Enchanted Dreams: Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural
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Catherine felt the whirling desire building up inside her all over again. It was not achingly acute like before; now it was all just simple, unadulterated pleasure. The hammock allowed her just enough freedom of movement so that she could enhance her own pleasure as she wished, but no more. She noticed suddenly that there was a little knot in the flowered netting that protruded and rubbed against her swollen clitoris. All she had to do was jerk her hips in a little rocking motion to increase the friction between herself and the little honeysuckle knot. And already the stamen was steadily advancing again. She gasped in surprise as it once again filled her. It felt as if it was even larger in this position. Her body instinctively moved forward in an effort to escape the intrusiveness of the stamen’s powdery appendage as it thrust itself against her insides. But when the hammock’s constraints were reached, they recoiled, acting like a spring and forcing her back even farther onto the stamen. She cried out in exquisite agony, realizing that each and every reflexive attempt to escape would actually bring her back with double force!
Catherine struggled to remain motionless, but with every advance from the thick, sturdy stamen her body would instinctively jerk forward, causing the soft, pliant hammock to thrust her backward again and again. A momentum was building that she could not control. Her breasts popped out from between the web of flowers, and a stray honeysuckle vine that was whipping in the wind slapped at them mischievously. And neither the wind, nor the vines, nor the stamen—nor even Catherine’s wayward body—could ease the delicious tension or slow its raging pace, so that it kept building and building, with all the elements working in perfect harmony to achieve a crashing crescendo. There was little more that could be done, other than to endure the torturous pleasure until that moment was reached.
This time, the iris’s stiff petals tickled her nether hole mercilessly with each thrust home. And with faultless rhythm, the stamen’s thrust forward always met her reflexive spring backward. She cried out with each explosive impact, and even the sound of her screams added to her exquisite desire that kept spiraling out of control. Her pleasure was so acutely intense that she felt oppressed by the knowledge that it would end, even though she knew there would be more pleasures to follow, perhaps even more intense than what she was experiencing now. She struggled to hold back her quickly approaching release, wanting to prolong the sweet agony for as long as possible. The elongated pleasure tore through her body, leaving her raw and inflamed, yet still crying out for more.
And it suddenly occurred to her that the entire universe was centered on her. Hadn’t she known this, even when she was just a tiny babe, crying out for her mother? Then, she thought it out of ignorance, but now the thought appeared to be a result of a higher knowledge, and possibly all she had to do was acknowledge that it was so.
But none of this was important at the moment. All that mattered was that the forces around her kept giving her this pleasure. She could think of no more important endeavor than the one she struggled with now, and every part of her strained to keep her body from succumbing to the overwhelming sensations. But the pleasure assailed her from every angle—from the gently chiding whipping of the vines against her swollen breasts, to the excruciatingly deep penetration of the stamen that she was forced to not only endure but to meet head-on, to the little knot in her honeysuckle hammock that kept rubbing against her clitoris, to, finally, the coarse chafing of the iris’s bristly bearded head as it teased and tickled her anus beyond what she could endure. All of these stimuli Catherine had to fight against in order to prolong her pleasure, and her efforts caused her desire to build with an intensity she had never felt before. The sky above her appeared to darken in response to the growing storm within her. It seemed to mirror her frustration in its angry countenance, and the wind also increased its energies as if to join in. Her nipples began to sting smartly from the whip of the punishing honeysuckle vines.
Like a clap of angry thunder, her satisfaction struck her, loud and deep and harsh. Her body shook with large, quaking tremors that startled her. She screamed in protest, but already the stark pleasure was waning into trickling waves that fluttered through her. But the force of it left her sated and content and subdued.
The wind died down, and Catherine now found herself resting unencumbered in her flowery hammock. She turned onto her back and allowed it to rock her gently to sleep.
