Thanks to all my betas who contributed in different ways: lovingyouisbest, JD Bell; Joy Booth and Fredrica.
Final tweaking is my own.
WARNING: THIS IS DEFINITELY MOSTLY M DURING THIS CHAPTER. So if that offends you, skip this. ODC HAVE LOTS OF HMS.
You've been warned!
Chapter 6: Earthly Flight, Unearthly Night, Crashing Down to Morning
It was really too bad Maya driven on her own to Lambton in that tiny car of hers, shoved to bursting with her things. Lizzy would have liked her company on the flight. Flying always elicited exceeding exasperation- at the lack of control, communal air and toilets, seatbelt lights, and 'complimentary' peanuts. She never got comfortable with listening to music in flight. Turbulence warnings and whatnot could be missed.
But this time, Lizzy found the landing procedures were fully underway before she'd even considered her usual Skymall* distraction. Soon enough she would plunge into the hot August plexiglass and plastic of El Paso International Airport. Other matters had easily occupied her time in the brief hours of air between Durango* and El Paso.
Lizzy spent the flight reflecting on her journey. Was it possible to descend from the mountaintop experience of Lambton? The summer was a needed reprieve from the previous year's devastations and a lifetime of resistance. Inspiration persisted, while thoughts ventured toward the future: How will things go on the upcoming school production?
Grateful for Maeve and Jane's work to start the production, Lizzy did not want to admit how nervous she was to have missed its beginning. At least her research was far along and swatches were given to the other designers, albeit later than she had wanted.
She repressed a shudder at the man she dubbed Mr Fancy Pants. His stilted letters indicated he was quite miffed at her sparse correspondence. Maeve sent packets of designs from various production designers but the Scenic Artist stood out of the bunch. Lizzy was deeply chagrined to admit that his work was exquisitely drafted. Especially because, in trading initial renderings, most of his ideas for a Georgian style had been accepted while Lizzy was asked to make several adjustments to her work which had a distinctive French Revolutionary flair.
It had been a good thing that The Tailor had been such a great resource for that particular era or she would've never completed the changes.
Lizzy remembered how Maeve responded in one letter: "suck it up like a professional and get used to this kind of treatment because in universes other than Longbourn, Costume Designers in fact are not the ruling goddesses but instead mere adjunct deities. Besides, he happens to be right in this case."
What is up with that? She took HIS side! Since it IS Maeve, I'm trying to do as my mentor bade, as much as I hate it. She usually backs us. I wonder why she's backing him? Could it be any more than what The Tailor said? Is the man really so visionary? Lizzy grudgingly found the most recent changes to be rather easy but hadn't responded to the last correspondence which had arrived the last day of her stint in Lambton.
She planned on discussing them in person with Fancy Pants and the other designers at their first meeting, which, incidentally, was early the next morning.
She was obsessing about design minutiae when Lizzy's ponderings were interrupted by the landing announcement. Jane and Char excitedly greeted her, hugging and squealing in the airport. It felt like she was yet in a dream. The three emerged into the waning Southwest summer heat, awashing Lizzy in sensory awareness.
"A plate of Mexican food at Taco Cabana could set me up for the night!" At Lizzy's request, the three set off to have Lizzy's first, much anticipated Carne Adovada plate since leaving New Mexico three months ago.
Much as she loved the high country cuisine in Lambton, the wait for a taste of beloved NM chile seemed interminable. While they dined, Lizzy entertained with story after story cast with diverse characters including miners, outlaws, new age rainbow wanderers, artists, and of course, The Tailor. (she neglected to tell of a certain main who she'd rather simply put out of her mind). Having changed in the bathroom, Lizzy, Jane and Char were off to stand in line at 101 to secure a comfortable table for their group.
Jane and Char had mentioned meeting some friends there, someone Jane was seeing. She was so low key about it all; Lizzy's suspicions should have been aroused but were not. It could have been her determination not to read into things because she was still a little annoyed at her sister's sparse correspondence. Maybe Lizzy was high from the chile adrenaline rush.
