Erotica Fantastica

by Saskia Walker

  He pinned her down with his hands on her hips. "And you also have too much pride to ask me if the rumors were true." He quirked an eyebrow to emphasize his point. "The match was discussed, but it was not for me. My father has been set straight on that matter." He shrugged off his great coat, casting it aside. "There's only one woman I want in my bed."

  The fine lawn of his shirt clung to the heat of his body, drawing her attention, making her want him even more. Ducking his head, he breathed along the skin of her cleavage. His mouth on her breast stole her breath away. Meanwhile, he pushed her further up the flat surface, so that her bottom rested on it and her legs dangled, then his fingers breached her drawers, finding their way into the gap there. He stroked her puss. "I want you, Nina Ashford."

  His demanding approach made her pulse race. The damp heat between her thighs was impossible to ignore. She felt exposed, emotionally and physically stripped to the core, her will and being made freely available to him because she craved him so. Dominic did this to her, only he could. Moaning aloud, her head rolled.

  He ran his fingers into the slit in her drawers then stroked them up and down her damp folds. "Ah yes, but you're lush and ready for this."

  His voice was hoarse. She cried out, because the tantalizing touch made her to rub against. She hated him for disarming her so thoroughly and turned her face away.

  "Your absence in my bed has driven me close to madness." He held her jaw in one hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I must be inside you or I will not be held accountable for what occurs."

  The provocative statement left her speechless, but he moved his hand, rolling his thumb back and forth over her seat of pleasure. The relief she felt was immense. Then he shifted and ducked. His mouth engulfed her swollen nub. He grazed her tender flesh with his teeth and release barreled through her. He pushed his tongue inside her, collecting her copious juices. She was still gasping for breath when he rose up and tugged at her bodice, making her breasts rise from the tight fabric. Nina was so shocked by his actions that she stared up at him, then his hands moved and he arranged her legs around his hips.

  As he did so he looked at the pistol strapped to her ankle boot with both admiration and amusement. Again his fingers roved over her puss. "Are you ready for me?"

  She turned her face away. Ready? Her body clamored for him, her center alight with expectation, her core slick with her juices. "Make haste," she blurted, "before I change my mind."

  Dominic gave a wry laugh and then unbuttoned his breeches. When she felt the blunt head of his cock pushing at her slippery opening, she clutched at his shirt. Then he reached past her and pushed a lever. The Daedalus roared into action, the engines huffing and whirring, the pipes that ran around the pod vibrating. One of the dials to the side of her head pinged loudly, startling her. Then the entire machine jolted, lifting up onto its legs—first at the front, then at the rear where she had climbed up the ladder.

  Staggered by the sense of power and the sudden movement, she tugged on his shirt. "Dominic!"

  The shunt and jolt of the machine as it rose up only seemed to assist his approach, angling her body to him. His cock thrust deep into her, stretching her open and filling her. She cried out, intense sensation rolling through her when he touched her center.

  The machine swayed as it leveled, making her head spin.

  "Oh, dear lord, how it rolls!" Delighted laughter escaped her.

  "I took the liberty of lengthening its rise." As he spoke humor flitted through his eyes and he put his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her in order to probe her deeper. Her corset seemed tighter still, pressing down against her womb where heat built and swelled. Meanwhile the Daedalus remained poised and pumping, as if waiting instruction.

  The feeling of being filled by him was too good. Her thighs locked around his waist, her body arching up to meet his. The pressure of his rod at her center sent a wild flare through her entire body, a fiery reaction akin to that of the combustion engine that stoked the Daedalus. She was back at the precipice in moments, her groin alive with sensation.

  He worked his length in and out of her sensitized puss, his hands locked around her bottom while he drove himself into her, relentlessly. "There is a way," he stated, between thrusts. "Marry me, Nina. Take my name and it will be on the patent. The Daedalus is ours and there will be many more inventions with you as designer and me as engineer…it's not the same without you."

  Her breath caught.

  "Answer me!"

  Defiance still underpinned her will. "You indicated the patent was for this favor."

  He shook his head, and his expression was thoroughly wicked as he clarified his meaning. He drove his slick cock in and out of her in measured strides, working her closer to spilling while holding his own release in abeyance. "You're here. I'm claiming my reward. I want the rest…your name on the patent."

  She could see it was taking intense concentration for him to work her while he spoke, but he did so. "Marry me, Nina, make it so." His fingers trailed along her throat, his expression growing serious. "Please, I need you."

  She loved him so much that his plea broke her apart inside. Never before had he shown her that need, that affection. Her fingers dug deep into his powerful shoulders and her core clenched at his rod. He groaned and leaned closer still, bending her legs under him, his weight against her tender folds. Again she flooded. The release was so great that she felt dizzy even though she was flat on her back, but the hard rod of his cock inside and the pressure of his body against her sensitive, intimate parts kept her there.

  The muscles in his shoulders and neck stood out, his eyes closing. His cock stiffened, stilled and jerked repeatedly. Another wave hit, her thighs shuddering as her entire body burned with the raw pleasure he'd brought about.

  When he withdrew he rained kisses on her face, throat and chest, then reached out and pushed another lever. "Hold on tight," he murmured.

