Published for Kindle
Copyright © Teresa Wymore. All Rights Reserved.
Dark fantasy erotica | 2014
What was I missing?
They went up and over. I went up and over. The forest yawned to the south behind me as I stood on the rise my friends had passed over a short time before.
“Funny, Ladies!” I shouted. My voice vanished into the trees. “Inca? Marianne? Where are you?” The sound was odd. No echo. Should there be an echo? I listened intently.
We had to walk to the highway and then another mile to the hotel. The coolness from the forest floor was already pushing back the pulsing heat of the late summer sun. Sundown was a mere few hours away. I glanced behind me.
I turned back with a start. A woman stood where I had just been looking.
“No,” I said.
“You can get lost here.”
“Not lost,” I said defensively. I was aware one misstep might change everything, so I stepped back from the ledge. “My friends just came this way. Did you see them? A young African American woman and an older woman?”
“I have one of the cabins near the lake.” She stared into the distance. She was perhaps forty, with dark hair in a bun. Her clothes suggested a suburban woman on vacation: wealthy and idle. Her eyes suggested something else entirely.
She offered her hand.
I slid my hand into hers. “Lanie.”
“Nice to meet you, Lanie.” Her voice was musical.
After a moment, I realized I was still holding her hand. I drew it away, smiling apologetically. Rose petals fluttered to the ground as her hand released mine.
Rose petals strewn…
Her eyes reflected nothing, like dusty green stones. What little sunlight filtered through the high canopy seemed to disappear into them like water over a fall. “…dehydrated,” she finished. I missed most of what she had said. Her head tilted to the side, and she added, “You need to rest.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
She walked away.
I hesitated, feeling I should wait for my friends, feeling I shouldn’t follow the strange woman anywhere. Then I followed.
The forest was alive. It rustled and creaked and chirped. The intermittent breeze kicked up leaves, and I kept glancing behind me at a noise like someone chasing us down. A gray tabby startled me as it trotted out from under a bush. The woman scooped the cat into her arms.
“Miss Gray, you naughty girl. Where have you been?”
The cat mewed, then spilled in a soft shower from her arms and slipped away again.
We made our way slowly through brush and trees, and I wondered why the cabin visitors had left no trail from all their activity. I wore jeans and hiking boots, so I wasn’t worried about poison ivy or insects, but the woman was dressed for a picnic. She wore a thin summer sweater and a skirt of flowing yellow gauze wrapped around her waist. The hem reached to her ankles, and she wore sandals. Her backside was firm, muscular, rolling against the thin fabric.
I shook off the distraction, but there was something about her that didn’t make sense. She was a suburban vacationer, but she was more. Maybe it was the scent that wafted around her — perfume like incense, like something ancient. I adjusted my backpack. I was sweating under the straps from exertion in the late August afternoon. Despite the heat, I felt chilled.
I thought again of my friends. They would worry if they couldn’t find me. Maybe they had returned to the hotel. Another cat appeared — this one black with a white nose. It sat silently under a broken tree, its head pivoting, golden eyes following as we passed. The woman said nothing to it.
Eventually, she drew aside a mass of saplings and gestured for me to go ahead. I stepped into a clearing with a cabin. The small, rustic structure was built of split logs. Sunflowers grew in tall batches along the sides. Purple flowers filled the clearing.
She opened the door and waited for me. I wasn’t sure why I was there. I was forgetting something.
“You need rest,” she said.
“I need rest,” I said and entered the cabin.
When she closed the door, the muggy summer vanished. The room felt like autumn and smelled of fresh pie, of comfort. My mouth watered as I breathed in scents of clove and cinnamon.
A lantern glowed on a table and an old fire burned behind a black screen. Small flames ate the remains of glowing logs. Two plaid love seats faced each other. In contrast to the rustic side, the other side of the cabin held a modern kitchen with a granite counter and glossy wooden bar stools.
She brought me a cold bottle from the refrigerator.
“It’s not what I expected,” I said.
“It never is.” She winked, as if we shared a secret.
Her eyes were no longer flat green stone, but sparkled, reflecting a light I couldn’t see.