Perhaps her sister and friend had intentionally been vague. (Knowing of Lizzy's petulance about her design ideas and her fuming about Mr Fancy Pants, they in fact had been.) Lizzy would never know and those two would never tell.
*RIP Skymall- who hasn't experienced the fun catalogs in airplanes with all kinds of kooky gadgets?
*Durango, Colorado - en-dot- wikipedia -dot org /wiki/Durango,_Colorado
Because the Night
Warning- MA stuff here
She'd been waiting all week for the great music, fascinating company and interesting sights. This night was to launch the fall semester. Past and future would coalesce into pure potential and she wasn't even half aware. She only fancied herself to be.
These nights dancing into oblivion always mingled truth and vision into ineffable oneness. She sometimes found herself carried away in inspiration of these things, returning home to sketch new designs for example. She was in great anticipation this particular night.
She and Jane had always been big Interpol fans and so of course when 101* had their listening party, they were determined to go and immerse themselves in the dance and the scene, no matter the night. She had sorely missed dancing at 101- it had been 101 days since the last time I'd been here- surely a sign this night had meaning.
They loved 101- it was a tiny slice of sartorial and musical inspiration, with its always varied set of indies, goths, hipsters, artists, bohos, geeks, steampunks and people who just defied category (probably because they were from New Mexico, she thought). While granola and shabby chic style had its own merits, she was happy to be back in a city that offered more fashion diversity. *
DJ's Greg and Sandra always spun the most original mixes, from rare older goth, original post punk, to the more ubiquitous 'indie' music. Tonight, the club had its fair share of men dressed in well tailored vintage ensembles. The assortment of urbane young men had that unmistakable something so very attractive yet inaccessible.
Lizzy quickly became wrapped up in people watching, especially the men, after the drought of this summer. So many finely turned out young men was quite enough to put former resolutions out of many a young woman's head, and the same could be said for Lizzy. But if their sartorial choices were any indication, most of them were put together for a straight guy in these parts. Oh well, it meant she could easily scope out their fashion without worrying about giving the wrong impression.
She zeroed in on a case in point: who else but a gay man would be brave enough in El Paso to wear a kilt? He had this cropped mussed hair and some sexy tattoos on his muscular arm. In that kilt he was either about 10 years behind or else he was cutting edge like the a fashion blogger with a cult following (they exist in El Paso?) or he was..maybe SCA* or Scottish….(A kilt!)
And next to him sulked a delicious man with the most kissable lips, skin a little too pale to be from the Southwest, and lashes so long and dark he had to be wearing makeup. Over his black long sleeve tee, his tailored punk vest hugged his form nicely and he had the most well fitting charcoal jeans she'd seen in a long time. That was saying something since she'd altered herself a few dozen pants and had witnessed one of the highest authorities on the subject of tailoring this summer.
When both men looked up, Lizzy realized her mistake. They weren't a couple, with identical facial structure and builds, they must be related. She couldn't help staring at these unbelievably good looking men. Hopefully the guy in the kilt would dance on the stage at some point so she could see what was under it! "Lizzy, you're so bad!"
She chuckled to herself, excessively diverted. Her smile turned to a blush when she realized both were looking her direction. Kilt boy grinned while the curly one smoldered- there was no other description for his expression. She had been noticed, noticing them. Damn! She was wrong, and had been caught staring. The hell with it, I'll go find the girls and dance. That way she could either give these blokes the advantage of admiring her figure from afar or she'd at least be able to tell Jane and Char about her embarrassment out of their hearing range.
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She was suddenly shyly giddy. Something about them, the intense one especially, caused her to shiver with a foreboding. Or maybe it was curiosity. Why did the mysterious Woman of her Lambton 'Footloose' dream suddenly come to mind and why did it feel like She was starting trouble again? Lizzy shook her head imagining she was just adjusting to life down here in town. She had to get a grip.
As she edged over to the dance floor she mentally rehearsed what she'd never say to these exquisite fashion aliens. So, I was wondering; what's under that kilt? Cliché.
