Something around her rustled. With unblemished surprise, she felt the sensation of muscles flowing back through her body like a gentle sigh. In moving her arms, she had also rustled the white feather-soft bedding that cocooned her. She looked down at herself and saw without shame that she was naked.
I am Ellen.
The thought came unbidden.
And then, like a breaking dam, other memories smashed through.
The whirling darkness.
His arms around her.
His face filling her gaze.
His tongue melding into hers.
Then she felt the strange sensation of being lifted—weightlessness.
Her feet were no longer touching the ground.
She wanted to choke with fear but the way his mouth consumed hers arrested all motion.
Vertigo hit her head like a stunning blow.
Spots of blackness were swirling faster and faster.
She felt like she was being crushed, then pulled apart, then crushed again. She felt the cycle of it all over and over—dizzyingly faster and faster.
She felt like throwing up. She wanted to scream and cry and just pant. She could do none of these things.
Her body attempted to retch. It was caught violently in half recoil when his voice thundered around her, uttering some unknown word. Even in her excruciating pain, that tiny part of her that pre-dated self-awareness and rationalization tremblingly recognized the word as a Word of Power.
Everything ceased.
Then it seemed like she was floating. Below her was a river of cotton. Above her, constellations. Surrounding her, him. Inescapable.
One hand firmly caressed her right breast that must have been exposed in the maelstrom. Involuntarily, a low moan escaped from her lips. She tried to push him away, but her limbs refused to respond.
With a whisper from his lips, her clothes melted into thin air. She almost yelped, but stopped when he blew gently into her ear. His breath sent a crackling ray of energy to shoot from that orifice through her entire skull. He teased his other hand delicately through her hair, the gentle pulls electrifying her scalp until she lost all thought and just became the sensations.
He moved down to suck her other breast—skillfully, deeply—pulling the quivering nipple up to a peak. She gasped and squirmed. Who was whimpering?
She felt his knees move to part her thighs and her whole body shamelessly responded with quavering vigor. She felt him tenderly finger her nether-opening, feeling her slickness. His fingers skillfully strummed up and down the insides of her folds like she was a complicated instrument, coaxing from her feminine tissue sweet ecstasy.
She could not take anymore of this.
Finally, he cast his gaze, now the deep blue of a raging ocean, onto hers. She was shaken to see the terrible hunger and longing in them. In them, the plea for salvation crashed with the will to ravish for the sake of long-denied gratification.
Then he took her. Entered her to the hilt. All of him at once.
He took her with a furious frenzy as if he was famished—slaking his centuries-long starvation like he could not have enough. His cock repeatedly collided against her g-spot with the rhythm of a drumstick pounding against a drum, sending reverberations of pleasure through her body.
He totally possessed her, body and mind.
Her body cried out for more and more.
She had no idea this much pleasure was possible.
It was not possible under the rules of earthly biology.
He and she were reaching climaxes again and again.
As the memory of those feelings coursed through her now, Ellen felt her cheeks grow hot. She instinctively pulled up the sheets to cover herself as she strained to catch her torpid thoughts.
I love Eric.
Upon thinking his name, she felt a flush of guilt.
Eric was always an attentive lover but there were natural, accepted limits to love making to which their physical bodies conformed. These dictations of nature did not hold true in this strange place.
She heard a sound to her side like silk being pulled tightly down a pane of glass and turned her head to that direction. There was an archway that looked out onto a garden of chaotically colorful blooms. To her bewilderment, she saw a sliver of bright light appear, splitting the archway in half. Within a blink, it had coalesced into the resplendent man-shape of her abductor. He glided towards her.
“How are you, my Love?”
His voice, so sensuous, so other, sent her senses reeling for a brief moment. Ellen recovered to reply faintly, “I am not your Love.”
One eyebrow arched graciously upwards as he asked, “Why not?”
His predatory approach compelled her to agitatedly draw the sheets closer around her. It was barely any sort of protection really.
“Well—um—because you don’t know me,” she blurted, her skin starting to shiver.
He halted in his tracks and for a moment, his eyes widening in sharp confusion, showing almost a trace of vulnerability before he switched back to his arrogant confidence.
“My eyes have roved over the entire earth when I was bestowed this Euphoria. This chance. I couldn’t waste it,” he said as he sat on the bed. With the prowess of a panther, he closed the distance between them on all fours, murmuring, “And I haven’t. My sight fell upon you. I chose you, my Beloved.”
With a blurred whip of his hand, he flung aside the blankets, exposing her body to the sparkling air and pulled her into his hard embrace. And he was inside her again—deep shuddering penetration with the first forceful thrust. She hadn’t realized how wet she had become, triggered merely by the gorgeous sight of him and the scorching memory of her ravishment.
He demanded total surrender.
For her, resistance did not exist.
She threw her head back, exposing her neck to him. He kissed this submission deeply, melding his lips to the contours of her skin. Her legs opened wider as she thrust up her hips to accept more of him—primal impulses that overrode all rational reactions. He expertly grasped one of her legs and placed her ankle against his shoulder. Then he lifted himself to a higher angle and rode her even deeper yet.
