Stranger in the Dark: An Erotic Retelling of Cupid and Psyche
By Gwendolyn Wilde
Copyright © 2013 by Gwendolyn Wilde
All Rights Reserved
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Stranger in the Dark
Maybe the creature chose me for my beauty, but I certainly didn’t feel beautiful now. My knees were wet and stained muddy as I huddled on the rocky crag. My eyes were red and sore from my weeping. Through the mist of my tears, it was difficult to make out the dark shapes in the distance: trees, and rocks, and eventually maybe a monster coming for me.
I cowered under a sudden buffet of wind, fearing that it was the draft from gargantuan wings. I squinted at every irregularity on the horizon, and my mind made out mirages of dragons and demons, tiny and twisted in the distance.
But as the minutes crawled past, I felt a glimmering of hope. How long had it been since they’d brought me here and left me alone, cowering on the rocks? Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe the oracle had been mistaken. Maybe I wasn’t going to be claimed by some beast or demon, massive and ugly with power.
Eventually I grew tired of my tears. My fear faded, and my eyes dried, leaving me empty. I flattened myself on my stomach and peered over the edge of the crag that hung out like a cruel beak over the drop. I gazed down into the plummeting depths, apathetic to the danger. I pressed my cheek against the damp cold granite, and squeezed my eyes shut.
I fell into a torpid state. And when I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the cliff’s edge.
I sat up, clutching at tufts of grass.
The courtyard was lush, and vivid with fruits and flowers. But my eyes flickered from shadow to shadow, looking for the grotesque face of my new master. But the shadows were empty, and as far as I could tell, I was just as alone as before, when the whole of my family and friends had left me clinging to the rocks, a present for some nameless eldritch thing.
I shivered. Through the arches there were dim corridors stretching into darkness. I was apprehensive of discovering my keeper, but waiting to find out seemed worse. So I stood up, gathering my feet under me, and padded through the arches.
The marble was cold under my bare feet. I stepped silently, so that the slaps of my soles didn’t echo through the halls and announce my exploration. But room after room was empty. I wandered, wondering if this was the demons’ own home – or nothing more than an elaborate cage for me to stay in. A generous cage, no doubt. But still a cage.
Still I didn’t find him. Eventually I ended up in a bedroom. The canopied bed was wide and plump, layered with wool and satin covers. I had an urge to crawl into it and pull the covers over my head, hiding like a child from the dark. I turned away from the bed and glanced around the room. It seemed better furnished, as if more care had been put into this chamber than the rest of them. But for all the lavishness of it, there were no windows, and only the one door.
Which swung shut behind me.
Before I even heard the thud of the door closing, I saw the light ebbing away. The only light in the room was the sunlight streaming through the doorway, and now there was none. Not even a thread of light coming through the crack under the door. The room was made for darkness. I padded quickly over to the door, feeling at the wood until I found the handle. I pulled, but it was stuck. I felt a draft, as of someone passing close to me. I spun, putting my back to the door. I caught my breath, holding still, listening.
I wasn’t alone. I heard gentle breaths, in front of me. And the light brushing sound of sandaled feet on the floor. But my heart, rioting in my ribcage, was louder than any other sound. I quivered, my back planted against the door, my hand clasping the handle.
“Psyche,” said a low voice, “you needn’t be afraid.”
Perhaps the demon was ugly enough to hide in the dark, but his voice was the opposite of ugly. The words were rich and resonant. I swallowed a deep breath, calming myself.
“If you didn’t want me to be afraid, you shouldn’t have trapped me in the dark,” I said, my voice quavering. I peered hard into the room, trying to make out the shape, or size of him.
“Ah, Psyche,” he said, “was there ever a woman more beautiful?” The voice was closer this time. I wanted to reach out a hand and feel the void in front of me, but I was afraid of what I might touch.
“If you like how I look in the dark, you should see me in the light,” I quipped.
“I can see you just fine, dove,” he rumbled. “Now undress for me.”
I froze against the door. My tense grip on the handle tightened.
