2 comments/ 10482 views/ 5 favorites Visitations Ch. 01 By: otto_normalverbraucher He didn't know what woke him. Maybe it was the soft sigh of a floorboard outside his door, a whispered breath, or the subtle rustle of silk. He knew only that he was awake, suddenly, his lanky frame sprawled under austere linen sheets on a narrow bed beneath a window limned with frost. The crescent moon in the darkness shed just enough light to set the ice on the window-panes glimmering. Outside the old oak stood sentinel, but within the room the darkness was unrelenting. What had woken him? He held his breath in the blackness as his door swung silently open. The slim figure in the hallway held a candle which lit her ivory face ablaze and wrapped a host of shadows about her like a cloak. She swung the door wide and tugged her skirts across the lintel with deft steps. In the afternoon in the garden she had seemed absurdly small, burdened by layer upon layer of black silk, buoyed by the great bell of her skirts, laced into a cage of whalebone and linen. Above the square neckline of the dress her collarbone had cast a shadow. The bodice of her dress was edged in fine white lace, he remembered. In the sunlit garden he had imagined running his tongue under that line of lace, teasing the gauzy stuff with his teeth, dipping his lips to sup at the border between brocade and flesh. He had wanted to taste the shadow under her collarbone. She closed the door with a noiseless susurration and approached the bed with light steps, the great skirts whispering about her. A night stand stood sentinel beside the bed, and she turned to place the candle on it. He lay still beyond the halo of the flame, feigning sleep. She bent above him and drew back the coarse linen sheet, the generous woolen blankets that kept the cold from him in the dark. Under the sheet his long limbs were naked. He was gloriously aroused at the sight of her, aroused by the perfect ivory oval of her face, by dark tip-tilted eyes and sweeping lashes and fine brows arched as if in surprise, aroused by long coils of hair ruthlessly pinned on the top of her head but escaping now from their bonds to snake down her slim neck, aroused by the silken shadowed skin under her collarbone and the delicate white lace that edged her neckline, aroused by the whalebone corset that trapped her lithe torso and bound her breasts, by the ridiculous bell of her skirt that billowed far beyond the slender dish of her hips, by the thought of long slim legs under the fortress of the skirts and the deep places between her legs that he longed to taste. He could imagine how her breasts ached to be freed from the constraints of the corset, ached to be touched. He dreamt that beneath the gigantic bell of skirt she was wet. His cock rose urgent in the sudden draft as she turned back the blankets, straining upwards, veins pulsing hot under the silken skin. With a rustle of skirts she knelt beside the narrow bed and bent her dark head to take his straining cock into her mouth. As her warm mouth closed about the tip he gasped, abandoning his pretense of sleep. She laved the tip of his cock roughly with the velvet nap of her tongue, ran a mischievous tongue about the thick lip that graced the head, scraped the skin tenderly with vixenish teeth. She leaned in leisurely and slowly sucked the whole thick throbbing length of him deep into her throat. His breath labored painfully in a chest suddenly constrained. His hands clenched spasmodically at the rough sheets, then raised helplessly to her head. He speared his hands roughly into the shining masses of her hair, and as the coils tumbled down upon her neck pins fell delicate as raindrops upon the wooden floor. Her head felt fragile under his broad hands. He flexed the pads of his fingers into the bones of her skull and pushed her down upon his cock, thrusting his hips to force his aching cock deeper into her throat until she gagged. She snatched a breath of air and closed her mouth hard about his cock, sending a questing tongue down to rub the taut skin between cock and balls. He thrust again and she tilted her head back to take his length deep into her throat, then withdrew to nip at the silken skin within the curve of his hip, to bite the muscled top of his thigh, and finally to take his balls delicately into her mouth as she clenched a slim ivory hand hard about his aching cock. He bit into the rough linen sheets to stifle a groan. Suddenly the wet torment of her mouth on his aching balls and the firm grasp of her cool hand on his cock disappeared. She stood and raised the great bell of her skirts with