Love your outfits! Too insipid.
Is your hair naturally curly? Stupid question, men never used curling irons.
Are those eyelashes real? Did she really think he would frequent a lash bar? She sighed. Oh well. Lizzy, stop thinking and go dance like you've been waiting to do for so long.
Charlotte and Jane who were accompanied by an 80's inspired Ken doll complete with button down plaid shirt, vintage blazer and pegged slacks. Is he for real? Wait, He is totally flirting with her. Sure enough, the song ended and Jane quickly introduced Charles to her sister.
"Your sister is an angel!" He smiled and shook Lizzy's hand. Yes, I know I know. My beautiful sister, Jane this, Jane that blah blah blah. she nodded, smiled and was again embarrassed that she had judged this guy. Whatever he was saying about Jane was lost on Lizzy because the music was too loud. She continued to smile and nod while not hearing. She did notice Jane looking a little sheepish but Lizzy figured that was just her demure sister.
Anyway, she was a little concerned about Jane dancing so much and considered saying something. Her altruistic thoughts were pleasantly interrupted when the two other sartorial boys joined the table and the music started again.
Earlier in the evening, DJ Greg had been working a slow build up with remixing some of the more slow-paced Interpol songs. The current song was an old but very dance-y remixe of Untitled followed by Obstacle 1. When Charlotte and Lizzy got up to dance, Kilt boy joined them on the dance floor. Well I'll be damned if he wasn't ogling me and Charlotte. She inwardly commented.
The man was HOT, and a good dancer. Usually with guys who approached, the trio squeezed them out, turning around, avoiding them on the dance floor. They had long ago choreographed this defense in order to keep dancing and avoid the dumbasses at the club who just want to get laid.
Why was she thinking about sex? I'm here to just dance and have a good time. Now if a man meets me, mind and soul- that would be a turn on, but forget it Lizzy, that is not going to happen in a dance club, of all places- remember the mountaintop.
But it was so hard to keep certain resolutions. As she moved to the music, Lizzy inadvertently turned toward the brilliant brooding specimen and see him just as this thought formed. Making a connection, her mind wandered in the most delightful manner as she let the beat take over her body. She was taken by a whimsical idea that perhaps she could make him fancy her. She was ready for such a diversion. She put her body into it.
Soaring tones pounded the rhythm with new technology of an ancient union beat. This music was so stereotypically post punk . It captivated her senses every time, possessing her with a need to move with each song. Shake it right, lady wraith, red goddess.
Her mind spewed random lyrics with accompanying mental images all her own. The spare and jingling cold guitars wrap her body. She became entranced, moving to this series, watching Kilt guy, Charlotte, Jane and Charles move to the same beats. They smiled with stupid pleasure in the sound, movement and company.
Everyone caught their breath after the end of the long Velopene Screen remix. Richard, the man she continued to call Kilt Boy, asked what drinks they'd like and went to order. She was glad she recently turned 21 so she could enjoy a round with everyone. No more sneaking in, relying on Fransisco the bouncer's good humor. As Richard brought some drinks, pretty eyelash boy- Will- assisted.
Richard and Charles proceeded to relentlessly charm the ladies. She found out they're from New York. Richard was a Colonel stationed at Fort Bliss and the guys came to visit as Richard had leave. Lizzy bet the guys at base didn't know their Colonel wears a manskirt. Although, he was rather hulking, so perhaps he intimidated them into not laughing…All that and charm to boot.
While the two men flirted, she continued to smile and nod as she secretly checked out the quiet one from time to time, sizing him up, wondering if it would be worth it to get him out of his shell. Every time Lizzy looked over, he was staring intently at her as if to say he knew what she was thinking. Wait!? Is he sizing me up? The nerve! I'm the one in charge, here.
She tilted her head at him and continued to nurse the drink, engaging in his little staring contest. Let's just see who blinks first, Mister! Ooh! Another good song! She couldn't help but jump up immediately when the Heinrich Maneuver came on. I have to dance this one! Char, Richard and she start dancing where they stand.