  Taking her hands in his, he guided them to a metal strut above her head then he rested over her. He held her steady while the engines roared and the Daedalus rose to its full height, bursting through the ramshackle covering above them.

  Only then did she realize that Dominic had incorporated a glass panel above their heads, and she was bathed in moonlight. In the gloom of the old moorings, the panels were not visible. Now they were. She was in ecstasy. With her eyelids lowered she felt every swift movement the machine made, how it emulated the leap and stride of the insects that had inspired it, as it made its way across the marshland. It rose and fell as it gained the measure of the uneven landscape beneath it, the pod acting like a massive spirit level just as she had dreamed. All the while Dominic held her tightly, staring down at her face as she took in the intensity of what they were sharing and what had passed between them. Pleasure spiraled through her. From her core, where she still throbbed in the aftermath of her release, it radiated through each and every part of her.

  She stared up into his eyes, adoring him for his brazen cheek. "I can scarcely believe this," she whispered.

  "It is magnificent. Your talent for design is like a beacon showing the way to the future."

  It wasn't what she meant, but she went with his flow. "You made it happen."

  He raised his eyebrows. "I get to share a little of the credit?"

  Humility was not something she was used to him showing, and it made her heart swell. "A little. Come now, Dominic, it's yours as much as it is mine."

  He fixed her in a glance. "And you? Say you will be mine."

  "Perhaps." Nina smiled and rolled her hips against his, delighted when she felt him harden again.

  "Nina Ashford, you will be mine," he stated gruffly.

  He claimed her mouth, not waiting for her to reply, but Nina didn't care, because this time she didn't want to disagree with Dominic Bartleby. He'd built her machine to win her back, but her heart was already his.

  THE TENDER TRAP

  Tara couldn't recall how old she was when the sleepwalking began. What
she did remember was that her hands didn't reach very high when she awoke and found herself holding the iron railings of the graveyard fence. As time passed and the sleepwalking continued, her growth was marked more by that measure than any more normal record.

  When it happened, the sudden awakening was akin to being slapped. Tara would inhale sharply, and the icy night air stung her face and lungs. The scent of the undergrowth quickly swamped and intoxicated her, creating a sensory memory that would call to her over and again.

  Often she sensed a presence, as if she was being watched, and she glanced about. Behind her, where the path through the woods led home she saw nothing. She clutched tighter still to the railings and peered into the graveyard. Life pulsated somewhere deep and hidden in that place, and in the stillness of the night she felt it call to her. But young Tara was afraid, and she turned away and ran.

  During her childhood years, that was as far as the nocturnal walk took her. She would leave her family's cottage in a sleep trance, drawn by a powerful allure that carried her body in its spell. That force drew her down the sloping garden path and out into the lane. The graveyard was half a mile from the cottage, yet her journeys went undiscovered by any neighbor, or passer-by. When she awoke, she would once again find her thin arms entwined in the cold metal trellis of the railings. Confused and afraid, she would tear her hands down from the strange restraint and flee, back to what was familiar.

  Only once did Tara's mother catch sight of her from the upstairs window in the cottage. Tara was on her way home. She looked up and saw her mother at the window, peering out into the night, into the forest, with a wistful look about her. When Tara approached the cottage her mother jolted, then turned from the window and emerged from the cottage a few moments later. Running to her, she arrested Tara in her wandering, held her tightly in her arms, soothing her, then returned her to her bed.

  Tara's father appeared and stood in the doorway of the room where Tara slept on a narrow wooden cot. By the candlelight Tara could see that there was a dark and brooding expression in his eyes. "Where did she go?" he demanded.

  "I do not know," her mother replied, fretfully. But she did not look over her shoulder to meet her husband's querying glance.

  Even in her state of fear and surprise, Tara could feel the tension between them.

  "If she goes there," her father muttered, "she will be lost to us."

  "Don't say that."

  "If it had not been for me, you might have been lost."

  Tara's mother closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She shook her head. "It is a childish fancy, that's all." Smiling down at Tara, her eyes glistened. "You went on a fae night wander, that's all." she whispered.

  "Let us pray that she does not have fae blood."

  Tara's mother frowned. "God willing, she will outgrow it."

  She stroked Tara's forehead, soothing her, and Tara drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  At all other times her family slept through Tara's nocturnal journeys and remained unaware of them. Hence her body would regularly drift out on the night's aura to follow that unheard call, unhindered. No physical or mental effort was demanded of her, the spell that had rooted itself inside her would effortlessly take control. It lifted her unconscious body, and bore her forth into its domain. Sometimes, in the morning, she would only be aware that she had again been called by the weariness in her bones and the dried mud on the soles of her feet, evidence that she soon learned to hide. But when she brushed the caked earth from her skin it only made her want to walk barefoot through the forest again, to feel the damp ground clinging to her once more.

  Tara didn't know or question why this happened to her, for it seemed as if it had always happened. It was part of her life, part of her essential nature.

  As she grew into young womanhood, so her night voyages altered. She became more conscious during the sleepwalking phase, and her awareness of sensation and travel increased.