I opened the bottle she gave me and drank the cool water.
Her eyebrow was pierced. Had it always been so?
Of course, it must have been. Her lips were plum colored. Her skin was pale with a few freckles. I thought she had her hair in a bun, but now I saw it was long and messy. Brown, maybe red. Why couldn’t I tell?
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Fine.” I drank more. I finished the whole bottle.
The final swallow stung. The water had a sharp flavor, like ginger.
…with Ginger’s bite…
“I’m sure your friends passed by,” she said. “I’m easy to miss.”
“That’s not true.” I glanced away when her discerning eyes met mine.
Inca had wanted to explore the wild that took us up a steep slope and off our map. Marianne, too. That’s why we had taken this weekend together. Our adventures came in mildly challenging weekend escapes into nature. I spent all my time making believe I wasn’t just a squatter in someone else’s empty life. “Are you on vacation with your family?” I asked.
She shook her head and took my empty bottle. After she dropped it into a bin, she asked, “You’re here for the weekend?” As she turned, her brunette bangs swung into her face. She tucked them behind her ears.
I blinked several times feeling as if I had something in my eyes. Her hair fell just to her shoulders in dark swoops. “You have brunette hair,” I said.
Her pierced eyebrow rose. “Yours is blonde.”
“No, I mean…” I stopped, realizing how silly I sounded. “Sorry, just…”
“Tired? Would you like to rest before finding your friends?”
I shook my head but followed her as she led me past the fireplace. She turned a clear crystal handle and opened the door to a dimly lit room. On the windowsill burned a red candle.
…and Candle’s fire…
My movement into the room made the flame shiver, and the ashes from something formed a circle around the base. Another cat, a brown one, slipped outside through the half-opened window near the bed. The clearing behind the house held a dozen cats.
“Cat lady?” I laughed, thinking of Marianne, who lived with four cats. “My friend takes a lot of teasing for that.”
“You can rest here.” She closed the window.
The bedroom was cool, even more like autumn than the living room. A pile of patterned quilts and tan-sleeved pillows covered a broad bed. I wanted nothing more than to fall into that comfort. The smell of incense — that something ancient that followed her everywhere — surrounded me again, making me dizzy. I stepped back, and she reached out.
“You should be more cautious. I could be dangerous,” I said warding her away. “I mean, you don’t know me.”
She spread her arms. “Maybe I’m the dangerous one.”
“Yes,” I smiled. My thoughts raced, and the one I settled on was how perfect her body appeared under the summer weight fabric.
She took the backpack from me. I stared at her lip, her plum lip, glistening after she licked it. The moment stretched, a long moment of glancing from her lips to her eyes, darkening even as I stared into them.
I tried to blink away my disorientation. She was strange, or perhaps I was. I was strange to myself as I imagined the taste of her breath and feel of her skin. I reached my index finger to the contour of her lip and touched the ring that pierced it: the curl of shining silver with a small pentagram head.
…Five elements bind to enflame desire,
each serve a point of a Pentagram’s power…
The corner of her mouth parted in a smile, revealing a sliver of her pearl teeth. My finger slipped between her lips, pressing into that intimate space. Everything about her was intimate. Would she let me have what I want?
…Let me have what I want…
I stroked one canine. I pressed deeper into her mouth. She slowly pushed my hand away. She touched her mouth to mine, but not quite. I reached my lips to hers, and she drew back, coaxing me forward. She took a step, and I followed. She kissed me — barely — then stepped away again. I followed and found myself falling. My body jerked at the sensation, my hands thrust out to steady myself. I expected to land but didn’t.
She was dancing by herself. Across the room. I heard music and nothing else. I saw her and nothing else.
She swayed her hips, her eyes closed, her arms slipping around herself. The music was pounding: drums, strings, a feminine voice singing in another language. She slipped off her sandals. Her bare feet aroused me beyond reason as they stepped across the wooden floor.
