didn't flicker, or appear to rely on any substance to sustain it. The soft light created hosts of shadows and seemed to be coming from the center of the chapel. She walked towards it past rows of empty pews even though she would have liked to linger over the columns with their beautiful bas-reliefs depicting all the bounties of nature—flowering trees and bushes and vines, cows and horses, fish and fowl—pagan iconography in a Christian building. The altar dedicated to Christ's mass was covered by a white cloth that literally glowed in the dark, but that wasn't surprising because she knew that fabric, like everything else, is only an illusion; all matter is truly energy mysteriously given form by consciousness. When she saw the opening in the stone floor, she was gripped by an excitement so intense it was purely sexual. The light had seemed to be rising out of it, but now she thought it must be emanating from the stone beneath her feet because the wound in the earth before her was pitch-black. The longer she stared down at it the hotter she got and the less she could feel the difference between this hole in the ground and the one between her legs. To be frightened of it would be as foolish as fearing her own sex. Even though she couldn't see them, she knew there were steps leading down deep into the ground and she gladly followed them, her bare feet easily finding the stairs plunging into the earth. Only then did she become aware of the plain white shift she was wearing, sleeveless and low-cut, that fell to her ankles.
Lights flickered in the distance beneath her as if the star-filled sky was below her, otherwise she could see absolutely nothing. The darkness was impenetrable and the farther she descended the more aroused she became, as though she was actually ascending inside. To say that she was turned was like comparing a candle to the sun. There was no earthly way to satisfy her, yet she knew that whatever happened to her would feel impossibly good. Her lord was waiting for her, she could suddenly feel his presence. Without him she was lost, she was nothing...
When she touched bottom she suddenly saw on either side of her the carved effigies of two knights resting on the stone floor, their gloved hands gripping the hilts of swords stretching the length of their armored bodies. There was an explosion of heat in her chest she recognized as grief when she saw the profile of the man buried on her left, and the sensation of sadness and loss was so intense she began waking up...
"Sofia."
The sound of her name divided her in half because she couldn't tell if it was coming from her bedroom in the woods or from the crypt below the heart of a church. Then she understood there was no real difference between them, and the dream solidified around her again as John stepped towards her out of the darkness. She was so happy to see him she wondered shy she didn't run straight into his arms, but part of her knew why, and was thrilled beyond measure. He was dressed entirely in black, all she could see of him was his face, and suddenly she caught the scent of leather all around her, an invigorating, living smell. It was as if this bowel in the earth was home to all the reptiles from which the tough skins had come to protect the more sensitive flesh of the men she glimpsed standing in the shadows around her, watching intently as John gripped her wrists in his gloved hands and raised her arms straight up over her head. Again she was afraid she would wake up as she felt herself being suspended, her feet rising off the floor so her toes pointed down like a dancer's barely grazing the stone, and she was possessed by an almost unbearably beautiful feeling of grace beating at the haunting heart of her helplessness. The only thing she couldn't tolerate anymore was the dress she was wearing. She was desperate for him to rip it off like a shroud and reveal the hot galaxies of her aureoles sprouting lusciously firm nipples. Her flesh responded to the sight of the dagger in his hand with a flash of lust that nearly caused her to black out it was so sharp and cut her so deep. The pleasure was nearly intolerable as he clutched the dress over her heart and cut the it off her slowly, staring into her eyes as he licked her flesh with the tip of the blade. The fiery caress felt like a blessing to her smoldering sex, the countless veins and capillaries branching through her body transformed into a burning bush of unquenchable desire.
At last she was naked, and she understood then where the soft light had been coming from all along, not from the stones, not from the hole in the ground, not from hidden candles, but from her own skin. Her flesh was the luminous warmth revealing the earthen walls of the crypt. There was no God she could pray to for relief from the longing to be absolutely controlled and violently used, there was only her lord before her, he was everything and she was all his, she had come
from him, she would come for him, there was no difference. Endless thrusts of unmitigated force would never be enough to satisfy her, but it was all she longed for forever....
He sheathed the knife in a leather scabbard hanging from his hips, from which he then unwound a long black whip. He turned his back on her as if to walk away, but then abruptly faced her again and the agonizingly fine leather sliced across her breasts, the snake-like tip giving one of her nipples a flaming kiss. The pain was so intense she nearly climaxed, and the only thing she dreaded was waking up.
"Oh, my lord!” she sighed. “I love you more than anything!"
"I am everything,” he sliced the whip across her womb, “through you, Sofia."
The agony blazed through her like an orgasm, her innermost muscles clenching and shuddering with joy. Two more men stepped out of the darkness, both of them holding whips in their black-gloved hands, and she was filled with despair knowing she couldn't remain suspended between dimensions much longer. A steam-like hiss issued from the crypt as three whips all snaked across her body at the same time, one licking her breasts, the other the infinitely sensitive flesh just above her sex, and the third the breathtakingly tender skin of her thighs. It was too much for her ... she woke up in the throes of a climax, her hand working between her thighs, and a moan of superficial fulfillment mingled with profound disappointment rose from her throat where she lay in bed alone.
* * * *
A lthough part of her had obviously been into it, Sofia didn't quite know what to make of her latest dream. It definitely fell into the category of “fantasy” because she knew for a fact she would not enjoy being whipped in real life. Or would she? Answers to questions she once took for granted weren't quite as obvious to her now that her reaction to things wasn't constricted by Steve's appallingly conventional mind-set. How could she not have realized when she was living with him how typically superficial and profoundly boring he was? In retrospect it seemed obvious it was Robert she had really been in love with and Steve had served as her fuck-puppet, her living sex toy, the cute male pet she fed and cuddled with every night in front of the television set. It wasn't the fact that he was five years younger that had made him so wrong for her. She was increasingly ashamed of the person she had been when they were together. In many ways she had used him, convincing herself she was in love with him to romanticize a base need for companionship and sex. She had allowed her body's needs to rule the desires of her soul for so long that a violent end was inevitable. She didn't feel any guilt—in his own way Steve had used her as much as she had used him—but she did feel ashamed of herself. It must have pained Robert to no end to see her wasting herself like that.
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