by Sahara Kelly
Her name was Marion.
Her long dark hair spilled over the furs on his pallet, tumbling to the floor in a cascade of shadows and silk. She stared at him, all wanton desire and passion as she lifted her arms in a gesture of welcome. Her eyes glowed as she smiled, every movement, every gesture a lure of its own.
He lifted the light blanket, slowly pulling it back to reveal her naked limbs, blinking at his own hand, so strong and callused, yet familiar. The chill within his tent had brushed his nakedness, but done nothing to quell the throbbing of his cock. He was hard, needy, desiring nothing more than to find himself buried to the balls within the hot wetness of this woman who smiled at him.
“I am here at your bidding, Sir Knight.” The words were whispered, almost a sigh from lips that were moist and full.
“And will you do as I bid, now that you are here?” His hand thrust the coverlet to the floor.
“Yes.” Her breasts trembled with each breath she took. “Yes. Name it and I shall do it. As long as you bid me to give you pleasure. ‘Tis all I desire.”
His gaze swept from her full breasts down her curvy body to the darkly furred mound of her pussy. In response, she parted her thighs a little, giving him a glimpse of her secret petals, furls of flesh waiting to be plundered by a warrior with a strong sword.
Well, he had that weapon ready, without doubt. “And what of your own pleasure, Marion?”
She licked her lips. “I shall hope that you will see to it, my Lord.” Her legs shifted once more, this time a blatant invitation. “You are a warrior of much renown. ‘Tis said you are as skilled with bedsports as you are with the mace and the lance.”
He touched her ankle, marveling at the soft skin, then let his fingertip wander upward, brushing her thigh and teasing past her pussy, stopping just below her navel. Where he lightly flicked her skin and watched the flesh shudder. “I trust you will find my skills…adequate.”
She licked her lips, sheening them with a glow of her own saliva. “I’m sure I will.”
His hands continued their journey, moving up to her breasts, palms sliding over the hard buds at their tips. “You are sensitive there.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “You are indeed observant, Lord Rossignol.”
The scent of her, redolent of flowers and woman, filled his nostrils as he bent one leg and knelt on the furs beside her. “My given name is Cristophe. You have leave to use it.” He lowered his head, watching her eyes widen as he neared her. “I would hear you scream it aloud, Marion, when your passion peaks.”
He dipped to her, brushing their lips together, then sliding his tongue over the fullness, urging her to let him inside.
She obeyed.
He kissed her, mouth hard and demanding. He wanted her writhing beneath him, aroused and willing. He wanted her body crushed against his own, their heat mingling as their skin fused into a blur of desire.
Little by little, her muscles tensed, her arms lifting to his shoulders and clutching him as she voluntarily deepened their kiss. The pallet creaked as Cristophe eased himself over her, straddling her thighs with his, mounting her much as he would his precious destrier before a joust.
His cock was harder than any lance, aching to penetrate her wet heat. A moan broke the silence, hers, perhaps—or maybe his. The delight of simply kissing her was driving his arousal past any limits he’d ever imposed upon himself.
She was his woman, his trophy—the prize he’d won by vanquishing all combatants in the games of the day just ended. The meal they had been supposed to share had quickly become less about food and more about lust. One glance at each other and the flames of passion had leaped high.
Pulling back, Cristophe licked his own lips, tasting the cinnamon sweetness of her tongue. “By the saints, lady. Your taste fair drives a man insane…”
His hands found her breasts as he eased their bodies apart and he felt Marion’s thighs press against his own, an attempt to urge him onward. He couldn’t help the grin. “Wait. Patience offers its own rewards.”
“I am not known for my patience, my—Cristophe.” Her fingers scrabbled at his head as he tongued one of her nipples. “Especially not when you do—oh, that.”
He did it again, loving her low husky moan of pleasure. But not too much, not yet. He moved further down along her body, his cock now lying between her legs on the soft fur. The combination of sensations was driving him mad and it was sheer agony to hold back from plunging his cock savagely into her.
