Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chaos In Paradise
By Lizbeth Dusseau
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2010 Lizbeth Dusseau
All rights reserved
Prologue
His hand moves up my naked thigh, under the dress finding me wet when he reaches the tangle of brown hair. I open my mouth, letting his tongue do to me what his fingers are doing to me below. Three of them act like a cock, shards of sensations tingle me, like ice does against my skin or hot wax or leather. He pulls out of me when he thinks I’m about to cum.
Moving over top, he straddles my hips with his leather-clad thighs, pulling the dress above my snatch and over my belly that ripples with the sensation of him overpowering me.
“Hands over your head,” I hear him whisper in such desperate softness he woos the compliance from me. My arms reach high to the sand on the beach above, feeling the finely ground pebbles as they sift through my fingers.
“You’ll bind them,” I whisper back, and he shushes me, more occupied in lifting the cotton off my body, exposing the two hillocks of flesh with their pert pink mountain-peak nipples. The massage of his palms sends another spasm downward to where his leather crotch burrows against my pubic mound and I thrust back shooting energy to raise his cock. I feel it harden inside his pants, and with every move that hard thing dances on my ticklish clit.
“Bind me,” I declare as my body thrashes under him. If I turn my head, I can see the rope lying beside me unused. There’s a mocking sneer on his full lips and his eyes are sumptuously seducing, as he holds my satisfaction one step away. He tears the dress from my body altogether and here I am utterly naked being abused by this wickedness I spawn in him. He wouldn’t be so evil if it weren’t for me, but he likes this evil as much as I do.
He slips the rope over my hands, pulling it tight so the rough jute cuts daringly into my thin wrists. I’m about to cum into his crotch. Then my belly heaves as he holds my bound hands above my head and moves down on my chest, acting as though he’s in me. My cunt aches for the stiff erection, but he leaves me with that ache, content that I’m getting only pieces of satisfaction one at a time.
“Cum on me,” he murmurs as his warm breath tickles my ear and the soft spot behind it, and down my neck. I giggle and whine as though I’m frantic, and so I am. “Cum on me,” he repeats, as sudden surges force my cunt to pulsate on his leather britches. The clitoris spasms and my hips buck. He confines me so I can hardly move, as though he swallows me and my cum within him. And then all the little joys of ending shower down from my shoulders to my crotch like the spray of the ocean raining after it crashes on the rocks.
“Close your eyes,” he speaks again and his body pulls off my mine. I’m in a good peaceful spot, but I feel his heat making demands on us both. He secures my hands, tying the rope to some rock or fallen limb above my head so I can’t pull them free. Then stuffing my dress into my open mouth, I’m hopelessly silenced. There will be no cooing words from my lips. I smell the redolence of body sweat and sex juice and perfumed oil I use on my thighs—all clinging to the fabric of my gag.
My legs go over his shoulders as he descends on me, his dick knocking at the soppy door of my cunt, teasing the entrance to spark another orgasmic wave—here when I thought they all passed away.
I lurch forward as though that will require his molten organ to strike home. I want to see his eyes, but he secures my blindness with another command, “Keep them closed.”
A second later, he moves with ease inside me, hitting the end of my channel with his penis head. This position strains my thighs causing them to ache pulled so widely asunder and high above me. Drawing the head of his cock in and out of me, the massage on the prickly folds at the gateway sends shudder after shudder. I keep it all within, I cannot cry and I cannot see and I can hardly move. As he shoots, my cunt clutches his organ and squeezes down hard until this blissful radiance vibrates out of my crotch. His reply—a low murmur of satiation—brings my second wave of joy. Then all the discomfort of my legs eases away as he withdraws and I relax into the sandy surface of the crumbled blanket beneath us.
“Open your eyes,” he says, while tenderly running his fingers over my eyelids. I’m still gagged, though at least now I can see his face, and the azure eyes that stare lovingly into mine.
“I suppose you want me to beat your buttocks and ream your ass,” he says.
I want him to do everything, but I can’t tell him so with my dress stuffed inside my mouth. He tickles my stretched taut underarms. If I could only laugh and twist, but he won’t allow that. I think I’ll begin another orgasm with this treatment, but then he frees my mouth and unties the jute.
As my arms surround his shoulders and my breasts press to his chest, we kiss, remaining silent—sharing the blanket while ocean waves crash somewhere beyond us in the dark.
Out of chaos comes order
out of order—chaos
One will not exist without the other close at hand
Time: The distant future
Place: The western shores of North America
The Players:
Teagan—a female wanderer, recently journeying from the anarchy of the Southern provinces to the Utopian North
Keven—the Brannoch priest of a Northern province, his title an inherited obligation
Knowland—the Provincial Lord—also an inherited title—and Keven Brannoch’s friend.
Queleah(Kay-lee-ah)—-Knowland’s lover
Mariel—-Teagan’s friend
Other Players—-Teagan’s lovers from the South
Chapter One
“Her ignorance of me is peace,” I explain.