Her pale feet were not soft. They were strong. Tendons rippled as she moved, topped by meandering veins. As each toe flexed, its tendon cut a shadow into her foot. Her toenails were blunt and plain, a half-moon of white on each tip. Each bend of her foot, each crease, revealed the power of sinew and the confidence that carried her rhythm.
I didn’t know her. I didn’t even know her name. For a moment, I thought about my friends. It was the last time. When her eyes caught mine, my past dropped from my thoughts like raindrops from leaves.
Was she lonely, this collector of cats? I knew her eyes lied, and I believed them even so. Alone with her in this room, I believed nothing else but her lies. This moment with her, as long as it lasted, would last me forever.
I reached out, and she drew me to her. She tumbled to the bed with laughter. I laughed along but felt no mirth. My hands were greedy.
I pulled her foot onto my lap and rubbed my thumbs across the tendons, squeezing each toe. My thumbs dug into her other heel and slid along her high arch to her toes. The stripping motion stole her breath away. Then she purred. I forced my thumbs deeper into fascia, and she whined.
The dimly-lit room obscured colors and details, so my curious fingers reached up her leg under the long peasant skirt to discover hair. When I pushed the skirt up higher and saw the soft black hair that lay across her legs, my pulse raced.
I needed something. I needed something so badly, I couldn’t breathe.
I fell on her with my mouth, sucking and biting her ankles until she cried out. I couldn’t tell if she cried with pain or pleasure. Her skin tasted of salt and smelled of sun. I chewed gently on her Achilles’ tendon, and she reached between her legs. Her breath left her in great sighs.
My hands slid under her skirt as I climbed up the bed and lifted her thighs onto mine. My fingers traced the hollow around her mons, and I found she was wearing a thong. My thumbs pressed into the fabric, into the fur, into the wet.
When her hands left, I drew them back. “Show me,” I panted.
She was breathing hard, too, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wild. I wondered if I looked the same. My fingers tightened on her thighs. I licked sweat from my lip. For the first time, I was clear about what I needed.
…Let me have what I need…
She slid her hands into her panties and rubbed her clitoris with her right hand. She moaned and whispered, “Yes, oh yes.” The voice of her desire was intoxicating.
She closed her eyes. Her fingers kept moving, and her breath grew halting. She muttered something. I thought she was close to coming, so I seized her hands and pressed them against the bed.
Her eyelids snapped open. Her eyes became dark flames above her clenched white teeth. I tried to hold her, but she was stronger. She wrestled free and pushed me away. She was soon standing beside the bed.
I rose, feeling unsteady on my feet. She slapped my face. The sting startled me. I was unable to look away from her lips. “You hit me,” I said in a whisper, my voice tight with arousal. I thought of her feet again.
When I stepped toward her, she ran for the door, but I reached her first and pinned her. I caressed her back, her ass. When I kissed her neck, she stopped struggling. She leaned against the door, and I wrapped my arms around her soft body.
From behind, I groped her breasts through the thin cotton of her sweater. I stretched the v-neck hem down until her bare breasts rolled over the edge. I turned her around.
Her nipples were hard, and I squeezed and pulled on them until they were dark red. She pressed against my grasping fingers. Warm, soft flesh filled my hands, while the rough edges of my jeans teased as her thigh pressed against me. I growled my pleasure.
…Grant me my pleasure…
Her surrender gave me such a delicious sense of power. We were alone in a hidden cabin. No one would know. No one would stop us. I could feed every impulse.
I wanted to feel her. I wanted her to feel me. I wanted so much.
I sucked the taut cord of her neck and she twisted, offering more of her skin. When she turned around, I kissed her deeply. Her mouth opened and closed as she tugged on mine, her lips soft, despite the urgency behind them. Her breath was hot and tasted of wine.
She bit my upper lip and tugged on it, and I moaned when she sucked my tongue. When she began to suck in rhythmic strokes, my gut clenched so hard, I could barely breathe.
She released me and began to dance alone to the music again. She moved away and spun, the skirt flaring out around her bare feet. Her bare breasts, their nipples, now blood-red and hard, swayed above her torn sweater as her hips circled.
I felt hungry all over.