And yet he did hold back. There were more delights he would show her. For some reason, he was driven to lavish every single one of his skills on this woman. She was more than a bedmate, more than an idle interlude.
She was everything he’d dreamed of, everything he desired. And he would let her know in no uncertain terms. His tongue slid over her navel, pausing to play for a moment, then moving down—to find the seat of her passion.
Nuzzling between her thighs, Cristophe sought and found the little pearl of flesh, the tiny center of her pussy. He sensed the immediate response as he flicked his tongue carefully around it, a shimmer of arousal that passed through her body like a bolt of summer lightning. She cried out, this amazing woman of his, then whimpered as he suckled her, lips caressing the swollen folds, nipping gently around the small bud, tongue spreading a blend of her juices and his own saliva.
She thrashed and moaned, answering each touch with increasing urgency, her nails biting in to his forearms as he held her hips still beneath his face.
“I cannot—please, my Lord—do not do this to me—I cannot stand more—” Marion’s heels drummed against his muscles as her legs fought to pull him where she wanted him most.
“You can. And you will.”
He pushed her, harder and faster, wanting her to come right there and then. His mouth, his tongue, his face—he used every tool he had to drive her over the edge.
She shattered on a scream, pulsing around him with spasms of madness, her pussy thrusting rhythmically against his face, her ass clenched tightly within his palms.
That was what Cristophe wanted. That moment of inhaling her release, drinking the juices she spurted so freely as her body let go and tumbled into ecstasy.
“Now, lady.” He lifted himself away from her pussy and moved upward with intent. “Now let us go further.”
Before the shudders had ceased, he was in her, plunging deeply into her body with one massive thrust.
Marion screamed once again, frantically clawing at him with hands and inner muscles. She sucked him inside, milking him, urging him to move, to plunder that which was his—and his alone.
He pounded into her, a madness of his own cascading through his brain, blinding him to anything but the need that crushed his balls and his cock—the need to empty himself into the fiery darkness welcoming him with a savage kiss of burning liquid.
Cristophe rode her hard, sensing her body responding to each thrust, knowing she was with him, beneath him, around him and beside him as they neared the pinnacle.
“My God—yes—Cristophe—” Her cry rattled his eardrums as she splintered into a trembling and shaking spasm that threatened to buck him off.
He hung on, knowing his own release was only seconds away. A massive tremor clamped her inner muscles onto his cock and he choked out his own cry as his balls erupted, cock throbbing and pulsing in time with her movements, his seed rushing out into the boiling essence that was Marion.
He froze, a moment of bliss that transcended time itself.
Then, strangely, the air began to suck itself from his lungs and he fought for breath, fought to cry out yet again as she shuddered around him. His vision blurred, his neck constricted by something—someone—
He came again, endless streams of passion, still dousing the fires within her furnace.
Blind now, Cristophe panicked. He could not breathe, he could not see—a red darkness began to swallow him even as the last few spurts from his cock overflowed from Marion’s body and soaked them bo
th.
He could hear her mewling cries of completion—and he could hear something else.
A bird—singing a melody of such painful sweetness…
He faded away, lost in some swirling abyss where there was nothing but that music…
And woke up as himself, Chris Harvey, renowned composer and conductor and embarrassed maestro covered with his own come.
What the fuck was all that about?
Trying to recapture the details of his dream, Chris lay and listened to the ocean. But all he could hear was that damned birdsong. Again. Making a mental note to himself to add a quick flute passage over and above the clarinets, he turned and pummeled his pillow.
He made himself one promise. From now on, he would absolutely not eat cheese popcorn before going to bed. Add to that a note about not watching old Errol Flynn movies too. Marion, indeed. Maid Marian, perhaps, from the classic “Robin Hood”. Although, God knew, she’d been no virgin maiden. Not his Marion. And he hadn’t been wearing green tights, either.