both hands. Under the massive black skirts she bore on long slim legs the merest wisp of silk stockings, secured at the thigh with a scrap of lace and a morsel of ribbon. She clambered onto the narrow bed to straddle his long lean torso. She let the absurd skirts fall to cover him from knee to chest, propped small hands upon his chest, and leaned forward to find his lips with hers. He let his eyes drift closed. Broad hands crept under the billowing skirts towards limber knees bent to ride him. He traced the lace tops of her stockings about tensed thighs, and his questing fingers crept upwards. Above the stockings she wore nothing at all. He brushed his fingers through the curled hair between her legs, lightly caressing the soft outer lips of her cunt as she shivered and nipped at his mouth. He spread the lips of her cunt with strong fingers, probing the warm valleys within. His fingertips dipped greedily into her cunt, then returned to circle her clit with deft pressure. She trembled with building tension. He slid a long finger into her warm wet depths, and she gasped and tilted her hips in search of his straining cock. He allowed his engorged cock to rise and nudge the place between her legs. He spread her lips gently until the enflamed head of his cock could sense the warm wet entrance of her cunt. He flexed strong fingertips into the muscle of her thighs and thrust hard as he pulled her fiercely down onto his cock, sheathing himself violently in her warmth. She cried out as he entered her, and came as he pulled her down hard. Her clitoris hit his pubic bone and her hips bucked and ground involuntarily as he pulled her onto him. She arched her back like a bow and tipped her head back until the beautiful breasts jutted forward and her hair tumbled down her back. He felt her rippling contractions all along the aching length of his cock as he fought to keep his own hips from bucking. As the long contractions faded she slumped dazed against his chest. He grasped her hips in strong hands and began to thrust slowly, grinding his pelvis against her clit until she moaned and shivered as his cock penetrated deep into her body. She gasped, and he thrust faster, pulling her down hard onto his cock. She panted in short, desperate little breaths and he loosed his own reins, thrusting hard, dragging her down onto his cock, burying himself in her wet warmth to the hilt, holding her down as she cried out and convulsed, spending his cum in hot spurts in her cavern. His last conscious memory was of cradling her slim neck in his hand as she slumped against his chest, caressing the glossy silken strands of hair that twined about them both, the candle guttering. When he woke in the blue light of dawn he was alone in the narrow bed, the austere linen sheets rumpled. He was no longer certain whether she was flesh or vision. The candle was gone, and the merest scent of musk hung in the icy air. He rose and dressed, baffled, but as he knelt to lace his garters he caught a pale and glossy gleam, and pried with gentle fingers from between the rough floorboards a pin with a pearl at its tip. Visitations Ch. 02 He lay alone in the dark, waiting. This time he would not be drugged with sleep when she stepped silently into his chamber. He would not again lie acquiescent while she touched him, tasted him, took him, rode him. He would not again be so foolish as to drift into sleep while she left him with no explanation for her appearance and no apology for her flight. Slowly the moon crept across the sky, silvering the branches of the old oak outside. Slowly the cold seeped into his bones. Beneath a window limned with frost he drew rough woolen blankets across his pallet. Outside the shutters rattled a little in a forlorn wind, an owl cried from the old oak, a lone leaf of ivy twisted and fell. Falling. Falling. He woke with a start. The door whispered on its hinges, and a slim figure stepped into the chamber. She moved concisely, delicately. She carried a white candle in a plain pewter dish. The flame flickered a little as she moved. From beyond the light that encircled her he watched with hungry eyes. She wore her hair piled and pinned upon the top of her head. He knew it would come tumbling down when he raked his fingers through it. In the garden she had worn a necklace of pearls, but it was gone now. Dressing down for the staff, he thought cynically. He couldn't blame her. His attic garret made an austere setting for her pale beauty; the ivory oval of her face, the glossy black tresses, the lush lashes that framed her eyes, the taut curve of her throat. The skin under her square