The music slowly crescendoed, beats escalating and she could hear Bingley trying to persuade the sulky wallflower to dance. Will replied"(sigh) Yes…quite delectable… interesting in a small town way…. Not …tempted …. Too artistically remote…whatever it is you consider 'artistic inspiration'…you should go back to your angel..." He punctuated a snotty warning about exploitation or somesuch, folding his arms, his adorable lips pursed in emphasis.
She turned and gave him a pointed look for his insult. Too small town and apparently not artsy enough for the likes of him! She fumed while continued to stare him down, unwavering in her blistering expression.
Richard was clearly the one with the family's social genes; having witnessed the scene, he linked arms with Lizzy uttering some kindness about her interesting doily of a dress and Charlotte's well cut shorts, while insisting on the compliment of escorting finely turned out bohemmiennes onto the dance floor.
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Lights flashed to building music. Rounding hips, reaching fingers, syncing lips, flying curls- her black flapper style number imparted the knowledge of its contents. In a certain light, secrets were noticed.
She loved her vintage piece, sheer, intricately laced in a butterfly design.. The dress floated and swayed along with her body and the rhythm. She felt the music with its movement, loved watching herself in the mirrors on the walls, a gamine staring back at her instead of herself.
She could tell she was being watched by some of the men. Predator becomes prey and she felt a little satisfied that she was wrong in her assumptions. Where are these guys normally?
She enjoyed being seen, being wanted. She felt seen for who she was in this piece she has found and transformed into an extension of herself. As if to add self doubt, she noticed HIM watching her dance. Not interesting enough to tempt him? His actions and words were contradictory, puzzling.
All the while she surreptitiously gazed at him in the mirror on the wall, him watching her, darkling eyes beneath a veil of glossy curls, passionate lips set intently. She increased the torc of her body as it moved to the music. She wanted to make him realize his mistake.
Satisfied to see him finally get up from his barstool, he moved toward her, began dancing by her, eyes fixed on her. His stare flared through her body. Coming closer and closer as he moved with the music, in sync with her. At the cusp of a power struggle, his head tilted down, lips parting intimately, millimeters away from hers, his hands tortuously close to her body.
The sweetness of his own scent mixed with his spicy earthy cologne put her under a spell. He continued in this manner for several minutes until she didn't know if she could bear the proximity. It awoke frantic need in her core.
She became dimly aware of what she was about to do. His body was so close she could sense his length even without feeling it. Impressive. Scary. Waiting. She wondered about all of him. She could sense her most primal woman self, lurking, growling with need for this prize to bring her reward. That woman began to take over as she continued dancing with him, eyes locked, bodies continuing in synchrony yet barely touching, building sacral energy.
A breeze stirred from an open door, swirling between a momentary pause of music, clearing her mind from this fugue. Recalling her original purpose, not a little regrettably, she turned and pushed through the dancers in a bid to get away from him. She didn't know where to escape. She just needed to think about what had transpired.
Think, not feel. She couldn't deny the traitorous desire. She never wanted Cole like that. He was an utter lapse in judgment; it was a ridiculous notion that I needed a man to make my future, especially Cole. Never again. She couldn't help but look for Him. It wasn't about the future. It was about what she wanted so very badly right now.
To be even physically vulnerable towards this dark figure disturbed her. What little had she learned in Lambton?! Did she lack such self worth that she swooned at the next well appointed man to notice- one who initially spurned her, at that?
What did it matter that he noticed later? His consuming focus was frightening. Considering oblivion, she got a drink and tried to fade into the wall near the bar while planning her next move- flirtation or flight. As if she could disappear. The drink felt like disappearance for a moment.
And then he sidled up, reminding her that she was seen. "That dress does incredible things for you. Very nice craftsmanship- did you make it?"(She nodded) "I can see that it is old, much older than you. You refashioned the timeless and made it your own. Makes me think about what else you can do with your hands"(She felt betrayed by her satisfaction at his approval)"Fascinating work means its maker must be at least equally so. I look forward to becoming aquianted with much more of you- and your accomplishments …."His eyes glinted her destiny. Shuddering, she gazed silently upon him expecting further explanation.