She was spurred to moan louder and louder. On both sides of her head were his arms—their muscles rippling with the exertion of supporting his thrusting body. For the first time, she felt the sudden urge to bite during the act of passionate coitus. Without thinking, she raised her head and clamped her teeth on one of his biceps. It felt good. Wholesome. A hunger assuaged.
He paused—a break in the momentum.
“Look at me,” he said softly with his stiff cock still filling her.
She looked up straight into his sky-blue eyes, now gentle and filled with an inner light. As she almost lost herself in his gaze, he moved her leg from his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her back. He held her tightly to him, as close as he possibly could.
Still looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “I love you, my Beloved.”
A sense of foreboding flooded her.
She squeezed her eyelids shut and just clung onto him, raking her fingers down his back as she absorbed the internal vibrations of his burrowing thrusts.
And the inevitable came closer and closer.
And they were holding each other closer and closer.
Closer and closer.
A closer that wasn’t close enough.
And then together, they came in a stupendous explosion as both their bits smashed against each other. Her body went rigid for a second, then convulsed like an earthquake was passing through her. Finally, it settled through the glowing quivers of resolution. It was a shatteringly satisfying closure.
Chapter Four
Others
The thick, twinkling firmaments of celestial space were constantly changing. Spheres of vibrant worlds were randomly created and destroyed on the whim of intelligences that dwelled in this space. These intelligences called angels flitted here and there as lights with free thought. But at a
ny juncture in eternity, they could take on any form open to endless imagination. Their imagination has always geared towards beauty. Except for the fantastical beings that dwelled in the Unnamable Place
, nothing more beautiful has been created, but that in the physical universe on a tiny rock rotating around an infant star.
Another kind of intelligence called humankind dwelled on this rock and they took on limited forms, constrained by their physicality and mortality. Humankind was barred from entering into a glorious communion with the Presence until they departed from the physical plane. Not so the angels who could be summoned either individually or together as the Host to commune intimately with the Presence in the Unnamable Place
.
And so, the angels did not feel jealous of humankind for their beauty. They accepted that this was the way of existence. In the same way, they accepted that they were ranked in accordance to how close they could dwell in ascending planes to the Presence. Only one in their number and the followers he corrupted had the temerity to reject this hierarchical order. In his insane craving for godhood, war was waged that came within a hairpin’s width of destroying reality.
Reality, and all that was beautiful within it.
It was with keen hunger that the angels watched humankind as their imaginations sought to encapsulate the beauty of human form. And equally their imaginations ran wild with the possibilities of emulating the ultimate act of beauty that lay in the pleasures of the flesh.
A new Sphere had been created in the Third Plane. Six blurs of light flitted like moths around it, trying to peer in. With a simultaneous transmission of thought between them, they flocked together and in the next instant, they had created another Sphere that popped into being in a blaze of purple.
Materializing inside this Sphere was a broad-chested and solidly built man-form. The inside initially appeared dimensionless. At the command of a thought, plush blood-red carpet started to flow from his feet, followed by six reclining chairs of solid wood. Rich spotted furs and heavy velvets draped over them. Walls covered with carvings of contorted grapevines grew upwards to meet a half-domed ceiling.
Another man-shape, lithe and athletic, appeared in the room. With a mighty arm, he flung out the red-slashed canvas of a sky to meet where the ceiling ended. The sky he made was mottled with storm clouds that could not hold back murderous peals of thunder.
A third figure, epitomizing virile masculinity, joined the first two. He cast his steely gaze to a hole along one side of the pentagonal room and filled it with a gaping view of a cliff-face. It hurtled down from the opening to crash into the turbulent waves of the sea below. A forth flash of light shimmered into the form of a voluptuous woman with a blindingly gorgeous face. She smiled and instantly, five goblets appeared on side-tables, along with platters of overly ripe fruit. A sixth goblet appeared in her hand as she fastidiously arranged herself on a seat.
The fifth form arrived as a column of flame to light the proceedings. It blazed with intensity—then settled to a flicker, waiting. The final angel appeared sitting on the floor near the center of the pentagon. She was a small girl with an innocent, cherubic face that was incongruous with her ageless eyes.
“So we see the outcome of the Summons for the Prince of Light,” said the first man-form in a deceptively mild tone, voicing his thoughts in copying the manner of humankind. He strode broodingly to gaze out of the opening as if the just-made sea could give him answers.
“I have never seen any Archangel’s Euphoria disturb you so, Gabriel,” the woman-figure enunciated in a husky voice, “He is the highest of us seven Archangels and this Euphoria appears to be a just reward.”
The eternal youth, Raphael responded morosely, “Haniel, I don’t think it is that we begrudge him his Euphoria. But a Euphoria has not been bestowed on any of our number since—I don’t even remember when—”
“And then it is in this form. How long has it been since Semjaza, Asael and Tamil led the two hundred and three angels chosen by the Presence to go down to earth and take the daughters of men as their wives?” asked steely-eyed Salaphael.