neckline was delicate and silken smooth, her breasts fiercely constrained by a corset of whalebone and linen. Under the relentless black brocade her waist was slim, supple within its cage, the curve of her hips hidden by voluminous skirts, silk upon silk upon linen. Her skirts proceeded her like an escort, followed her like a retinue; protected her, surrounded her, armored her. She seemed to feel the black fortress of her mourning made her inviolable even as she rode him. She placed the candle upon the night stand and stepped to the bed. He lay still. She leaned down and peeled back the wool and the linen that sheltered his body. He was aroused already, the fine soft skin of his cock pulsing a little in anger and need, capillaries dilated, veins inflamed. Her breath was soft in the night. Amidst the great bell of her skirts she knelt and took the tip of his cock into her mouth. She was unexpectedly gentle, and he closed his eyes as his anger morphed into confusion and desire. His eyes flew open on a gasp as she tilted her head back to caress the whole hard length of his cock within her throat. He caught his breath at the beauty of her, the curve of her cheekbone and the line of lashes and the inflammatory sight of his flesh housed within the rosebud cavern of her mouth. Of their own volition his hands rose to spear through her hair. He brought the glossy black tresses tumbling down about her shoulders to lie soft as a kiss against his tilting hips, then caught them up again in his hands to reveal her mouth upon his cock as if drawing back a veil. "Come away." He tugged at her hair to pull her mouth from his cock, and she allowed him to pry her away with only a parting rasp of her teeth in protest. She grasped her voluminous skirts in both hands and straddled him where he lay. He held her eyes with a dark gaze as his hands crept under the skirts to stroke her knees, to clamber up the slim thighs. He teased at the lace that capped her stockings about tensed thighs, then his hands crept higher to caress her labia with a featherlight touch. She drew a ragged breath and held his gaze as he probed, running his fingers along the crevice between her lips. He withdrew one hand from beneath her skirt and sucked a long finger as her eyes widened. With the moistened finger he probed her secret places, withdrawing to circle her clit as she trembled, returning to penetrate her cunt slowly, never releasing her gaze. When she was wet and trembling he grasped her hips to sheath the tip of his straining cock in her cunt, and then pulled her downwards, impaling her slowly upon the full, throbbing length of his cock as she moaned. The flicker of an eye was all the warning she had as he grasped her hips hard in strong hands and rolled to pin her to the mattress. His hand shot up to trap both her wrists, and he pressed her wrists to the bed as she arched her back and struggled. She began to pant in hard gasps, for her twisting ground his pubic bone into her clit and his cock filled her aching body. She had not realized how heavy he was, nor how muscled. He bent to run his tongue along the fine white lace that edged her bodice, teasing the gauzy stuff with his teeth, dipping his head to sup at the shadows between brocade and flesh. The fluttering flame of the candle threw the dip beneath her collarbone into high relief, and he tasted it as he had longed to do in the sunlit garden. Her legs rose as she writhed to encircle his waist. Her skirts were a billowing wave that washed about them as he tilted her hips to penetrate her more deeply, tormenting her clit with a long finger, gazing hungrily at the clenching thighs and the slick wet shadows between them as his cock slid slowly into her depths. She tossed her head back against the mattress to arch her body like a bow and he slammed his cock hard into her cunt. She called out his name as she came, clenching about him, shuddering, and he came deep within the cradle of her hips. Slowly he woke to awareness of lace against his cheek, and of small slim hands pushing at his shoulders. "I can't breathe," she whispered. "You're too heavy." At least she was speaking to him, he thought groggily as he rolled off her, scooping her slim torso into his arms, settling her possessively against his chest. The glossy tresses slithered across his skin in an entirely satisfactory way, and her exasperated huff of breath seemed the sweetest caress. His last conscious thought was that he mustn't sleep, for she would leave him again with no explanation, and speaking decorously to her in the morning under the watchful eyes of the household staff would