What is he saying? She asked herself, willing that part of her who knew to answer as yet concealing it from consciousness. She Who Knows is annoyingly silent. She Who Wants To Be Taken by this man is demanding to let him take me. Elizabeth remained silent, unable to restrain the look of invitation she wore.
As she persisted in disapproving silence, he answered, "I see you're determined to tease me. Well I deserve it." She stared at him; Is this a line? His tone was so earnest. And just then a curious expression came over him. He was as intoxicated by her as she was by him.
And yet through all this he bore a palpable passion tightly wound, waiting to unfurl itself. Its effect was almost serpentine. Was she Lillith? Was she Eve?
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She tried in vain to recall her Tia Lena's wisdom about such things. Tia was always good in matters of the heart, of the loins, of the psyche, matters that were even more mysterious. That wise woman had taught a few things about expressions, seasons, signs and portents. She willed herself to understand what was behind this…. Interaction….It felt that the only way to know was to flow along this course. Tia Lena told me to stop fighting. Lizzy needed a sign if she would surrender. She issued a challenge: "Alright. Prove that you're worth getting to know me. Tell me a story."
He whispered in her ear soft deep utterances serving to further undo her resolve. "The butterfly is the symbol of the most beautiful woman in the world, the symbol of the Soul. You chose your symbol well. Or did it choose you?"
A poignant forgetting encompassed her as she tried to make sense of his words. Maybe he's been to Aunt Phil's store- that is where I got the lace. But that was so long ago…
Still the familiarity struck her as being deeper. She didn't know if she had the palate for his esoteric flirtation. In her mindseye, that Shadow Woman simultaneously beckoned, challenged and forbade her to proceed, presiding over the entire scenario. Lizzy shook her head to rid herself of That Woman.
A few yards away, friends danced with the music as thoughts flowed, and she, swept to the side by their current. She couldn't like the feeling. Helpless and wicked, it threatened to overtake her with excitement.
He was the force driving it. His eyes raked over her body, bit by bit- throat, breasts, the curve of herwaist and hips, the space between her thighs just visible through the dress at certain times. Yes, she noticed him noticing all of this and his gaze was a physical sensation that brought her closer to achievement.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he licked his lips as if dying of thirst. It suggested certain intentions. Any other man and she would have been insulted, yet she let him visually caress her, allowed his physical space to inhabit her. "I'm sorry I didn't realize then. I couldn't make sense of this. I still can't. But I comprehend a great deal." He whispered an unrepeatable phrase. "I promise to commit no acts of violence, either physical or otherwise if things come aright."
She couldn't believe he actually quoted an Interpol song. How could she possibly follow through with this kiss or … whatever?She hesitated, enticed by his glance, his eyes, his lips, his scent, the maddening visions he elicited. She defiantly appraised him, only to find herself feeling like prey.
She gasped- for air or in pleasure she was not sure. Her knees wobbled. Seeing her unsteadiness, he grasped her arms. Another sharp, clear, intake of breath and the lights went up again for an intermission. She steadied herself, asking him to give her time to think. He nodded curtly and disappeared like the undead into the fading darkness.
Thankfully, Charlotte was instantly at her side. Giggling and pointed out Charles and Jane snuggling in a booth with a bottle of expensive wine. Who knew the club even had the stuff? Lucky bitch, she joked. Charlotte's shining eyes show that she too is a little envious, but not too much. Jane deserved it.
Richard the Kilt joined them shortly, anyway, telling hilarious stories of his cousin and friend. In that moment, she was simply having fun. She could tell Charlotte was attracted. She weighed leaving them alone against staying with them for her own protection- for the moment: Richard's easy conversation implied they'd see more of these guys - at least if Richard or Charles were any indication. Where did that leave Will?