Her fingers stroked the air, calling me to her. I was drunk with a lust that wouldn’t let me go until it was satisfied. And I knew it would never be satisfied. I would be dancing with the witch for the rest of my life.
…Dance, dance, dance…
She rolled onto the bed, and I climbed on top as her foot slid up my chest to my cheek. I caressed it, kissed it, sucked it. I bit her heel, licked her ankle, rubbed my face against the sole. I wanted more of her. My hands grasped her calves and luxuriated in the warmth of her.
When I sucked the skin around her knee, she writhed. I pushed her onto her stomach and sucked the back of her thighs. Her hips pressed down into the pillows in a slow rhythm. I left red circles on her pale skin. I stripped off her panties and bit her ass with an intensity that left more than circles. I left teeth marks behind, and she gasped with each bite, pushing her hips harder into the bed. Her panting breaths became small gasps.
When I turned her over, she spread for me. I stared at the inflamed folds, their delicate inner pink swollen red. The short black curls that framed her pussy were matted, and she glistened all over from her own juices.
She drew me closer. Pushing her dark curls out of the way, I pressed my lips against her clitoris and slid a finger into her. The breath caught in her throat, and her legs tightened around me.
She began riding my face — rocking, churning — as she tangled her fingers in my hair. Her heat enveloped me. Her wetness smeared across my face. Her attention went inward as her pleasure coiled. I wanted her to come over and over. No, not over and over, but once and forever.
…Once and forever.
Her murmurs escalated into whines and then her breath caught in her throat. Pleasure erupted from that long, tight silence in a deep groan as her body shuddered. I mashed her clitoris between my lips and curled two fingers against the tight wall of her vagina and kept licking until she came again.
My desire drained away when hers did. Questions returned in that moment of satiation. What was I doing? I laughed at that thought, laughed at myself.
What wouldn’t I do?
I left the bed and began to dance as the strange music played again from somewhere, from everywhere. My body moved and the scent of her desire surrounded me. As I spun, I saw Miss Gray on the windowsill. The nameless black cat leapt lightly to the floor from its place beside her. More cats were at the bedroom door.
She joined me — the woman with no name, the witch. I knew, then, what she was, and it didn’t matter. She joined me in my dance, distracting me from the cats before she pushed me to the bed and bent between my legs. I spread, pushing hair away and exposing my throbbing clitoris.
Her hot mouth covered me. With exquisite pressure she rolled my clitoris between her lips. Her voice vibrated against me, but her words were inaudible. I was drunk with pleasure.
Her hot tongue circled my clitoris and drew it between tight lips. A finger pressed into me and stroked the wall of muscle as I tightened around it. I closed my eyes and surrendered my body — relaxing, inviting.
“Feels good?” she purred from between my legs.
My head rolled to the side, and I saw Miss Gray watching me. Beside her were several black cats, including the one with golden eyes. Miss Gray reached out a paw and mewed, but then she hissed and trotted away.
I gazed down at the witch — her head between my legs. I tangled my hands in her long dark hair and churned my hips against her. I wanted it harder, faster. She knew what I wanted and gave it to me until I lost my mind.
As clarity returned, I saw her watching from a seat on the windowsill where she was idly stroking the fur between Miss Gray’s ears. I understood why the cat was familiar. It wasn’t a cat. At least, it hadn’t always been a cat. It was a bitter laugh, but I didn’t hear my voice.
Leaving the windowsill, the witch returned to the bed where I lay. She bent down and pressed her face to mine, telling me how naughty I was. The tickle of my whiskers made me sit up, but the only sound I could make was a plaintive mewing. I bolted from the bed.
With a sweet smile and sweeter words, she left the bed and opened the window. I dashed from the cabin, following Miss Gray into the forest, where I joined all the others who had abandoned their lives to chase the night.
The Witch’s Conjuring
Rose petals strewn
among Cinnamon and Water
with Ginger’s bite and Candle’s fire.
Five elements bind to enflame desire;
each serve a point of a Pentagram’s power.
Let me have what I want.
Let me take what I need.
Grant me my pleasure.
Dance, dance, dance.
Once and forever.