It's a Friday night at college, and an intoxicated Sarah is watching a naughty television programme when she accidentally summons His Royal Tightness. Yes, this is a sexy short.
This is the introductory chapter that has been included only to set the mood. Chapter two will contain the raw sexual potency you desire in a fanfic such as this.
The Carnal Incentive
Chapter One
Sarah Williams stumbled into her dorm room, keycard in one hand and a bottle of her favourite liquor in the other. She pushed closed the door, took a swig from her bottle of straight kahlua, and hiccuped. Stupid Allison. Ditching Sarah to leave the party with Dean, what a cow. Allison and Sarah had been close friends since the start of high school, and had never once allowed beings of the male variety to come between them. Until tonight. The two roommates had agreed to walk back to their dorm together after the party, but Allison had instead managed to score herself a drunken romp with Dean Sullivan; all thanks to a belt she'd worn as a skirt, thought Sarah spitefully. After another theatrical hiccup, Sarah shrugged her coat off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor as she staggered over to the couch in her platform heels. Struggling to keep her mind off what Allison and Dean might be doing, Sarah flung herself down onto the couch and grabbed the television remote.
Flicking through the channels, Sarah groaned as she recollected the usual content of late-night television programmes; advertisements for 'adults only' products and near-pornographic soap operas. She was about to fling the remote across the room in frustration when she came across a particularly graphic sex scene unfolding on the floor of the main character's kitchen. She watched as the couple caressed one another, mouths locked together and producing muffled moans. Frowning, Sarah downed another mouthful of kahlua as she tried to block out the mental image of Allison and Dean cavorting on a kitchen floor.
The couple on the television were beginning to tear one another's clothes off, and the noises the woman was emitting made Sarah wonder what she was missing out on. She might have been drunk but she was conscious enough to feel yearnings, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming desire for physical contact. Perhaps it was the kahlua talking, but the six letters that fell from her lips at that moment were unmistakable, and before Sarah realised what she had uttered, the room was alive with a ferocious whirlwind. The noise was deafening and Sarah screamed, covering her face with her arms and emptying the contents of her kahlua bottle all over herself in the process. Books flew across the room, chairs and tables were blown against the walls, lampshades fell from the ceiling, and all the while Sarah was huddled on the couch, shrieking and petrified. Slowly, the wind died down and Sarah let out a heavy sigh of relief when the dorm was once again still. Her arms still covering her face, all she could hear were the rhythmic moans of the characters on the television.
Cautiously, she raised her head and peered around the room. There were works of literature scattered across the floor and a ceiling lampshade on the table, but thankfully there seemed to be no irreversible damage. What the hell had just happened? If the dorm were not such a mess Sarah might have concluded the experience alcohol-induced, and it was at that notion that she allowed the empty kahlua bottle to slip from her fingers and roll noisily across the floor, cursing herself for sharing the expensive liquour with her clothing. Too drunk to get up and investigate what had just happened, Sarah turned her attentions back to the television, and watched with raised eyebrows as the couple made rough and shameless love on the kitchen table. The woman was clutching at her lover's sweat drenched back as he entered her over and over again, grunting and gasping for breath alternately. Sarah bit her lip and felt her cheeks flush as the couple's movements became more frantic. The woman's moans turned to screams as the man's thrusts became forceful, and when they finally reached their noisy climax, the credits rolled. Sarah glared. She'd been enjoying that.
With an exasperated sigh, she pointed the remote at the television set and turned it off. She spent a good few seconds staring at the blank screen before she realised what was reflected in it. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze.
Someone was standing behind her.
Sarah realised two things in that very moment; one, that she'd forgotten to lock the front door, and two, that her life could potentially be in very grave danger. At that somewhat sobering notion, Sarah whipped around to confront the intruder - and in the process took a spectacular tumble off the couch. Swearing, she scrambled to her feet and turned to face - nobody.
She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as her eyes searched the apparently empty room - before her gaze fell to the couch. Wait - surely not? Sweating, Sarah bent down slowly and grasped the neck of the kahlua bottle before drawing back up to full height. She then crept back over to the couch, carefully, quietly, settled into a kneeling position on the seat and raised the bottle over her head. Adrenaline pumping, Sarah let out a scream as she threw the bottle down behind the couch, hoping to hear a thump as it struck the cowering intruder. Instead, the bottle smashed to pieces as it came in contact with the floor.
Startled, Sarah leant forward and stole a peek behind the couch, and was shocked but relieved to find nobody there. She laughed in spite of herself, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Clearly the reflection in the television screen had been a trick of the light, or her mind playing tricks on her. After all, she had been drinking, hallucinations weren't an incredible explanation. Breathing deeply, Sarah staggered into the kitchen and retrieved the dustpan and brush to clean up the broken glass.