Presciently, Charlotte and Richard wondered at Will's demeanor. Richard joked about his cousin who usually was as unsocial as old Ben Kenobi. He sobered, mentioning an un-named tragedy which grounded Will, when, at the age of 22, he took charge of the family business and his much younger brother. Richard's younger cousin, though all of 28, was really a gentle but intense soul. He learned to protect himself after being bullied and taken in. Will wasn't often appreciated for himself as a person.
Hence the strange manners and Houdini act, she couldn't help but think. She was strangely reassured at giving in to such a man. Her body knew what her mind could not comprehend. Which was dangerous, because his complexities ignited hers. Her mind began believing the reality that her senses knew.
Her preconceptions had been strong and how wrong they were, the clues about him engaged her interest like a mystery novel in its unfolding. Why she could believe the clues was a mystery? Was she a dupe? It depended on what she found in the end.
Richard and Charlotte laughed as the next song began, No I in Threesome. She's enjoyed the conversation but this made her feel like a third wheel. They approached the dance floor again.
His looks prickled her body from time to time as she laughed and danced. She needed and was over wrought by such a feeling, unaccustomed to such intensity. He appeared out of nowhere, captivating her nostrils with notes of clove. His hand skimmed the outside of her arm, brushing her breast ever so slightly as it moved down. It set her thrumming. His hips and legs again synchronized with hers as their bodies fell into a rhythm.
He paused to await her response- a word, an action, a touch. The music and lights changed, her consciousness sparked again, demanding she excuse herself from the dance floor without destination, ending up in the back room.
The back room was a secret place. She was not well acquainted with it but aware of its existence. A place for VIPs, the door was always obscured in a dark corner by a tall speaker. She slipped easily through, plugging her ears to the deafening thumps. Not Even Jail reverberated; her own body slouched against the wall in temporary escape.
Sighing, she wondered what he'd do- not just tonight, but after, banishing the idea that there could be any kind of after with his inaccessibility. She relished the loss and the memory his scent, the feeling of his almost touches, the look in his eyes, images of his body and perfect face. These sensations empowered images bounding through her mindseye.
The ability to keep her faculties intact was quickly demolished when he slid through the door. How he enveloped her- his spicy woodsy scent, sweet, intoxicating breath, eyes that trapped her, that exquisite sculpture of a body- lean muscled and tall yet with the slight fleshiness of youth.
His image was an embodiment of a myth or fairy tale. The ruler of her seduction, she feared. She couldn't move for taking in his presence completely as her breathing quickened, gaze is arrested in his.
Whispering the sweetest threat of what comes next; Will's steely velvet resolve, hands and body covered her. His voice hitched, the tone high, urgent, demanding and yet soft as he ordered her with his questions. "Do you want to escape?"
"No," she pled.
"Really?" She considered it hopeless, his persistent questions teased, accompanied by his maddeningly slow, slight touch that sent her into a frenzy. It was her misery and pleasure. Insinuating himself powerfully, gently, he restrained her wrists above her head with one hand, continuing his slow assault ever closer to her nether regions.
His hand barely grazed, ever lower each millimeter of her dress and she felt him through the sheerness. He took the most arduous route toward achievement, making her afraid she would never come. There was no other awareness than overwhelming desire for him, seductively insistent.
And it had been so long- since…. No, never. Never had anyone touched her like this. There was no other connection.
All the while he told unbearable things about herself as if no one else had seen her before. She felt in a dream, this couldn't be real. How could anyone know? How could he whisper words that communicate such ardor?
She fell, enamored, in utter submission to his will, unable to help herself. She physically sensed what was before her eyes – so close she could feel His hotness and discern each ridge of his fingerprint gliding over her. It would be fruitless to think of anything else. Thoughts in the presence of such sensations render no escape.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, making ast if to stop when his hands finally reached the hem of her dress, with the most feathery touches to her thighs.
"NO. Don't stop," she spoke, between gasps.
He continued to question her during a persistent, maddening pursuit of her pleasure. His touch was a tremulous sensation on her pelvic bone, her inner thigh. He dared just stroke her heat through the lacy, now wet, panties. "Do you want me to give you an orgasm?"
"Yes!"