And so it happened that Catherine took up residence in the enchanted forest, without ever sparing a single thought to the life she left behind. The forest kept her so captivated that she could no longer remember that there was anything to go back to. Had she kept a memory of her other life, it would have only pricked or irritated anyway. But even this much was spared her. She could no longer call to mind even the smallest detail.
This new life consisted only of pleasure. Like the fairies she imagined to be all around her, Catherine flitted from one end of her enchanted forest to the other. She had developed a sort of primitive communication with these beings she believed were fairies. They did not speak, yet they were there with her. She felt she understood them. She had come to respect their reserved silence, believing them to be timid and skittish because she, too, now preferred to be kept hidden from others. Yet she acknowledged their presence in a number of innocuous little ways, such as leaving them treats here and there—much as she believed they did for her from time to time—and in wishing them the goodwill that she felt they had likewise brought upon her.
Yet real communication, as she had formerly known it to be, did not seem possible. That there was intelligence and reason around her she could not, for a moment, doubt. But there was no one to speak her language to, no one to address her in her native tongue.
One day, perhaps it was months or possibly even years after she had first discovered the enchanted forest, Catherine stumbled upon something peculiar that captured her attention. She instantly recognized it as something coming from the other world outside the forest, although she didn’t know what it was or how she knew this. It was a strange object, something not indigenous to her forest. There was something about it that caused it to stand out from the rest of the surroundings, like something alien. Its colors were what she noticed first, for they had an unnaturally dull tint, completely void of the brilliance she had become accustomed to seeing in the wildflowers of the forest. These colors seemed a poor imitation, and she wondered how they had got there.
Curious, Catherine reached down and picked up the foreign object. It was not terribly large but it was quite heavy. It was orange and yellow, with orange bands coming out the sides of it. One of the bands appeared to be broken. It seemed that beneath its outer casing, it held more objects inside. She noticed that there was a strange seam all along the edge of it, and an eerie sense of déjà vu crept over Catherine as she grasped hold of the little tab at the end and slid it backward along the seam, opening the outer casing. She fished through the many different objects that were inside but, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what they were. The peculiar feeling stayed with her as she stared at them uncomprehendingly. But eventually she lost interest and laid the objects back down where she found them. Yet there was undeniably something strange in all of this, if only for the unusual effect it was having on her. Catherine stood up and looked around. And then she noticed something else—something she did recognize—in the plush woods nearby. More curious than ever, she moved nearer. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was, in fact, hair. But it was hard to tell if came from an animal or human because, whatever it was, was hidden in the bushes nearby. Something stirred in Catherine.
She moved carefully, not really out of fear as much as instinct to be cautious. She tentatively moved some of the branches aside to get a better view, but then abruptly jumped back. The hair was attached to a skull! Just as Catherine had instantly recognized the overabundance oflife stirring all around her in the forest, she now instantly perceived that life had gone from here. A haunting sadness welled up in her. She moved the branches away again and carefully brushed aside some of the fallen leaves and other debris. There was another brief moment of a kind of general, vague recognition, but Catherine was far too detached from the faded thing disintegrating into the earth to actually own it. She shook off the discomfiting stirrings. But she could not help feeling a powerful compassion for the woman who had died there.
Looking up, Catherine noticed that dusk was coming. For the first time since that day when she had first discovered the enchanted forest, she was afraid to be wandering alone in the dark. Yet she was hesitant to leave the poor girl alone. Acting on instinct, she carefully replaced the leaves and brush over the body, mindful this time to cover the woman’s hair, as well. Next she darted off to a nearby field to collect a handful of wildflowers. Uttering a small prayer for the woman’s soul, Catherine placed the flowers on top of her leafy grave. With one last pause, she got up, brushing the leaves and the strange melancholy off her. Then, with the adroitness of a spirit, or a fairy, she flitted out over the flowery field, fluttering toward home and the pleasures that awaited her.
Disenchantment
Everything was going wrong and now, on top of everything else, she was late. Maryanne skittered over the wet cobblestones, rushing to get to the restaurant. She would be a mess by the time she arrived. But she’d had to drive four blocks away just to find parking!
