"Come and eat. We can talk." He picked up two earthenware bowls and began filling them with a large ladle.
In spite of her reservations, Demetria's stomach gurgled and she felt a blush warm her cheeks. "I guess I am hungry after all."
"It's been a complicated day for you. I understand. And I apologize."
He looked penitent as he helped her sit on the simple chair and poured her what looked like water into a plain glass. "Drink. Eat. You'll feel better after you've got something in your tummy."
She wanted to smile. What kind of man called it a tummy? But she merely nodded, and - figuring if she was hallucinating she was already on drugs, and if she wasn't then it didn't matter what she put into her body at this point because she was mostly dead - she tasted her soup.
The moan from her throat surprised her. But it was that good.
Andrew grinned. "Yeah. I might be a screw-up in a lot of ways but I do know how to make a decent soup."
Resisting the urge to pick up the bowl and down it like a starving supermodel who had just come off her contract, Demetria politely ate a few spoonfuls then glanced up at him. "You said you'd talk to me. I think you'd better tell me what's going on, don't you?"
He sighed, ate a little more of his own soup, then nodded. "Yes. Okay." He fidgeted a little with the bread he'd cut into fragrant chunks, making sure she had some near enough to reach if she wanted them.
"You're procrastinating."
"I know." He shrugged. "My problem is that I have to ask you to believe in magic and you're clearly a person who not only doesn't believe in it, you'd walk over it in high heeled shoes if it got in your way."
She thought about that. "You're right. I don't believe in magic. That's a waste of time, since it's not real. I believe in hard work, spreadsheets - " She felt her eyes widen. "Oh my God. My magazine. What's happening there? How long have I been gone? Jesus, the new campaign layout will be coming through - "
"Stop."
The harsh command made Demetria pause and she blinked at Andrew who was frowning and pointing his spoon at her in quite a threatening manner.
"There is no need for concern." He put the utensil down firmly and stared at her. "Time moves differently here. You will return to your own world at a point of your our choosing. It can be the next morning or the next year. It doesn't matter. Magic works the way you want it to when it comes to that sort of thing."
"Oh." Demetria tried to get her head around that concept and failed dismally.
"You are here, in my world, because of me. Because I saw your face and knew you were destined to be mine. And yes, I knew what kind of person you were before I came to collect you."
She swallowed. "Whaaa - ?" It sounded weak at best, but it was all she could say at that moment. His bluntness pretty much robbed her of the power of speech.
"You are beautiful, Demetria. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But you don't see the real beauty inside you. Because you ignore it, it's fading. Vanishing. My job - and I've only just realized it - is to reawaken that beauty."
"Uh..." Her mind reeled, still stuck on the destined-to-be-mine thing.
He pushed his chair backwards with an angry squeak and stood, holding out his hand across the table. "Come with me and I'll show you. It's time."
He seemed larger, somehow, taller perhaps. Whatever it was, it filled Demetria with a blend of curiosity and apprehension. For one of the few times she could remember, she obeyed a command without question, rising from her chair and placing one hand in his while the other held the blanket in place around her nakedness.
"Don't worry. I would never harm you." His gaze softened a little as it met hers.
"Okay." She was strangely reassured by the warm of his hand and the gentle squeeze of his fingers around hers.
He led her from the kitchen through a small passage way and into a bedroom. It was as rustic as the rest of the house, with walls of softly shining wood paneling, what looked like a hand-braided rug on the floor and a massive bed with a headboard carved cleverly from intertwined branches and pieces of trees. The whole looked like it had been transported from some fairy glade.
Which, mused Demetria, it probably had been.
Andrew tugged her forward, distracting her from her unsettling thoughts. "Come here, love."
Responding to the endearment, she walked to him, surprised as he turned her around and pulled her back against his body.
"Now look ahead. Tell me what you see."