“You don’t plan to tell her?” Knowland probes me hard, the way he does with his narrow beady eyes peering out of his scruffy face.
“If she knew who I was, I’d never have her again, so I’m not about to tell her.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Someday this will all be destroyed. But these months with her have been the best of my life.” He always looks at me so blankly waiting for me to explain. I don’t think the man lives with any particular passion. But Teagan is something different all together. I see her lying naked on the sand, and even though my cock’s limp, it’s starting to mew again. Her hair is the color of wet sand as it dries, but then it sparkles when the sun hits the side of her face. Her widespread eyes are green like the sea, her features curiously small and dainty. Her face is sometimes deathly pale, though sometimes there’s a rosy glow on her cheek when she’s smiling. I watch her when she walks, how her body floats inside the clothes she wears. Her thighs move like two soft pillows, and I get hard seeing the way her round ass curves toward her waist. I think I could climax seeing her nipples poke against her dresses like tiny whitecaps on the surface of a rocky sea, and the way her breasts move buoyantly inside the material, gentle waves of flesh … ripe, hot, steamy flesh.
“I touch her skin, Knowland, and I touch what the old seers said of heaven. Something about that touch oscillates within me and I have to consume her. Knowland, my friend, you’ve got to replace me. I can’t do this job any more.”
“So you’re in lust. What the hell’s wrong with that? You’re a man aren’t you?”
“Then marry her.”
I laugh. “You think she’d have me after she knows who I am, or rather what I am?”
“Tell her she has to marry you, that it’s the law in this land, otherwise the Provincial Lord will expel her for harlotry.”
“Oh, you’ll expel her along with Queleah and all the other women of “lesser” breeding.”
“It’s in my power, why not?”
“You’re as bad with this game as I am.”
“It’s not a game, Keven. It is our lives and who we are. And we do it well. This province has known peace for nearly three hundred years, just the way our ancestors framed it. We made a sacred pact with those ancient ones. I am the Lord of this tribe and you its High Priest … you say the prayers, you bless the babies, you make the proud women bow to their men in obedience, and purify them when they stray. You secure the peaceful existence of these several hundred families so life goes on without the wars that are killing hundreds in the South. Everyone is happy here, but you. You think too much.”
“Yes, I think too much, I think of her too much. I’m horny all day long thinking of her. How am I supposed to prevent that? How could I possible purify my mind? How am I suppose to be worthy of what my birthright gave me the power to do?”
He laughs in my face. “You don’t have to make yourself worthy, Brannoch! You have this by divine right. You can twist the laws any way you like to accommodate this woman. Purify her. Marry her. Then you can do all the despicable things you want to the bitch. And you don’t have to sneak around worrying if one of your flock will find you out.”
“I should have you locked up for heresy,” I explode on him.
“Me? Now? I’ve been a heretic since you and I were slinging bows over our shoulders and running after deer in the woods when we were ten. Your problem, Keven, is that you take this occupation of yours too seriously. You keep your head in those ancient manuscripts looking for some indecipherable Truth. Well, there is no Truth. There’s just the way things work and the way they don’t. We have the way that works and you fight it. Why?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes this makes me sad what we’ve all come to.”
“There you go, you sad ass.” He sneers at me, but I’m used to it. “The world blew up three-hundred odd years ago, and this is what was left. We had ancestors that fought for the peace they hammered out. No one bucks it but you.”
“Have you ever wondered why our brothers in the South don’t all migrate to paradise? Why do they stay in the wastelands and keep slugging out the bare bones of life? Do you ever think about that?”
“Never. But since you’re making me, it seems the only explanation is that they just aren’t smart enough to do anything else. We’d kick their asses out anyway. There isn’t a northern tribe that would let them in.”
“Except their women.”
“Their women are willing to mold themselves. Their women want peace. We don’t turn people away that want to join us, just the troublemakers.” He’s exasperated with me. I see that when his hand combs through his long hair, pushing it off his face and he scowls through the beard. “Quit making this so hard on yourself, Keven. Marry her.”
I stare at him for some minutes, thinking of what he says. Marry her. “I’ll destroy what we have if I marry her. Besides, if she finds out, she’ll leave. I’m afraid of what a purification would mean to her—especially one as vile as hers would undoubtedly be. There seems to be no space between us where there is any animosity or pain or regret, but there will be if I tell her the truth.”
“Then you live with the lie, friend. Obviously you won’t allow yourself to have it both ways. So live with the lie. Live with it until she finally finds out on her own. You can’t keep the secret forever. And then when she does know it all, she’ll leave on her own.”
I wonder if somewhere in some magic corner of this utopia there is a place were we could make our loving legal, but I think the future will likely go the way Knowland suggests. He’s infinitely practical, and a good friend.
Chapter Two
I think of Keven all the time—especially how he speaks my name, Teagan, with such affection I’ve never heard from any man. He reluctantly takes me to the extremes knowing I like it rough. But I like it best with him, of all my lovers because his face pours passionate sadness into me through his eyes. I saw him first on the beach with a hatchet in his hand. He’d been chopping wood and was scraping off pine tar and shavings. I’m sure I intruded on whatever contemplation he was in the midst of—he looked so very serious—but I couldn’t help myself reflecting on his expression.