Why was she even bothering? She tried to silence the pessimistic voice in her head but it would not relent. It reminded her that she had no reason to expect this guy to be different from any of the others. There was nothing special or noteworthy about him that made it worth the effort. Even by online-dating standards he had offered little intrigue, and with all the embellishing that takes place in preparing one’s online profile, that was rather dismaying. She tried to recall what prompted her to go out with him, and then she remembered that he had caught her in a weak moment when, feeling unsettled and lonely, she suddenly longed for a normal life with an average guy. So here she was, on a Friday night, rushing around to meet this average or—more likely—less-than-average guy.
She took a deep breath and tried once again to assume a positive outlook. At least she was getting out of the house. It could be interesting. She might as well try to have a good time. There didn’t have to be any entanglements. She couldn’t hide forever.
And perhaps this one would work out differently. But she couldn’t count on that and she knew it.
She dashed through the restaurant doors and found him waiting for her. Just as the little voice in her head had predicted, he looked nothing like his picture and yet she recognized him instantly. Something in his present look was more like what she would have expected anyway. Within their casual online correspondence, she had detected an inherent gentleness, a kind of considerateness in his demeanor that had initially captured and ultimately held her interest. While these qualities had not been evident in his picture, she recognized them in his face, and her reluctance eased up the tiniest bit. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmured.
Dan stood up from the bench where he had been waiting and smiled warmly at Maryanne. Clearly he had embellished his height in his online profile, as well. She resented this; she could have at least worn lower heels to minimize the difference had she known. She tried to hide her annoyance. Yet he did not seem to mind so much; she noticed that his eyes were looking over her slender form with approval.
“Maryanne? You’re so much more beautiful than your picture!” he said earnestly. Then he blushed slightly, as if embarrassed by this outburst. She had the impression that his comments, at least, were spontaneous and genuine. “Don’t worry about being late,” he said good-naturedly. “I figured you were having a tough time finding parking. I did get us a table, though.”
He led her to their table and pulled out her chair for her. “Wow,” he remarked as he sat down across from her, “those are some guns you’re packing there!”
Maryanne drew back, startled, and Dan quickly gestured to her arms, once again embarrassed. “I mean, you must work out,” he clarified.
“Oh…yes!” she said with a laugh, feeling the tension leave her. “I practice yoga,” she explained.
“Yoga’s quite the workout,” he surprised her by saying. “I tried it myself a few times, but I found it difficult to hold many of the poses. I get distracted too easily. Let’s see, what was that one? You stand sort of crouched with your hands high up in front like the bug…the locust, was it?” He put his hands up in front of him in an exaggerated simulation of the pose.
“The praying mantis,” she corrected, laughing.
“Yeah,” he agreed amiably. “That’s it. Nearly snapped my hamstrings trying to do that one.”
Maryanne tried to imagine this stocky, seemingly unsophisticated guy attempting yoga and suddenly burst into loud laughter at the thought of it. But when she recovered, she changed her tune, eyeing him sideways and saying, “Actually, you look like you could handle it.” And it was true. Although he was a burly man, she could see at a glance that he was all muscle.
“Well, I might have exaggerated,” he conceded. “I actually only strained them a little.”
“That seems a bit more plausible…” she teased, surprised to find that she was flirting with him. The realization made her suddenly shy, and she tilted her head slightly downward in a reserved gesture she was in the habit of assuming to conceal her face. She could feel her cheeks growing warm and knew she was blushing. If Dan noticed her discomfort, he was considerate enough to pretend that he did not.
“I’m built mostly for hard work,” he continued with a matter-of-fact shrug. “Like an ox. That’s how I manage to keep in some kind of shape. But you look like you live at the gym.”