Across the room was a mirror, a tall one on hinges, showing a good portion of the room. In it was the reflection of the two of them, her blonde hair glowing, Andrew's hands holding her, arms crossing just beneath her breasts. The soft blanket gaped over her cleavage. It was a sensual image of a couple that might just be on their way to bed. Or had just left it.
Either way, the picture was more than a little erotic and it gave Demetria a definite tingle in her girl parts as she watched his lips brush her ear and his hand slide up to cup one breast.
"I see us." Her voice was breathy as Andrew found a nipple through the blanket and gently rubbed it with his thumb. "I see you touching me."
"Look at your face." His hands tugged at the blanket and it fell away, revealing her naked body. This time his hands cupped both breasts. "Your face, Demetria. Look..."
She looked.
And saw herself, languorously leaning into Andrew's embrace, her lips reddened where she licked them, her eyelids heavy. She was the perfect picture of a woman aroused.
"Do you see yourself?"
She nodded, his heat beginning to sear her spine. "Yes."
"Good." He moved backward and surprised her with a sudden tug, pulling her off balance and onto the bed. "Now get comfortable. I have something else to show you."
She wriggled around and moved the quilt aside, finding the pillow at last and blinking as Andrew quickly divested himself of his robe and landed beside her, naked and erect.
"Forget about my dick. Look up." He grabbed her chin and turned her head so that she could look above herself to the ceiling.
She gasped. It was a mirror, embedded into the ceiling panels, cleverly framed by the same wood and an intrinsic part of the decorative work. A full-length mirror, showing their bodies in detail, not a flaw in the surface, so perfect it could have been a high-definition reflection.
But it was the woman it showed that shook Demetria to her core. "I - I don't - understand..."
Looking back at her was her own image. But this one was different. Blank. There was no expression in her eyes, no fullness to her lips, no expression on her face whatsoever. It was not unlike staring at a waxwork replication... perfect in every detail but there was something missing. A soul.
"This is you, inside." Andrew pointed upward, his head turned toward her as she lay beside him. "This is what the real you looks like."
She shook her head. "It can't be. That's not me."
He sighed. "That is you, sweetheart. You've shut down that part of you that gives life to your passions, entrances friends, makes people want to say hello - the nicest part of your personality isn't there."
She couldn't take her eyes away from the image. "I don't like this. Make it stop." In spite of her resolve, her limbs began to tremble. "Andrew, I really don't like this."
The image moved, its lips moved, it did everything Demetria did and the more it did, the more concerned she became. "Fuck...make it stop."
At her wits' end, she tried to get up, only to find Andrew's arm firmly across her body, holding her down. "There is only one way to fix this, Demetria."
"How?" Desperately she turned away at last from the alien monstrosity above her, and stared at Andrew. "Tell me how?"
"Let me help."
"What do I have to do?" She gripped his arm, fingers shaking with a mixture of anguish and fear. "I don't want to be that - that - that soulless thing..."
"Shhh." He stroked her face, calming her. "You're not. There's still time."
"Time for wh
at?" She clung to him, desperate, more afraid than she could ever remember being. Afraid that what he said might be the truth and she was little more than an empty shell barking out orders and alienating everyone she met in the name of business success.
"It's simple." He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her lips. "All you have to do is let me love you."
She shifted in confusion. "I don't get it."
He smiled. "I know. But you will. Just keep an eye on the mirror."
He moved down a little, reaching for her body, slipping his hand over the soft curve of her belly and down to her mound. As he cupped her soft folds, his lips closed over a nipple and the dual assault took her breath away, sending shivers of pleasure through her nervous system and distracting her completely.
For a second or two she was lost then as she glanced up again, she gasped. There was something different about the woman in the mirror.
Chapter Six
Andrew was enjoying himself in spite of the gnawing worry at the back of his mind that this plan might fail. That Demetria wouldn't realize what she'd done to her heart and her soul, and refuse to allow herself to release those imprisoned emotions.
