Carnal

The young girl awoke to dank aroma of mold and sweat; the smell drenching her senses. She felt her stomach in knots, and although it coiled madly she dared to open her eyes and gaze at her surroundings. She grimaced as she sat up on what appeared to be an engorged slab of stone and looked down at herself. Bewildered, as she realized that she was only clad in a sheer black gown, that clung feverishly to her shapely frame in the coolness of dingy room. She did not recall how she got into such clothing, and she frantically wondered if someone had dressed her, she felt violated and knew she had to find a way out of this room.

Her breasts stood ripe, erect and visible through the sheer cloth-like material. She glanced around the windowless quarter, her onyx eyes dashing to and fro taking in the hushed gloom of the dimly lit room. Her gaze trailed up the large mineral walls that were coated with a sickly greenish moss, and light glaze of what seemed to be dew, the fragrance stale and thick enough to taste....she breathed through her mouth. Turning she saw a heavy wooden door stood which stood at the end of diminutive room. It looked at her with a threatening sneer and somehow she knew without testing it that it was bolted shut.

"Great, what's really going on..?" She thought aloud. Her memories were a blur as she struggled to recall how she could possibly have arrived in such a dreary place. The girl while fearful was intrigued and her belly ached from the excitement of it all as she wondered what might lie behind the closed door.

Folded in a neat pile in the corner were animal furs fashioned into blankets, she looked at them longingly and shivered as a draft swept across her bronzed tone and trickled down the curvature of her spine. When attempted to push herself off of the stone slab she was startled to discover that her delicate wrist was trapped in a crude and rusty pair of chains. A smoldered gasp of dismay sprung from her full lips as she realized the full length of her entrapment.*

This all seemed strangely familiar to her somehow, and she wished she could remember something, anything. Her eyes started to fill with tears and her teeming chest heaved, while needles of fear and anticipation flipped wildly in her stomach.

She began to argue helplessly with the metal attached to her wrist, pulling with all her might, but the shackle remained grounded. Realizing that her efforts were futile, she looked around for something she might use to assist in her escape, but then she heard a loud set of boots could be heard coming down an adjoining corridor. Quickly, she scrambled back up on the cool stone slab, shutting her eyes tightly and lying down quietly. She pretended to be asleep, her gentle features frozen in a doll like pose.

The clatter of the bolt sliding back mingled with the quickening pace of her heart, and her ears stung from the sound. The door rattled, creaked and was finally pushed opened. After a short pause the door swung shut loudly, the bolt latched, and a dismal grunt of disappointment, could be heard in the corridor along with the descending sounds of the thunderous boots.

The girl listened until the echo of the boots was far in the distance and climbed back down from the slab. Although chained, she moved as much as her tether permitted, to search the cramped area for a makeshift tool to free herself. She sighed aloud discovering nothing that would assist her, however, she did acquire one of the fur blankets; she picked a black one and snuggled her form into the darkness of it while she paced the floor in the attempt to stay warm.

Glancing at the chain around her wrist, and growing increasingly fearful, she knew that her attachment to the wall was no for utter amusement, and was well aware that the disappointed grunter with the strident boots would soon come back to check on her. The girl gulped, deciding to do whatever her captor or captors expected of her. There did not appear to be much of a choice—She had no idea where she was, who she was, or how she would escape but, playing along seemed to be the best move, at least for the moment. Her belly stirred with the awareness of her uncertain fate, becoming more compelling as the moments passed.

Something glimmered in the corner of the depressed room catching her eye. She gently fell to her knees, and crawled over to the small space. She reached under a solemn looking table and retrieved the last piece of a mirror that perhaps had been long forgotten. The dust on the glass was thick and she rubbed it against the furs. Gazing into the mirror she smirked at the tender lips and long dark tresses of the stranger staring back at her with a glimmer of mischief that danced, wildly, in her almond shaped eyes.

Suddenly she began to hear the deafening pound of the boots marching down the hall, again. Startled, she scrambled to her bare feet, taking the piece of mirror with her. She looked towards the door, her eyes wide in their blank stare. She dropped the blanket, letting it fall at her feet and slipped to her knees, silently, with her head held high. The sheer gown swayed about her pleasantly luscious body, the fabric lingering against her rounded thighs and she modesty pressed them together, folding her hands behind her back, the sliver of mirror clutched firmly in her hand. She breathed deeply, mustering her courage, and thrust her chest outward, the tender nipples striving to burst through the gown as her night clad tresses cascaded about her shoulders. Her piercing black eyes were fixed on the wooden door, and her heartbeat drummed into her ears as the bolt was released ---the door rattled, creaked and was finally pushed opened....*

Pushing myself away from the desk, I glanced up at the story, as I had often done over the last few weeks but nothing came to me, not a name, not a plot, and not the faintest idea about what would or could happen next. I needed some form of inspiration.

A cool autumn night air swept into the study, the sweet scent of the rose bushes, below, rode in with it and gently crept up my spine; I shivered and wrapped my robe tightly about my shoulders. In March my publisher was informed that I was beginning a new series, it was now August, and the page of the first book was not even done, he would not be pleased.

I ran my hands through my long white hair in frustration as I leaned back in the plush computer chair. Once when I was younger, I searched the internet for the possible causes of my pallid locks, which ranged from stress, to nutrient deficiency, to the lack of cells called "melanocytes" that are apparently found in hair follicles. Regardless my hair had gradually began to lose its color the year that I turned thirteen and now at the age of thirty-three my stone white mane caused me to always look, deliciously, pixilated since it insinuated the flecks of silver that swam in my deep grey eyes.