Chris snorted. Enough was enough. He was tired, flat out exhausted from trying to get his symphony finished and facing deadlines that were too close for comfort. Dreams were, in his opinion, the brain’s way of dealing with stressors.
So he’d dealt with ‘em by fucking his brains out in his dreams. He didn’t have a current girlfriend to take the edge off—there simply wasn’t enough time to devote to any kind of relationship. Not right now, anyway.
So he’d gotten off subconsciously. It had worked. Quite nicely, too. Up until that end bit, where he’d felt uncomfortably like he was strangling to death.
He sighed and closed his eyes. Just a couple more hours sleep and he’d be ready to go.
Mustn’t forget—flute over the clarinets—
Chapter Six
“Uhh…say that again?” Marianne stared at Jake.
Renny snorted. “No, don’t say that again.” She glared at her husband. “We are not going to drug you and hypnotize you.”
“Yes, we are.” Jake looked quite unrepentant. “That’s what it boils down to.”
A gusty sigh from his wife punctuated the stunned silence that followed.
Marianne swallowed. “Um…”
“Let’s try this again.” Renny shifted her long legs more comfortably on the chair. They were in the library once more, the doors closed this time, since the morning air was cool in spite of the sunshine.
“In order to tap into your dreams, Marianne, we need you to be as relaxed as possible.”
“Drugs help. It’s too early for martinis.” Jake grinned.
“Will you cut that out?”
“Yes, dear.”
Renny tried again. “Ignore that oaf over there.” She dismissed him with a wrinkle of her nose. “It’s not unlike any kind of deep therapy session, honey. You’re probably familiar with the general idea. Inducing relaxation allows the mind to wander more freely, without the boundaries we all impose upon our thoughts, whether consciously or not.”
Marianne nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Once the mind and the body relax, the therapist can dig more deeply into the psyche of their patient, exploring ideas, memories—all the clutter we bury on a regular basis—the stuff that sometimes comes back to haunt us without our realizing it.”
Again, Marianne nodded. “Okay. I’m with you so far.”
Jake settled himself into another chair near Marianne’s position in the corner of the large overstuffed sofa and took her hand. “All kidding aside, Marianne, this is the best way we’ve found to help you remember your dreams as fully as possible. That’s how we start dealing with these mysteries.”
“And once you’ve started?” She couldn’t help the question. The warmth and strength of Jake’s hand, along with the quietly supportive tone of his voice, were already starting to work their magic.
“Then we encourage you to go into your dreams.” He thought for a moment. “This is where we take a different path to the regular process of therapy. At this point, a usual session would dig for childhood memories, things like that. I want you to step away from everything that is Marianne…to walk down into the mists that hold your dreams. To become that Mary Anne…”
“To be her. To feel her life…” Marianne shivered a little, her fingers tightening around Jake’s grasp.
“Yes. Exactly.” His eyes held hers steadily. “To relive that existence that still lingers somewhere in your mind, someplace we can’t understand or identify. We just know it’s there.”
“And then?”
“Then we learn the truth about Mary Anne and Christian. You learn the facts, the emotions, the depth of their love and the reasons behind your dreams.”
Marianne managed a weak laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
Renny leaned forward. “It’s not. Make no mistake, Marianne—this will probably be difficult, painful and may result in you learning things you don’t want to know.”
Marianne swallowed. “Well, that’s encouraging.”
“There’s one more thing…” Jake drew her gaze back to his face with a squeeze around her fingers. “Marianne, you have to understand and accept one dark truth. You cannot change the past. You can only come to terms with it.” He looked somber. “By coming to terms with it, your dreams will make sense. As they make sense, you can begin to deal with what they mean. What they represent. And they should no longer trouble you so much.”
“I won’t dream about him anymore?”
“That I can’t guarantee.” Jake looked thoughtful. “But I can say that you should be able to sleep more and dream less. It varies from person to person.”
Marianne pulled her hand free of Jake’s grasp and folded her arms protectively around her body. “Oh, God.”