So he poured every ounce of his feelings for her into his touch, letting his kisses reveal his delight in her skin, his tongue stroke and tease and taste every inch of her body and his hands tantalize the parts of her he wasn't licking at any given moment.
He surrounded her, encompassed her, drowned her in attentions he hoped would arouse her emotions as well as her body.
His fingers teased her clitoris and stroked her moisture over the swelling lips of her sex. Her scent flooded the room, rich and unique, redolent of the woman he hoped she would become. His other hand played with her breasts, then slithered between her back and the bed, to move downward and find a full, ripe buttock. He squeezed it firmly, loving the little moan.
Her eyelids were heavy now, her gaze unfocused, and Andrew took a few seconds to congratulate himself on having drawn her attention away from the mirror. More distraction was needed, however.
Eagerly he reached for her hips and turned her, lifting her on top of him and pulling on hidden strength to get her pussy up around his face. It was a combination of him sliding down and her sliding up, but it worked. She straddled his shoulders, thighs wide apart, sweet wet velvety folds inches from his tongue.
And when he pulled her to him and used the aforementioned tongue, she shuddered and cried out. He wished he could see what the mirror saw, her buttocks clenching, her toes probably curling as well. He could feel the muscles of her body responding as he licked and sucked and growled into her pussy, nibbling delicately then making sure he stroked and teased all the ultra sensitive flesh around the little bud.
She was wet now, seriously wet, and he relished her hot moisture as it soaked his face. Her moans and shudders guided him and when he felt her lift one hand to find her own nipple, he knew he was well on the way to success. She was becoming involved in their lovemaking, not just allowing him to give her great oral.
Andrew knew this had to be a two-way street if it was going to work. That Demetria was going to have to release her emotions and her passions and fuck him with more than her body. He was betting she would.
And praying he was right.
His spirits leaped as she moved of her own volition, sliding away from his mouth and down his body where he lay beneath her. He shuddered in his turn as her hot pussy slicked over his cock and his breath froze in his lungs when she stopped - and took him into her hand.
"I'm not good at this," she whispered. "Tell me if I'm doing it wrong, okay?"
She licked her lips and he damn near came right then.
The gentleman in him couldn't let this pass without a comment. "You don't have to..." What the fuck am I saying? Of course you do. The overwrought horny male screamed inside Andrew's head.
"I want to. It seems right. For the first time I can remember, I want to, Andrew."
He swallowed roughly. "Well okay then. I'm good with that." Which was, upon due consideration, the understatement of the millennia.
She stroked him tentatively at first, feather light caresses that nearly drove him insane. He knew his eyes had to be crossing since she was completely out of focus after the first few moments of her sweet torture.
He sensed the movement in the bedding as she lowered herself; he felt the warmth of her breath around his most sensitive spots, and then - bliss erupted throughout his body as she sank her lips and mouth down onto his cock.
"God, Demetria. That is - uhhhh..." His words faded to little moans and whimpers as she learned him with her tongue, flicking and swirling her way up and down his rigid length, making up for what she lacked in skill with an evident enthusiasm that was enough to rattle what little brains he had left. He avoided an instinctive squeak as her teeth accidentally grazed him, and forgave the fact that he was getting cramp in one thigh.
He'd ignore a boulder crashing in on his skull at this particular moment, should such an unlikely event occur. Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that being given oral sex by the woman of his dreams ranked as the most spectacular moment of his life thus far.
He wasn't surprised to find he'd elevated both of them a foot off the bed without thinking about it. And as he focused enough to lower them back down, he also realized Demetria hadn't even noticed.
His plan was working.
Working so well that he was about to come in her mouth, which wasn't part of the plan. So it was with a great deal of regret that he gently eased himself free and pulled her upward along his body so that he could kiss her, stroke her cheeks, run his hands up and down her back and squeeze that beautiful ass of hers.
"You're incredible." He breathed the words into her ear. "I could fuck you for eternity and it wouldn't be enough."