be an agony. He woke to the first greying light of dawn, a mourning dove groaning in the old oak outside the window, and the faintest scent of musk. Visitations Ch. 03 He waited. Outside his darkened chamber the sounds of the household subsided. In the hall far below the butler barred the great oak doors with a muffled thud. Stairs creaked as the housekeeper climbed slowly to her dormer, keys clicking faintly. Floorboards sighed as the chambermaids walked wearily to their rooms. He was taut as a strung bow, he thought. The ivory witch had ensorcelled him. The scent of her musk lingered on his bedsheets and haunted his dreams. He could taste the silk of her skin upon his tongue. Greeting her with respectful diffidence across the breakfast table as tutor to her young brothers was a torment when he longed to pin her hips against the table, flip her skirt over her head, and sheathe himself in her. He shifted restlessly on the hard pallet. Tonight he would not succumb to sleep, to wake dazed as the siren sashayed into his room. Tonight he would demand an explanation, or at least strip her dress from her. This time she would not maintain inviolate her fortress of whalebone and brocade whilst he lay naked to her gaze. He threw off the rough the linen sheets. He was clad in a rough tunic and breeches, bare feet silent on wooden planks. His dress was vilely en déshabillé, he thought cynically, but well enough for an evening with milady. Through the lone window the moon shone on bare walls and hard wooden pallet, a single wooden chair, and a floor length mirror, legacy of a long ago governess. The mirror would abet his plans for the evening, he thought with satisfaction. He crossed the room in a three lanky strides to place the chair in the shadows behind the door. When hours later the faint whisper of skirts brushed the planks outside his door, he snapped to attention. The ivory witch could answer for the crick in his neck, he thought. From his chair in the shadows he watched broodingly as she stepped lightly across the threshold, clad as ever in voluminous skirts, a slender creature in full mourning. She had been married for six years, he knew, and widowed for as many months, but she was so slim she might hardly have left the schoolroom. Her candle rendered his enchantress an island of light, blinding her to the tall form slouching menacingly on a chair in the shadows. She stepped lightly across the room to the night stand, her skirts whispering across the floorboards, and set her candle on its surface. He stood, unfolding languidly from his chair, and turned the key in its lock with an audible snick. She whirled on a gasp, her hand rising to her heart, shock upon her lovely face. From the shadows he smiled. "Good e'en, milady." She watched him warily as he approached. Raising large hands to her slight shoulders, he turned her to face the mirror. The candlelight illuminated the perfect ivory oval of her face, high cheekbones and fine brows arched in eternal surprise, eyes the color of coffee under lush lashes; the taut curve of her neck, the shadows etched beneath her collarbones, the silken skin and smooth slope of her breasts, the tiny waist; the fine lace that lined her bodice, the corset that was her cage and her castle, the absurd bell of her skirts. The island of golden light began and ended with her: he was a tall shadow, faceless in darkness. He bent and traced with his lips a single curl fled from her chignon to trail down her neck. She shivered. "It's time we got those widow's weeds off you, my dear." Relishing his rôle as milady's maid, he languidly unlaced her bodice, pulling the laces one by one through each eyelet, holding her gaze in the mirror. As he dropped the lace to the floor he peeled the brocaded whalebone cage from her slim frame. He flipped the stiff brocade to the floor and slid strong hands across her ribcage. Underneath the corset her chemise was a whisper of linen edged with lace. His hands splayed possessively across the flaming silken skin of her midriff. Under his sturdy hands she seemed tiny, slim as a reed. He cupped her breasts in his hands, brushed his thumbs upwards across her puckered nipples, gratified by her gasp. The buds of her nipples hardened under his teasing thumbs. He bent his head to her neck and nipped at the collarbone that had once tormented with its inaccessibility. From her sweet small breasts his hands roamed downwards, exploring her curves languidly, tracing the pert slope of her derrière under her skirts. He tugged at the laces of the skirt. His voice was husky with desire. "Lift your arms, milady." Her