After a good few minutes spent on her hands and knees, she tipped the shards into the bin and took Allison's vodka from the fridge. She then heading back into the sitting room, concentrating entirely on trying to open the bottle. Sarah flopped down onto the couch, her face contorting as she attempted in vain to unscrew the bottletop. 'Allow me,' said a voice to her left, and Sarah sighed, handing over the bottle. A second later came the hiss of the top being unscrewed, and the drink was in Sarah's hand once again. 'Thanks,' she muttered, before taking a swig - and spitting it out, leaping off the couch.
'Not quite to your taste, Sarah?'
Sarah stared, mouth agape, at the bottle opener, before shaking her head to wake herself up. She was hallucinating. Clearly. Clearly hallucinating. He wasn't actually there. He wasn't actually sitting on her couch sporting his signature smirk, nor was he gazing up at her through those spectacular mismatched eyes of his. He wasn't. She was drunk, after all. This was merely a glorious hallucination. Clearly. Frowning, Sarah scrutinised the label on the vodka bottle. He laughed.
'I am no hallucination, Sarah, I assure you. You did summon me.' Sarah looked at him as though he'd grown another head. 'I did not!' 'Indeed you did, or else I would not be here. Perhaps you simply can't remember. That wouldn't come as a surprise, considering the copious amounts of alcohol you seem to have consumed this evening.' 'I've had a few,' Sarah replied, before hiccuping and trying to disguise it as a cough. He grinned, baring his pronounced canines. She swallowed.
'So, Sarah,' he drawled, eyes sweeping the dorm, 'have you had a- satisfying -evening?' His eyes lingered on the television before darting up to meet hers. Shit. He'd seen what she'd been watching. Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. Despite his insinuation, there was no way she was going to let him unnerve her. 'Why yes actually, I have,' she informed him. 'I had a party to go to and then I came up here to watch t.v.' 'Ah,' he breathed, 'and was there anything particularly interesting on? Anything - intriguing?' She could see a smirk playing on his thin lips and resolved to refuse him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. 'Not really,' she said, 'just one of those relationship dramas about the trials and tribulations of marriage.' He arched an eyebrow. 'Really? From what I witnessed there didn't seem to be much trialling or tribulation going on.' Sarah glared at him. He was baiting her, trying to provoke a reaction, the way one might prod a spider to determine whether or not it bites. She clenched her jaw and decided to turn this questionnaire on its head.
'Then what did you witness?'
'I witnessed a man and a woman uniting themselves physically in what appeared to be a kitchen,' he replied swiftly.
Sarah couldn't help but admire his ability to make sweaty, frantic kitchen sex sound like an extract from an Austen novel. 'And while I admired their spontaneity, I must confess I found myself disappointed by their lack of creativity,' he professed. Sarah's brow furrowed, and he took her confused expression as a cue to explain.
'I can think of more gratifying ways to go about such business in a kitchen,' he articulated slowly, his gaze intense and his smirk beguiling.
Sarah felt her cheeks redden as his words sunk in. Surely he wasn't - flirting with her? She couldn't be certain, so she summoned the courage to ask for clarification. 'What do you mean?' He grinned.
'I'll show you.'
And at those words, to Sarah's utter bewilderment, he vanished. He merely faded away into nothing, and for a second, Sarah wondered whether he had been there at all. That was until she heard a noise coming from the kitchen; the sound of the fridge door being opened. She shook her head and wondered why he couldn't simply have walked to the kitchen instead of materializing there, before remembering he delighted in making dramatic entrances and exits.
Sarah downed a mouthful of the vodka she'd forgotten she was holding and headed for the kitchen.
Author's note:
If you're reading this, it means one of three things:
1. You've read chapter one and you loved it so much you'd like to know more about the author OR you don't give a quack about the author, you just want to know when chapter two will be up. If the latter's the case, hold your horses, keep your sheep and cease your geese, chapter two is coming soon, you have my word, and that word is potato.
2. You thought chapter one was an abysmal piece of literary drivel and you want to find out what sort of unintelligible knob is responsible for such an abomination. If this is the case, please, help me out. I'm not here to showcase my talents, but to learn. I would like to improve. If you can offer me advice or suggestions or constructive criticisms, please do not hesitate to do so immediately, don't bother reading thing number three, you'll just be wasting precious, precious time.
3. You haven't actually read the chapter, you just scrolled through it quickly in search of textual erotica, and upon finding none you're reading this to find out whether chapter two will be any juicier. Well, I can assure you with cool confidence that chapter two will not disappoint in the juice department, pun intended.
SO if you fit into category one or two, I must thank you for making my existence that little bit less mundane, as I find enlightenment knowing that what I've produced has entered someone else's head. Also, has anyone else noticed that REVIEW has a YOU in it? If that's not a hint I'll just have to think of another one. Oh, and if you find you fit category three best, might I advise goatweed?