"Mmmm." She purred as she lay on him. "That feels so good."
"There's more." He gently rolled them, ending up where he wanted to be - between her parted thighs, his cock at the entrance to paradise.
"Oh," she sighed. "Yes. Please."
Andrew aroused her anew, once again utilizing every ounce of instinctive skill, every sexual concept he'd ever read, and every detail of a woman's erogenous system he could remember.
He drew his fingernails delicately down the inside of her thighs, pinched her bottom, and nipped softly at her breasts with his teeth. He was everywhere at once, it seemed, and still it wasn't enough.
He ached, literally ached, to be inside her, but he'd promised himself he'd make it as good as he possibly could, and he knew he had to get her erotic fires white hot before plunging himself into the furnace. At some later point he'd probably grimace at the horridly cheesy fire analogies, but right now it was the best his struggling mind could come up with.
Finally he reached the end of his limit, his entire body screaming at him to get on with it, dammit.
Demetria was soaked, her pussy hot and wet enough to take him - and maybe two other people as well. He rubbed the head of his cock against the searing liquids and she moaned loudly - something he considered an excellent sign, when coupled with the fact that her fingernails were scrabbling against him as she tried to pull him closer.
Whatever the lady wants...
Slowly, determined to relish every single second, Andrew began to slip himself inside Demetria's body, his passage welcomed and eased by the boiling juices coating his cock. She was tight, just tight enough to add some constriction to his movement. And that added even more bliss to his overflowing cup.
How much more bliss he could stand...well, that was up for debate. He barely noticed the large field of flowers some uncontrolled spell must have created in the bedroom, or the tiny flocks of butterflies which were now zooming from each of his ears, and performing aerodynamically impossible acrobatics before flying out of the window.
There wasn't time to register that once again they'd levitated off the bed or that what had been a country quilt was now the biggest and softest
sheepskin ever created. With a sheep still attached.
No, all these magical occurrences went pretty much unnoticed by the wizard whose mind was busily manifesting them.
Why? It was simple. Beneath the robes and behind the wand was a man. A simple man who wanted nothing more than to fuck his woman until they were both sated, limp, sticky and exhausted. And happy.
So Andrew did just that, finally plunging into Demetria and beginning that age-old rhythm guaranteed to send them both rocketing into a maelstrom of sensation.
She locked her legs around him, holding on, her neck arched back and her eyes closed tightly. Andrew watched her, focused entirely on her, touching her body, teasing her, keeping her at her peak as he neared his.
Within moments he felt her first tiny spasms and heard her breath seize in her lungs. He hammered himself into her, his cock loving the feel of her gripping him with her internal muscles, and laving him with her sensual sweetness.
She froze, her body tensing into immobility, her legs clenched tightly against his hips and her mouth open on a silent scream.
Demetria orgasmed around him, an explosion of shockwaves that grabbed his cock and sent him over the edge to join her. He let go, pumping like he'd never pumped before, his balls throbbing in ecstasy, his cock shuddering in time with her contractions.
He shouted, yelling his pleasure to the four winds, blind to everything but the sensation of pouring all that he was into this woman and having her body clench fiercely, sucking him dry. She shook, trembling as the release continued unabated, rolling through her - and by default him - rocking them both with its savagery.
Andrew hung on, his cock still hard, buried balls-deep inside her, waiting for the inevitable moment when the peak would pass. His senses were dulled, reduced to one thing and one thing only...Demetria. She was all there was in his universe for these long wonderful moments as they soared, locked together, into a place where there were no words, just sensations.
Eons passed, a good portion of Andrew's life flashed in front of his eyes - along with a couple of other people's as well, since his wasn't super-interesting - until finally they sank back down to the bed. Which let out a sound not unlike that of a deflated sheep and returned to being just a bed covered with a crumpled country quilt.
Andrew Cleese and Ms Lyon Page 6