“Not really,” she said, tilting her head a little bit more. But she was pleased.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m gushing here. I’m really not obsessed with appearances. It’s just that you’re so toned and in amazing shape. I have to admit I find that attractive. Even your cheekbones. Wow!” He gestured around her face without touching her. “It’s like they’re chiseled out of marble or something.” It was an earnest compliment, and it wasn’t the first time Maryanne had heard it. But whenever anyone mentioned her amazing bone structure, all she could think of was the way the boys in grade school used to tease her, calling her “alien” because of the way her large eyes and high cheekbones dominated her face. If only she could get those children’s cruel voices out of her head.
Dan casually reached over and brushed aside the loose hair that had fallen down over her face. From anyone else, this would have been too forward a gesture for Maryanne, but Dan did it with such simple aplomb that she hardly noticed that he had done anything at all.
“So what are you hungry for?” he asked, turning his attention to his menu.
“I don’t know,” she said disinterestedly. She picked up her menu, trying to think of something clever to say.
“I chose this restaurant because their food is exceptional. You mentioned in your profile that you were a finicky eater.”
“I did?” she asked.
“I think you did,” he replied, considering. “I’m not sure exactly what you said. Something gave me that impression.”
Maryanne wondered what it was. He certainly was intuitive. She realized that she felt considerably more relaxed with him than she usually was on first dates—particularly blind dates—but even so, she had the urge to rock gently back and forth in her chair, another nervous habit she had picked up. Most people didn’t mind it once they got to know her, but she knew it would be disconcerting for a man to see her do it on a first date. Yet with Dan, she wondered. He seemed to be the sort of man who would make a person feel comfortable no matter how odd his or her behavior.
“Well, anyway,” he continued, “the food here is first-rate. The chef grows a lot of the vegetables in his own organic garden nearby. You can really taste the freshness. I figured you were probably into health food.”
“Well, sort of,” she said noncommittally.
Maryanne ordered a salad and Dan ordered a steak. But she showed no interest in her food when it arrived. Having consumed her second drink by then, she was finally loosening up.
“So have you ever been married?” Dan asked. Maryanne had been wondering when the conversation would come around to that. People were so obsessed with past relationships. She disliked talking about them. Besides, whoever told the truth when it came to that? Had a man on a date ever said, for example, “Yeah, I just couldn’t seem to stop sleeping with other women”? Or would a woman ever admit, “Everything he did just made me want to bite his head off ”?
“No,” she said without elaborating.
“Did you never want to?” he persisted.
Maryanne felt she was treading in dangerous territory. Yet the drinks had loosened her up considerably so it didn’t seem to matter so much.
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “I’ll admit I have thought about it a time or two. But…”
Dan waited a long moment before responding. When he did, Maryanne was surprised that he was still waiting for her to finish her thought. “But…what?” he prompted. She looked at him, impressed. Most of the men she encountered had the attention span of a fly.
“It’s hard to explain,” she began. “I’ve never really put my thoughts about marriage into words before.” She thought about it for another minute. He was looking at her with keen interest, as if he really wanted to hear what she thought about it. His seeming interest encouraged her. “I believe marriage is impossible,” she said. Then she shook her head vigorously, causing her hair to shift back and forth over her face. “No, not impossible. That’s ridiculous. People get married every day. What I mean is, it’s hopeless…and destructive and doomed to fail.”
He seemed genuinely taken aback by her comment, although there was a little smile playing about his lips upon hearing it. He appeared to find her vehement passion over the matter charming. She was surprised, too. She had never admitted her true feelings about it to anyone before. “Hopeless and destructive and doomed to fail?” he repeated, following it with a low whistle. “I could maybe see hopeless and destructive, or destructive and doomed to fail, but all three together…” He shook his head as if to say she’d gone too far. She could see that he was trying to make her laugh—and perhaps he wanted to minimize the severity of what she’d just said in the process—but now that she had confided in him she felt like explaining what she meant.