“Undress, Psyche,” he said, firmly.
I lifted a shaking hand, and fumbled at the clasp of my tunic. The metal pin came undone, and the cloth slid against my skin as it fell loose. I gripped it tightly to my chest, squeezing the handful of fabric in my fist. It was a small comfort, that thin layer hiding my naked skin from him. But I heard a low laugh, and then I felt my tunic being tugged away.
I whimpered as the cloth was pulled, gradually, from my grip. I hugged myself, clasping my arms around my naked body. I heard his grunt of lust, as I quivered against the door. I heard the warm huffs of his breath, louder now, as if he was standing inches in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was no different – I was just as blind and vulnerable either way.
“I’m going to touch you,” he warned. I stiffened, wondering how he would seize me first. By the breast, or the hips, or perhaps just my arm or neck. But the touch landed on my cheek, light as a moth. I blinked. It was warm and smooth, the touch of skin on skin. He exhaled, slowly, and I felt his breath blowing across my face. The touch traveled down my cheek to my neck. I shivered. He crossed my collarbone, next, and the touch set my skin prickling all the way down my chest. My nipples tingled, rising rigid.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, and his voice was tense with desire.
I swallowed and ran my tongue over my lips, lifting my head obediently towards the sound of his voice. His lips brushed my lips, silken, before muscling harder against my mouth. My lower lip was pulled away, caught in a warm wet crush. He forced his kiss deeper, and I felt the wet flicker of his tongue. The flat of his firm nose pressed against my face as he kissed me.
Despite my fear, his passionate attentions kindled my lusts, setting my blood awash with surges of pleasure. He might be ugly, but he didn’t feel inhuman. I reached, tentatively, in front of me until my fingers grazed him. I felt the firm slab of his chest, throbbing with his heartbeat. And then he closed in, narrowing the distance between us until his chest was flush with my own, my breasts crushed against his ribcage. I could feel the echoes of his excited heartbeat. I slid my hand down his side, tracing the shape of him, trying to discern his form. His chest, swelling with his breaths, was broad and huge. His haunches were thick and tense with muscle, his thighs just as brawny. But still nothing abnormal, as far as I could tell.
But he couldn’t be normal. The oracle had said…
He pressed closer, and I gasped sharply as I felt the warm press of his cock. The shaft and head pressed against my stomach, thrusting against the warm flesh. As I breathed out I felt his cock twitch against my skin.
I swallowed. “You don’t feel like a…” I paused. I didn’t know what he was, and didn’t dare risk insulting him with my guesses. The oracle had mentioned wings, I remembered, so I ran my hand up to grip at his back. But he seized my wrist, suddenly, and pinned it back against the wall.
“I am your master,” he said. “That’s all you need to know.”
He gathered bo
th of my hands and folded my wrists into his broad palm. I arched into him. The feel of him was satisfying; the darkness was so cold and void, and I craved the firm press of his body. There was no sense of emptiness with his warm flesh crushing me against the wall.
He bent, wrapped his arm beneath my thighs, and lifted me. I lay, feeling the jostling of his steps and the effortless strength of his arms. Then his arms slipped away and the satin covers were under my back. I whimpered, deprived of his touch, and the darkness loomed cold and empty again. But then he lowered himself over me, and the whole weight of him pressed me down against the slippery bedcovers.
I pulled my arm free and tried to wrap my arm around his back again, but he caught my wrist and held it down. I relaxed, letting him position me as he would. His lips crushed along the curve of my collarbone, and then slipped lower. I arched my back, offering my breasts to his ravenous lips. His mouth grasped my nipple, and I moaned, surprised by the depth of the sensation. His tongue fluttered wet against my budding nipple, and I couldn’t help but whine my pleasure.
He thrust his knee between my thighs, forcing them apart. I jumped at the warm flat touch of his palm, cupping my mound. He probed me gently, his fingers sinking between my folds and spreading my slippery nectar.