"You have been very naughty with your impudent evasiveness. Do you know how I shall take you in hand?"
"Tell me….Tell..me.." She asked between shallow breaths.
He shook his head, inscrutable gleam in his eye, "No, I am going to show you… you will just. Have. To. See. And feel….what I do with every stroke."
Speakers emitted overwhelming decibels behind the wall where she stood, pressed. Yet she heard the smallest of sounds, foreboding slow escalation toward final release.
A click as he fastened locks on her wrist restraints which extended from somewhere above. Manacles reaching down from heaven, grasped her.
She could not see anyone else in the dark room. She guessed that with his influence, the right doors were closed at his bidding.
For some reason, she enjoyed this sense of fear of being found, of not being satisfied. He brought her to the point of burning as his liquid chocolate voice spoke of unknown ecstasies. How she yearned to take these secrets inside, awaiting every delicious word as his voice teased her ear, fed her own.
Never more had she wanted a man to completely impale her as she did at this moment. "Just take me," she pled.
Even as Will continued to titillate her with his fingers and hands, breath and scent, his words were like the crop he brandished. Making a swishing sound it cut through the air as he took her in hand to tell her the rules.
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A gentlemanly Master if ever there was one. He uttered the safety word with a little curve of his lips, 'fits'.
She found it odd; another of his little inscrutabilities. But then, she was never in a position to make use of her knowledge that things such as safe words existed. Of course, she could never have imagined Someone such as this man could be real.
She could hear no noise as stiff smoothness grazed arms legs and spaces in between. Trembling, her breath came in clean, deep pants. Her legs spread wide, dripping down, thrust out to catch the smallest touch of his torturing soft hand or the stiff smooth device, even as he has completely restrained her, physically and sensually.
Turning her to face the wall, the cold hardness pressed upon her breasts, tantalizing them. He smacked her inner thighs, causing her to gasp and spread herself even wider. Her face turned, she couldn't see through her long curls to discern what he is doing. She could only feel: the crop moving along her legs, the softness of his tongue on her and then a 'crack!' as he shocked her spaces to attention. Thus repeated the process, softness of mouth and fingers pleasuring longer each time, a crack on her cheeks, stinging her nether lips blissfully again and again in a cycle of titillation and torture.
He finally tasted, pleasured her with his tongue and she was on the brink. Just as her breath came quicker and quicker toward release, he withdrew, giving several smacks. She could no longer tell whether this stinging and pulsing was orgasm, the pain and ecstasy were so blended and foreign but never more exquisite.
Her full attention focused on him at that point of pleasure. It was the silence of her body that revealed the feelings to herself. Thoughts were worthless and weak, betrayed by such desire. Ideas and Ideals intertwining, blurred, the line between love and sensuality making no sense.
All that she could sense was that which she felt, so completely outside rational thought, transcending thought. She let go at that moment and her Self then took flight, attuned to every blissful look, touch, scent, reverberation.
Ever more and ever mercilessly slow, touch became the crop, taste became suckling, grazing became penetration. He inched her toward climax, growing closer by fractions, infinitely nearer, seemingly never there, seeming to always just- almost- touch such ecstasies. His pace was still slow and his demeanor deliberate but his touch became only softness, then.
Her dress long had been discarded and she was not even aware of exactly how or when. All she knew was how his hands and mouth moved over every inch, lingering where he could tell she most wanted him.
Each crest came and then he would move on; his tongue flit on her rib cage until she could take it no more. Then he moved to the underside of her breasts caressing and tasting until she was sure she'd burst. Just then he moved on to the valley between them doing the same.
Lapping the hollow of her throat, he bit and suckled her shoulders, whispered and flicked his tongue in the folds of her ears. She was sure he made at least one hickey. He continued kissing and caressing his way down her spine, around her derriere, up and down her legs and finally again to her core.
She began to ride a swell; the pressure building and collapsing more and more intensely until it was unbearable and she begged. Moving in and out like breath, he has finally sheathed himself and has taken her. His resolve continued, still, dominating both of their releases. Driving his length and hardness, she savored the slowness as he held her tightly against the wall. She has moved beyond adoration for his mastery. It brought her to this place. Shuddering from the sensations that seem to go on and on, both careened onto the sheerest edge of delight.