  She began to walk further, beyond the iron railings, through the gates and into the graveyard itself. She drifted spirit-like among the ancient graves, her torpid hands trailing across their rough, weather-hewn surfaces, her fingers connecting with the ancient moss that ornamented the place.

  Often she would repose for some time across a particular grave where, as she stared with unseeing eyes at the moonlit sky, the shadow of its obelisk would lie across her, like a spirit-lover. Her body would grow aroused and she would writhe and twist, touching herself with trembling fingertips.

  Through her nightdress her nipples felt hard, while between her legs she melted with desire. Cupping herself with her palm, she pressed hard against the place that ached to be touched and filled.

  "Oh, oh, please come," she whispered to her spirit lover, and her body seemed almost to submerge itself into the stone of the grave as she found her release.

  Sighing heavily, she rested there a while. When she showed herself that way she felt at peace, as if she could breathe more easily in that place when she revealed her sensual nature.

  Tara felt no fear or concern when in these trances, only a listless detachment. But, if the awakening came, she lost that apathy and in its place experienced a heightened awareness of her vulnerability. Terrified, for several infinite moments she would be paralyzed, unable to react to the chill in her mind and body. When the torpor finally released her body, she would spring up from the grave and run, fast, as if she could escape the terror by outpacing it. But she still carried the waking fear within her, and as she ran between the dark shadows and gaunt monuments, the graveyard would become a maze, for it was never familiar when she fled from it in fear.

  * * *

  As time passed she found herself journeying further, into a place beyond the graveyard. After she wove her way through the great family mausoleums, she stepped beneath a narrow archway of overgrown foliage and found herself in the undergrowth and rock of a narrow subterranean ravine. It was a dark, rugged place, but unless she kept to one side of the narrowing passage, chinks of moonlight sometimes still fell upon her. It felt warm and inviting, for the damp smell seduced her senses, infusing her with the earthy scents of the fertile underworld.

  Each night her journey lasted longer than before and consequently the awakening brought with it a more fearful journey in return. She had breached an unknown threshold into another world—a dark, mysterious place and it both enraptured and terrified her.

  Then, one night, around the time her body had reached full maturity, that world finally made itself known to Tara.

  She passed through the dark entry behind the graves and beyond the place that marked the end of human life. Neither asleep nor awake, she felt a deeply pleasurable detachment that encouraged her to enjoy the sensual stimulations provided along her path. The caress of long-forgotten leaves on her feet was stimulating, her body magnetized by the occasional catch of dried branch upon her nightdress or skin. She experienced these touches with a new awareness, and for the first time truly understood the cycle of nature.

  She trailed her hands across the damp walls, and dense slime engulfed her fingers. She felt sacred, and languidly spread the rich juices of the place upon her face and eyelids, anointing herself with this lush, secret balm.

  As she journeyed further along the labyrinthine corridors no moonlight lit her path, but an ethereal glow emanated from the walls, as if their rocky surfaces reflected her presence in the form of this strange luminescence. She needed no other light to guide her. With an eager hand she felt her way along the rock to one side. Light pin-pricks of sensation tickled at her fingertips. She felt only pleasure as the ancient stone and her flesh teased one another with their connection.

  Deep in the cavern her body encountered trailing moss, delicate strands of spider webs and other caressing tentacles. She met the touches readily, entranced by their delicate embraces.

  After a while she drifted to a halt and her body inclined against the rocky surface while she rested. The torpor deepened and for a time her c
onsciousness left her altogether. When her awareness altered again she felt a new presence and struggled against her lethargy to find out what touched her.

  In time she perceived a large leaf upon her hand, covering her skin. Its tactile fleshiness moved over her numb skin, very slowly, arousing her flesh with its caress, a hard stem following the persuasive leaf. Its insidious path over her arm felt so good, so seductive. Although she could barely move, her consciousness wavering, she strained to see what was happening to her. The distinctive shape of large ivy leaves pressed against her nightdress. They moved quickly around her body, pulling the fabric of her nightgown apart as they did so.

  Tara had never seen anything like it and her breath constricted in her lungs as the vine crept tighter around her.

  The awakening came as suddenly as ever, but this time with a greater chill of fear. Icy terror filled her mind, froze the breath in her lungs. The vine's strengthening grip possessed her body totally. Fear clenched her heart. If she tried to move, the leaves tightened their hold.

  There was no escape.

  Tara heard herself scream aloud, and the sound seemed to turn her blood to stone.

  She struggled long and hard against her captor, but in vain — it was far stronger than she. Exhausted, she hung in its grip and used the last of her strength to cry for help. Her mind still ran with fear and chaos. Am I going to die here in this place? Is that why I have always come here, because life's passage is always towards its end?

  Her cries eventually wavered and quietened. She hung like a rag doll in the web of vines, wishing for the trance to take her again. She longed for its numbness, for it would bring a temporary escape from her trap.

  When she calmed she sensed tenderness in the embrace of the ivy. It seemed to offer her gentle succor, even while it held her in its terrible grip. Its leaves strained towards her face. She could see the gloss of her own tears shining in their veins. It seemed to be trying to comfort her, as if in some strange way it understood her fear.