I grasped at the smooth sheets, fisting my hands in the covers but keeping my arms down obediently. His hands fondled me with a knowing touch, growing almost rough as he pinched and rolled my clit between his fingers, but eliciting only pleasure. I whimpered when his hand drew away. Then he nestled between my thighs, his legs pushing my thighs wider. He thrust his hips into me, and I felt the warm staff of his manhood again, sliding along my thigh. My cunt throbbed with a deep ache, lusting after that firm length.
“Please,” I said, wriggling my hips to rub myself against his shaft.
“Gladly,” he whispered, and plunged his cock into me. I gasped, feeling a sharp pang of pain as he broke in for the first time. But the next penetration was better, and after a few strokes I had forgotten that there was any pain at all. I slid my ankles up and hooked them around his calves, feeling his muscles flex as he drove into me. I wanted to wriggle, but the intensity of each hard thrust, the immensity of his cock stretching the walls of my cunt, kept me still. I tipped my head back into the pillow, my mouth agape, gasping for breath under the onslaught of pleasure. But his hand crept under my head, and he pulled me into him, pressing his lips to my mouth.
The strange, violent pleasure built and built, and soon it collapsed in a storm of brilliant, seizing euphoria. I made undignified noises, wailing into his rough kisses. But he didn’t stop his relentless rhythm, and the waves of pleasure subsided only to rise again in another overwhelming tide. Each deep jab of his cock was more violent than the last. I bucked my hips, lost in the mindless surges of pleasure. The climax ebbed away eventually, and I tightened the muscles in my cunt, eager for it to begin again, eager for another consuming tide of euphoria.
Before I reached another episode of bliss, I felt my master clasp me in a hard embrace. His thrusts sped, and his breaths seethed into my neck. The bed shook under his rough pounding. I panted, feeling the heat of his excitement, realizing he was experiencing the same delight that I already had. I moaned, feeling a fresh surge of lust at the thought of his hard, masculine body finding release in me.
He stiffened, clamping his teeth around my shoulder. He drove himself deep, shuddering and grunting harshly. I gasped, clenching my pussy around his cock. I felt a warm wetness flooding my cunt. He withdrew. I hissed as his cock slipped out of my cunt, leaving me empty and wanting. He pulled me over, wrapping me with his limbs. He caught me tight in his arms, confining me so that I couldn’t reach around and explore his body with my hands.
His chest rose and fell against my back. I swallowed, my skin buzzing with excitement. I was intensely curious, and my fear was long gone. Did he think I would care so much what he looked like? He couldn’t be some inhuman abomination.
“I don’t care,” I whispered, “what you look like. I can’t run from you, anyway – what are you afraid of?”
“Not your concern,” he said.
“Then will you at least tell me who you are?”
“Not yet, dove, not yet.”
I frowned. “And what am I supposed to call you then?”
He laughed. “‘Master’ will do.”
I squirmed, testing the feel of him again. Firm, muscled flesh, and skin incandescent with warmth. But there must be something he was hiding, or why else would he prevent me from touching him all over?
“And what am I to do here? What do you expect of me?” I asked.
His breath blew through my ear. “Do whatever amuses you, Psyche. If you need anything I would be happy to supply it.”
“Then I’d like some light. Right now,” I said.
He ignored my request.
“But there are some demands I would make,” he said. “I’ll have you meet me here, in the bedroom, each night at sundown. You are to make yourself ready for me at that time. Understand?”
“Yes,” I murmured. I understood perfectly. I was to present myself for his pleasure, whenever he cared to visit. Like a helpless pet.
“Good,” he whispered. He drew me closer. I was firmly trapped in his arms. Despite my rioting curiosity, despite my desperate need to know this demon that had caught and claimed me, I felt sleep overtaking my mind. The series of orgasms had left me weak and shaken. I closed my eyes, yawning deeply.
“Ah, Psyche,” he murmured, “it is not time to sleep just yet.”
He pushed his hips into me, and I felt a fresh erection nudging at my back. I swallowed. He pulled my thighs open, draping my leg over his, and pressed his cock between my lips from behind. I bucked back into him with a moan.