eyes met his in the mirror as she complied, and he grasped the voluminous skirt in both hands and drew it upwards, over her head. Under the skirt a farthingale of whalebone and linen encircled the slim waist. He unlaced it, and her cage slid to her ankles in a cascade of hoops. She stood now in a chemise so fine it was translucent, long legs clad in slippers, and silk stockings held by a scrap of lace at the thigh. Under the chemise she wore nothing at all. The chemise was the merest wisp of linen: he slid blunt fingers under the exquisite lace at her neck, caressing the shrinking silken flesh, and tore it from her body. His lady gasped and covered herself with her hands. "Stand still, sweetheart." In a swift stride he crossed the room, returning with the chair. He placed it gently behind her and bowed. "Sit, milady." She sat, watching him warily, her ivory face and rosy aureoles illuminated by the flickering flame. "Spread your legs, milady." Her rosebud mouth dropped open. He stepped closer to the chair, and the coarse linen of his tunic rasped the bare skin of her shoulder. He let his voice deepen menacingly. "Spread your legs, milady." Achingly slowly, she spread her legs. In the mirror they could both see her long slim legs, the ivory skin of her thighs, the curled dark hair between. His mouth brushed her earlobe, and she gasped. "Touch yourself, milady. Spread your lips for me." Her slim hand crept down between her legs, spread her labia. She was wet, her lips glistening. "Touch yourself, lady." A slim finger circled her clitoris, and she gasped again. Pupils dilated, her gaze glassy in the mirror, she circled her clitoris with a pale finger, flicked the tiny nub, circled again, traced the moist clefts and valleys between her labia. Helplessly her knees spread wider, her breath came in gasps. "Fuck yourself with your finger." She slid a long slim finger into her cunt and moaned at the feel of it as he watched from the shadows. He stretched out a broad hand and pinched a nipple between strong fingers. She arched her back and shoved pert breasts into his hand. She slid her finger into her cunt and withdrew it, pressing upwards as her hips tilted. She slid a second finger into her cunt, pushed both fingers deeper, ground her thumb against her clitoris. She slumped in the chair as she fucked herself with two fingers, then three, bruising her clit with her thumb, knees wide open to the mirror, exposed to his gaze, the candle guttering, his eyes aflame. She screamed and humped her hand as she came, then slumped boneless in the chair. Duncan grabbed her wrists and forced her to her feet. With ruthless strength he brought her wrists behind her back and tipped her to her knees in front of the chair. He dropped his breeches and stepped in front of her. "Suck my cock, 'cause I'm going to fuck you in the ass, and you'll need it wet." Her eyes under the honey lashes shot open in shock. He slid his thumb into her mouth and pried it open to thrust the whole length of his cock down her throat. She tilted her head back, her eyes wide, his fingers tangled in the glossy black tresses as her elegant chignon tumbled down. He flexed merciless fingers against the delicate bones of her skull and thrust again as she gagged. She sucked hard. He pulled his cock from her mouth and stood, folding her torso across the wooden chair and pushing her hips against the chair. He leaned forward to kiss her delicate, silken shoulders. As he clenched her beautiful hair in rough hands he whispered tenderly, "I'm going to fuck you in the ass." He guided his engorged cock between her flawless ivory cheeks to the puckered mouth of her asshole. She whimpered as her sphincter began to stretch. She pushed away from him, but he pulled the chair hard against his hips, pinning her hips to his. Relentlessly he sheathed the whole length of his engorged cock in her ass as she moaned. He grasped the silken skin of her neck with his teeth and reached around to press her clit against her pelvic bone, and she came hard, arching and keening against the chair, hips bucking. He plunged his cock into the tender depths of her ass and shot his cum deep inside. Slowly he regained enough motor control to raise her limp form in his arms and tumble them both onto the narrow bed. He arranged her limbs beside him and pulled the woolen blankets across them both, wrapping her in his arms. His last thought before sliding into unconsciousness was that this encounter would not help him greet her decorously across the breakfast table in the morn under the curious eyes of the household staff and two lively young lads.