Her mind whirled as she faced the possible consequences of what she was about to do. She’d have to live as Mary Anne, to be her for a while, if only in her imagination. But to be her in a conscious state, to be aware of so much more than the misty drifting images that trekked through her dreams on a regular basis.
Would she get to actually be with Christian on a true and real level? Would she be able to taste him and touch him—to experience him fully, not just drifting in and out of sleep?
“How real are these induced experiences?”
“We’re not sure.” Renny answered. “For us—for Jake and me—they were every bit as real as could be. We felt—everything. And, more importantly, we remembered everything quite clearly, down to the last tiny detail.”
“Really?” Marianne’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes.” Jake nodded. “Only then did we understand what was happening. That there were things in our distant past that needed resolution.”
“You mean you two…” She paused, uncertain of what to ask at this point. It was all very confusing.
“Everybody’s different, Marianne.” Renny’s tone was soothing. “What happened to Jake and me convinced us that there was more to the whole business of dreaming than we’d imagined. We promised ourselves we’d use our experiences to see if we could help others troubled by dreams. And we have. Most cases are simply a matter of discovering the root cause and dealing with it consciously.”
“Most cases.” Marianne watched Renny’s face carefully.
“Yes, most cases.” Renny thought for a moment or two. “But every now and again, somebody like you comes along. Somebody whose dreams are more than the release of daily angst. Somebody whose dreams indicate a deeper and more convoluted cause—one that we hope we can explore with you, here and now.”
Marianne sighed and leaned more fully into the arms of the couch, relaxing her body. “Hookay. Do I have to smoke a joint?” She grinned at the two people watching her.
Jake huffed out a laugh. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
Renny chuckled too. “Nice idea, but no. We want you relaxed enough to respond to hypnosis, not craving brownies.” She reached to the small end table beside her and opened the drawer beneath. “We will light one of
these, though.”
Curiously, Marianne watched as Renny withdrew a small bundle of what looked like hay or grasses. She recognized it from some of her research wanderings around the Internet. “Oh—a smudge stick, right?”
Renny nodded. “Yep. Cedar, sage and lavender. Just a little something to help matters along.”
Marianne watched as Renny lit and candle and held the flame to the tip of the bundle. “Um…cedar for positive energy and sage to remove negative energy…lavender for…”
“The smell.” Renny grinned. “I love it.” She watched the curls of smoke rise steadily and then put the smoldering bunch of herbs onto a convenient ashtray. “Now we’re ready.”
Jake stood and walked to the small cabinet tucked beneath one of the library bookshelves. Quietly he poured Marianne a glass of something richly red. She blinked at the sunlight burning within the liquid as he returned and held it out to her.
“Wine?” She sniffed. “And…”
“Herbs, mostly. It’s another liqueur we’ve made ourselves from various additives we know work to relax the spirit. Absolutely harmless unless you’re allergic to ragweed or something?” He frowned. “Sorry, I should have asked…”
“No, no allergies at all.” Marianne lifted the glass to her lips. “Bottoms up.”
It was warm and sweet, lingering on her palate like any full-bodied wine, but with a definite aftertaste that reminded Marianne of the scent of flowers. “Nice.” She took another mouthful.
Jake resumed his seat, pulling the chair at more of an angle so that he could sit almost directly in front of Marianne. Once more he took her hand in his, stroking it softly. “Now you can relax, sweetheart. I want you to let go of as many worries as you can. Here, you’re safe. Here nothing can harm you or hurt you in any way.”
His voice was low and soothing, a source of relaxation all by itself. “You are going to feel so good, so warm. The muscles that have been so tight in your neck and shoulders are going to ease soon. Your back won’t ache at all, but will feel supple as you lay back against the soft cushions behind you.”
Marianne felt her eyelids grow heavy. “Mmm. Yeah.” Idly she finished the special wine. She was getting warmer, most definitely. And she moved her head a little, realizing her neck no longer tensed as she stretched it. “I think it’s working.”