“It’s hopeless and doomed to fail because it can’t possibly succeed, and I think it’s destructive to the people who have to learn that the hard way. The truth is that marriages don’t succeed, not in the truest sense of the word. People stay married sometimes, it’s true, but is it really what they thought it would be when they walked down the aisle together?” She said this without the slightest bitterness, which only seemed to give credence to her words.
Dan put down his fork (she had not yet picked hers up), giving Maryanne all of his attention. Both were now fully intrigued and absorbed by the topic. “But how could you possibly know this if you’ve never been married yourself ?”
“I don’t have to go through something myself if I am able to learn from watching others,” she replied. “Have you been married?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Well…”
“Yes, but even having failed, I still believe in the institution of marriage. And I liked being married, for the most part.”
“For the most part?” she said.
“There were moments…” He paused, at a loss for words to explain.
“Of disenchantment?” she asked with a smile. “A slow, ongoing letting go of expectations, like gradually sliding down a not-so-steep hill?”
Dan looked at her with curiosity. “So, if not marriage, what then? Living together? Dating?”
She was feeling strangely reckless. And Dan was somehow drawing her out in a way that other men were not usually able to do. Something in his demeanor put her at ease. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think it’s possible for a man and a woman to stay together for any significant amount of time. Relationships seem to have a shelflife.”
He jerked back in surprise. “Isn’t that supposed to be the guy’s position?”
She laughed. She wondered what he was thinking about the things she was saying and was surprised to discover that she cared. In fact, she wanted to make him understand. She thought for a moment of how to illustrate her point.
“See that couple over there?” she began, exclaiming immediately afterwards, “Don’t make it so obvious!”
Dan nodded conspiratorially and tossed his napkin on the floor with an exaggerated flourish. Maryanne struggled to contain her laughter as Dan made a show of casually bending over to pick up his dropped napkin while surreptitiously stealing a glance in the direction she had indicated. The straightforward, uncomplicated person that he was made the scene all the more comical.
“The woman who looks like she’s been sucking on a sour ball?” he whispered after a long and lengthy ordeal just to get a glimpse.
Maryanne giggled. “That’s her,” she confirmed. She leaned in and lowered her voice, growing more serious. “Her husband has been staring openly at me all night.”
Dan looked momentarily confused. “Well, you’re a beautiful woman,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner, as if to add, “What do you expect?”
“Right in front of her!” she added more adamantly.
Dan drew back and paused, but there was a light coming on in his eyes. “Oh, yeah, women hate that.”
“Women hate that,” she echoed, “because it’s destructive. It causes them to deteriorate inside. Don’t look at me like I’m being overly dramatic. And I realize that it’s in a man’s nature to constantly observe women. They can’t help it, as they’re so quick to point out, but that’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s why it’s impossible for relationships to work.”
“But it seems like a rather small thing, considering…”
“Well, of course, I’m not just talking about looking here. What I’m referring to is that interest, that overabundance of attentiveness and courtesy that men show to the women they have not yet been intimate with. In and of itself, even that might be tolerable if not for the utter lack of interest they show to the women they have been intimate with!”
“Do you really think it’s as bad as that?”
“It’s often worse.”
“Well, if women know this about men, and it’s the way men are, as you say, can’t the women work around it?”
“They can and do work around it,” Maryanne replied. She was completely relaxed now and spoke conversationally, explaining her philosophies without the slightest rancor. Her eyes were wide, and she even felt a bit excited. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not deteriorating while they’re doing it.”
“Forgive me if I seem a little callous here, but aren’t you blowing this a little out of proportion? Most of the guys I know would never do any more than look.”
“Whether or not he acts on his interest in other women is irrelevant.” Maryanne was pleased that Dan wasn’t simply patronizing her, or, worse yet, trying to steer her away from what some men might consider an uncomfortable topic. He was taking her seriously enough to disagree with her, and she appreciated that. “Because the damage will already be done. See, women also have instincts that appear to favor more short-term relationships.”