He was insatiable, taking me time after time. I slept in fits through the night, waking at intervals when he wanted me.
But in the morning, he was gone. The bedroom door yawned, and light filled the room. I blinked and slid out of the sheets. The bed was a tangled mess. I gazed down at my naked body. My cheeks burned as I remembered how he had used me. The mysterious desires that had filled me seemed distant, and shameful. How had I fallen so easily to his allure?
I shivered, searching for something to dress myself in. My old tunic was gone, but I opened drawers until I found clothes to wear. But these weren’t the long, draping tunics I was used to. They were scant and transparent, made to show my shape.
I gritted my teeth, peeved at the idea of being put on display like a slave girl. But I had little choice, so I pulled one of the scanty tunics over my head. It hid my breasts well enough, but left bare a slender swath of skin at my midriff.
So he wanted me to meet him in the dark for another tryst tonight, did he?
Maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d stay in the courtyard, where he couldn’t hide from me.
****
I paced, crushing grass between my toes. The sunset was fading from the horizon. I glanced around nervously, peering through the arches into the dark corridors of the house. I should have brought a candle, to give the courtyard an extra glow, but now it was far too late to venture into the dark halls.
“Psyche,” he said.
I stared towards the house. The echoes of his voice died away.
“Yes?” I croaked.
“Come here,” he said gently.
I stiffened, peering into the shadowy corridor. He was in there, somewhere, but I couldn’t make out any shape or shadow that might be him. The low resonance of his voice strummed the air, thrilling me. I swallowed, feeling my sex swell wet and warm at the memory of the night before.
“Why don’t you come here?” I asked, my voice trailing off nervously.
I squinted hard at the tarry darkness, but still nothing emerged.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” he said.
I folded my arms and stood still. But he didn’t ask again. The halls were silent.
Then a cloth descended over my
eyes, and pulled tight. I gasped, grabbing at the blindfold, twisting as he grasped me from behind. I clawed at the cloth over my eyes, but my wrists were pulled away and forced behind me. He leaned down, and I felt the soft caress of his nose against my scalp. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the blindfold again. But another firm pressure folded over my eyes. His hand stayed over my eyes, keeping the blindfold secure, as he lifted me. He tucked his arm beneath my armpit, pulling me with him as he strode from the courtyard.
I stumbled on the steps leading into the house, but he kept me from falling. His arm flexed around my breasts as he pulled me on. I followed as best I could; my vision was gone again, but at least he was enveloping me closely, replacing my sight with new sensations. He pressed firmly against my back, his thighs moving as he strode, his feet slapping on the cold marble. As I squirmed I could feel the hard rod of his cock, thrusting up against my back.
Then he threw me, and my stomach dropped. I landed on a soft cloud of blankets and pillows. Freed from his grip, I clawed the blindfold away, but it was too late. The door was closed and the room was dark as pitch. I sat up, clutching at the blankets, trying to discern where he was. The mattress bowed under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. I shuffled backwards.
“Why do you flee from me, Psyche?” he asked.
I swallowed. “The darkness frightens me,” I said.
“Then let me comfort you,” he murmured, and I felt a warm grasp on my ankle. I jumped at the touch, and a shudder of pleasure passed through me. My frightened excitement was changing again, as it had last night – his touches warped my fear into that strange pleasurable energy. I swallowed, trying not to give in to the aching want that pulsed between my legs. The creature that had claimed me didn’t deserve my devotion, not when he wouldn’t even show me what he was. But his touch was climbing up from my ankle to my calves. Soon the hand was groping hungrily at my thighs, and I trembled at the touch, so close to my sex. His hand brushed closer. My inner thighs prickled under his hand, my lips wet and warm, throbbing their plea for satisfaction. He gripped my legs, one in each hand, and pulled me suddenly so that I landed on my back again.
Stranger in the Dark: An Erotic Retelling of Cupid and Psyche Page 1