The flame, Uriel sparked involuntarily, “But we waited and watched and stood aside as leaders of the Host. We longed for what we could not have.”
Barakael, in the form of the girl-child, chimed solemnly, “Jeqon, Asbeel and Kasbeel didn’t so wait. They led fallen angels down to defile themselves with the daughters of men. And yes, we have to admit that it was hard for us not to be tempted and become those very demons whom we fought. We ultimately chose to follow the Presence. I speak the truth when I say, at great cost,” she eyed every one of them, “for all of us.”
“Yes, we saw then how thin was the line which drew where our loyalties lay. But we made a choice and I stand by it,” Raphael pronounced, “I—we—will always stand by it,” he changed the pronoun after receiving resolved thoughts from all the others. None of them could think otherwise for to hold the opposite course was to cultivate treason and they had all sworn eternal oaths long ago never to follow the demons.
“Before the fall of Lucifer, it was a world with no choice. And we were happy with just being, just existing,” Gabriel breathed out the last word with regret.
“I sometimes wish things could be as simple as they were,” he said, as his form metamorphosed slowly to that of woman’s gentle features, beautiful in her elfin shapeliness and mysterious mien, “How can humans be happy with this perpetual conflict of choice?”
Raphael agitatedly broke off a grape from the fruit platter and rolled it in his palm, as he blurted unhappily “Is what we are feeling called… jealousy?”
There ensued a prolonged period of verbal silence although the rapidly flickering thoughts from all six almost unbalanced their temporarily created world. The carpet changed to a garish orange for a moment, before reverting hastily back to blood-red.
Finally, Haniel voiced, with an absence of her usual sultriness, “It is not pleasant. It almost makes me—forget—or clouds what we feel for our Commander, he who led us so selflessly against the fallen Lord of the Morning and his Army of Darkness. He was there to be our leader in those darkest times.”
The usual roar of Uriel’s fiery voice was muted, “Yes, I remember how he cut a swathe through their corrupted forms. And we followed him—believing and placing our faith in him. Hoping beauty as we know it would not be destroyed. And that’s why we fought by his side, even to the bitter end should it have led to that…”
“He was the closest friend to Lucifer…even so, he was steadfast always. To defeat the Foe even to the very end,” said Barakael softly
We look up to him.
We love him.
This unhappiness, if it is jealousy, cannot erase all that we have been through together.
“Do you think the Presence is testing us with this?”
This may be a test for us, but it surely is an even greater test for the Commander of Hosts.
They felt uneasy with this mutually accepted conclusion for it boded sinister portents for the affairs of all realms—the heavenly and the physical. For never before had the Presence bent the previously unbendable rules of existence to allow a daughter of man to be taken up to dwell in the celestial firmaments as a reward for one of Its Angels.
Chapter Five
Watched
The painting behind the curtain of water.
Ellen had just woken up from the dreamless sleep that followed another pleasurable ravishing by her abductor. She stepped through the curtain of water that covered the painting. It was unlike any water she had ever felt. A slightly chill, jelly-like layer coated her skin, before she stepped out the other side, dry as sand.
The floor to ceiling painting displayed two achingly beautiful male forms, naked and perfect in the foreground. One form had white-feathered wings that had burst into scorching flame, the ends painfully charring into ash in the wind. Below him, erupting lava released black bursts of toxic gas. Hundreds of figures, burnt into hideous humanoid lump
s were falling into the engulfing fires.
Two shining swords pierced the sides of the first figure, pinning him to the volcanic rock. One sword glowed blue and the other blazed red. Both were inscribed with a flowing script that she could not read. Her gaze followed the line of the weapons to the powerful arms of the dual-wielder. He had magnificent wings of gleaming green plumes, tipped with burnished yellow—unfurled in the deadly strike.
With a gasp, she recognized the face of the noble winged-man as that of her seducer. Her gaze swam, although not before seeing that behind him were hundreds of white-winged figures. All of them carried golden weapons that smote down upon those falling into the fiery lake.
“It’s not an accurate depiction of what really happened.”
Ellen whirled around with a start. She saw her abductor-seducer also examining the painting with an enigmatic expression. Slung over his shoulder was an exquisitely carved harp. He was dressed in a short Grecian tunic, gauzy white.
“Who are you?” she asked, breaking the spell.
He looked at her, betraying his momentarily startled state.
“I am—” the name was a roar of a word that her ears could not possibly discern, nor her tongue give voice—almost like the Word of Power he had uttered as he abducted her. “Michael,” came the simultaneous translation in her language, as if he was speaking impossibly with two voices at once.
She shook her head to catalogue this as another thing that had to be explained at another time, if she could remember it.
There was undisguised, lascivious admiration in his eyes as they roved down her exposed body. This time, with what must have been an exercise of monumental control, he flicked his wrist and she was then clothed in a short, white shift that clung to her slender curves.
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