His full head of wavy brown hair falls about his face, adding to the soft look of his lips and the tender blue of his eyes. His eyes are intensely haunting and they say so much about him. He’s generous, compassionate and stern. Charismatic and casual. But he is conflicted about what he won’t speak of to me. When we talked that first time, I told him who I was and how I didn’t want to make trouble. I just wanted a home for a while where I can smell flowers when I walk in meadows, and where the streams run clear, where I can run barefoot in the dirt and feel clean sand between my toes. I don’t think any explanation of myself would have mattered. He seemed to adore me from that first gaze.
We talked for several meetings. I told him about myself, about how I assist the newsmaker preparing his presses for the papers every Friday, and sell jewelry I make from things I gather from the shoreline—shells and rocks and petrified pieces of wood. I’ve sold them at market several times in the villages, usually bartering for food. At night I weave on the frame I built, making cloth from yarn and thread I buy on market days.
Keven’s talked about his childhood, but little about his present life, except his humble profession. He says there is not much to say. I’ve had a much more fascinating life—though he knows so little of the truth.
The day I invited Keven home to see my work, I thought he’d turn me down at first. But his eyes were as swept with lust as mine. And before I had a chance to show him the jewelry and fabric, he took me into his arms and kissed my lips. Those full, sweet manly ones preyed on mine, though I can’t say I didn’t welcome them. Considering the enthusiasm with which he tore at my dress and his utter awe of me, I wondered if it had been years since he was with a woman. When he untied my blouse, it drifted downward exposing my breasts, and my nipples instantly turned into pebbles before his aroused eyes. The half light of the afternoon brushed the surface giving them a sateen glow. His look was strangely sweet. Keven’s fingers soothed my skin, his touch feeling like melting butter. When his mouth covered one nipple, I shrunk back, stunned by the force of his lips sucking it hard, and then pinching the other so firmly, I shrieked. We both knew how that made my pussy pulse. A drizzle of sex juice ran down my inner thigh. Tumbling to the bed, the rest of my clothes disappeared.
“No fair!” I exclaimed. “I want your cock.”
Trying to reconcile the inequality of our state of dress, I had my hand at the buttons of his britches. Fast undoing them my hands sensed hot meat throbbing inside his leather. With my face at his crotch, I took one admiring glance at his organ rising like a bird from its nest. My mouth covered it, my lips sucking their way along the blood engorged skin and veins. The purple head had smooth skin and a bitter taste and the smell of darkness and mystery. I washed him clean with my slippery tongue, imagining him about to spew his cum. But then he pulled me on top of him and forced my legs apart, fists clutching my ass, as he positioned my wet cunt over the waiting stalk.
“You have a randy ass, bitch,” he seethed sexily in my ear.
“And you a dirty tongue,” I seethed my reply.
He spanked the tender surface, not once but ten times, until the warm sting turned painful. Then he just squeezed the globes again until I objected.
&nbs
p; “You like it rough and dirty,” he suggested to me, while clutching my rear cheeks and spreading them wide. His hips pumped into mine, driving the erection to the painful end of the channel. Though his massage made me delirious, my climax was close. He shot and I squirmed into his groin going wild as my clit took charge and the spasming hole beneath throbbed against his withering prick.
***
My friend Mariel likes to listen to my stories about my lovers. She has the heart of an innocent but the lust of a Southern slut. I worry that she’s not going to be able to contain herself. She’ll get into trouble if she’s not more careful.
I met Mariel selling jewelry. She’s a young scampy thing, with blue/gray eyes and smooth tanned skin from bathing naked on the beach, and bright sun-bleached hair that’s naturally a tawny shade of brown. She’s engaged to be married, but nurtures a pocketful of salacious fantasies that will make her an unhappy Utopian wife. Yet, as she listens to my narratives, I think we may be abating the worst of her lechery. When she comes for tea, we always end up talking about sex.
She sometimes urges me for revelations about Keven, though those I’m reluctant to give her, they seem especially private. I don’t tell her the whole of our affair, just a few things. “He does little things to me,” I say. I’m recalling one of the first times we were together. “We lay for some time not speaking,” I tell her ... “Keven’s at my back, embracing me with his arms, as one hand cupped my pubis. The way his fingers delicately moved into my steamy channel, I might have built to something else fast. He pinched my labia and tugged my hair until I squealed again. “You have a nasty way with you, woodcutter,” I declared.
“And you don’t like it?” he said.
“Oh, but I do,” I said turning in his arms so I could peek in his eyes. “I’m the kind of woman used to lovers that use me.” My hand stroked his smoothly shaven cheeks. Even that made me titter down below so I scissored my legs with his, riding one of his thighs like a saddle. “I like being bound, my ass spanked, my pussy whipped. Whatever kind of cruelty you want to impose on me, I can find a way to pleasure in it.”
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