Finally. Timeless ecstasy exploded within, somewhere. An endless storm of pressuring, shuddering energy rippled through her core, radiating up her belly, tickling her throat, with a final lightning burst in her head. She convulsed with aftershocks of pleasure.
Finally, he released into her inner sanctum, worshiping, baptizing, and anointing it with the violence of his own orgasm. He shuddered endlessly- no longer the man in complete possession of himself. Moments passed and he collapsed for a split second. Yet again, he took control; his hardness belied a soft glint in the eyes and a slight twitch in the jaw.
He released her bonds but did not release her from his grasp or his sight. In the afterward, he carried her to a couch and lay down over her with heaving sides and pitched voice, looking at her again and it was different.
Before, he saw her in a way she only afterward could understand. It made her look into herself differently. Having ascended the heights, she could now look back at the pinnacle, the transcendence.
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He saw her differently, after. She could tell from his gasp as he instinctively embraced her, and by what response arose within herself. Unable to remember ever having control, she wondered if it all was somehow maneuvered to get to this point of complete submission to her passion- literally or figuratively. Hell, even spiritually.
She didn't even know it existed in real life. Tonight she lost control, beyond all reason, longing for him to take her. How is it that in one night, at a club, a near stranger became everything?
The man was consumed by her- learned to tell this by the warmth of his stare. No it was more- something new and unknown. She could concede, with a little fear, that it could merely be the amazing pleasure. He couldn't possibly consider it to be more- how could it be?
Seeming to read her mind, he whispered, "You have bewitched me, body and soul."
"Thank you. Likewise, Will."
"It has been my very great pleasure, Elizabeth." She tittered at his gentility. "Your acquaintance is most welcome. I am completely at your disposal. A word, a look, and I am yours."
Who was really in control, after all? She wondered.
Both got dressed and cleaned up in an almost ritualistic fashion, in the aftermath of a tidal wave.
Quiet, she looked at him with longing. He bore an expression of depth, his actions all attentiveness and solicitude, offering to buy her a drink- alcohol, soda, juice? Did she want to sit down? He remained at her side. She could say little, simply reveling.
When the music finally stopped for the morning, the gentlemen walked them to the car. Charles reminded the group of already made plans to get together. Others in the group piped in about the activity. Lizzy looked on questioningly, not aware of the plans, uncertain of what to say. Will merely nodded his head and whispered something that Lizzy's anxieties prevented her from fully hearing. Embarrassment kept her from asking anything more.
Her mind dumbly racing and she went through the motions of driving, willing herself to stay awake. Although the ringing in her ears went a good way to maintain a certain level of wakefulness.
On the way back to Dona Maria, Jane quickly fell asleep, likely dreaming of her new beau, Charles the Ken Doll. Charlotte kept quiet, likely lost in her thoughts for a time. Then, about half way through the hour long drive, Charlotte leaned across the seat and whispered "you smell like sex!" Lizzy said nothing but had no problem staying awake for the rest of the early morning till they made it home. She was totally embarrassed, but didn't have any regrets, she didn't think. Not yet.
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*101 used to be a cool club that college kids went to in the early 90's, before that were Mesa Inn and Campus Queen. This may be dating myself but during that time, the 'styles' mixed pretty freely in El Paso/ Las Cruces (Dona Maria). I am using more current terms to 'define' the types. Go to urban dictionary or check out Etsy or Ebay if you want specifics on each type of culture/style. I figure I'd wear everyone out if I defined them all here but leave a comment if you want to have more info.
*SCA- Society for Creative Anachronism- The group of folks who get together and re-enact the middle ages complete w/ garb, food, tents, and making stuff from scratch like armor. I forget who has a really cool fanfic w/ this I think it is called Longborn and Pemberley go to War.
If you have questions on any other esoteric references, comment and I will add it to the comments section
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