Aside from my hair there was nothing extremely special about me though I did have the erotic burdens of a true Scorpio and my passions were rarely satisfied, most of my novels were all loosely based on my own hyperactive libido and how the slit between my legs had captivated many men, bringing them to the brink of obsession and madness.

However, marriage was an idea that I was completely in love with and resulted in me trying the monogamous union three times, each time was unsuccessful and always lead to me straying often. My third husband was never a fan of my many lovers or admirers, and priding himself as a man who would never be second best to anyone or anything, departed a month earlier, I felt nothing but the relief of freedom when he left, and I make no apologies for it. *

Nevertheless, soon after his nightly departure I changed my name, retreated into seclusion, and purchased an illustrious twelve room estate, equip with menacing walls of blackened stone, an impenetrable fort like gate, and towering pillars that loomed against the grayish-green bark of Michigan's eastern white pines.

Staring back up at the story I felt that the passion that I once had for my writing was gone and I realized that the story would remain in its barren state for as long as I continued on this desolate path, and perhaps all that was left to do was email Justin Miles, my publisher, and tell him that I would no longer be producing a series.

Luckily, as I was weltered in the emptiness that I had created around myself, the phone rang and knowing who was on the other end of the line, a grin swept across my face as I answered it sweetly. "Hello, Dame."

Formerly one of Detroit's finest, Damien Kline, was a self made business man who fortunately for me, still had strong ties to the D.P.D. He was surely a stunning male specimen weighing in at 245lbs, his body toned, tanned, and deliciously proportioned on top of a 6'5 frame. He was, in fact, the only person who had my phone number and had become my accountant, my friend, and on several occasions my lover.

"Hey, E., everything is in order, when would you like to proceed?" Closing my eyes I melted into the soothing velvet texture of his voice, the sound of it always increased the beat of my heart which twitched until I thought it would burst through my chest.

"Could you stop calling me that?" My voice dripped with irritation, and I rolled my eyes.

"Stop calling you what?" He asked teasingly. *

Damien didn't like the idea of the introverted change that I was going through, he did however devoutly support me in all my endeavors, no matter how bizarre, and was influential in helping me morph into my nymph like alter ego.

"Seriously, you know what to call me, why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"I'm not calling you that...." He said sarcastically.

"Whatever, Damien... I want you to say my name." My tone was coaxing, seductive.

For the last seventeen years I had the same recurring dream and the faceless stranger who frequented my thoughts always called me by the same name.

"Mortigan..." The lust trickled off his lips like dew falling off a morning rose and the pulsing between my legs responded as he spoke my name slowly, profoundly, and with purpose.

Always one to keep my composure I calmly responded. "Good job. Now, to answer your question we may proceed at any time.

"I'm on my way." His voice was hurried.

"I know I'll leave the gate open." I hung up the phone and ran downstairs.*

I had always been a bit of a recluse but only now did I possess the means by which to truly procure that title, which was largely was due to the sales of six tragic romance novels that I vigorously spawned into existence over the last three years. I even had the local hardware store install, grey, aluminum rolladen shutters that served in impeding the daylight and it's never ending quest to brighten someone's day. Usually I survived on Italian wine and club crackers, everything could be delivered now-a-days, so seldom was there need to leave the protection of the mansion, and I hadn't had a visitor since I moved in.

Days in the mansion were spent keeping myself busy and indulging in one of my many hobbies, one of them being crafting candles which I scented with lavender, vanilla or marigold and lit throughout the estate, the ominous glow created a lavishly dark dwelling which I relished upon as my sanctum, but unfortunately, I hadn't used any candle holders and pools of wax trailed up and down the marble spiraling stairs creating a mess, which now I tried to clean up before Damien's arrival.

Running back upstairs I hung my robe up on the back of the bathroom door, glanced at my shapely frame in the grand mirror, winked at myself playfully and walked over to the tub turning the knob so that the water ran hot. I added sweet almond oil, lavender oil, a few drops of marjoram, Benz ion oil and a cup of powdered milk to the bath water before climbing into the tub.

Soaking myself in the hot, milk bath, I gently rubbed the scented water into my skin, the aroma was calming and intoxicating. Glancing up, a teasing smirk crossed my lips as I noticed Damien standing in the doorway. His tailored suit fit his broad form and he hid his hand in his pocket as he smiled, a smug look shadowing his face. Candlelight glowed against his mocha complexion and the sight of him sent flutters to my belly. I bit the inside of my mouth.

"You can't sneak up on me, why do you try?"

"I have to make sure you're staying alert. You could become complacent living like this.."

"Whatever, Dame." He always remained so annoyingly controlled around me. Nothing I did ever seemed to surprised him.

You know I'm right, E. There was a package at front door, did you know about that?

"A, what? I haven't ordered anything. Who is it from?" I stood up in the tub.

Damien grabbed a black towel from the rack and walked over towards me. I could see desire stirring in him as he soaked in the curves of my form, watching the droplets of water drip down my firm golden thighs. He wrapped the towel around me and proceeded to lift me out of the tub and place me on the floor.

He Shrugged. "How would I know that? But it was addressed to Mortigan DeLoncre. I thought you said no one knew about this yet."

"No one else should know, Dame. Could it be someone at the D.P.D?" I asked as I dried my hair, the wet curls tickling my shoulders.

Without hesitation he responded. "Of course not, I made sure of that. Everyone involved is completely on the up and up."

"Fine, fine. I'll check it out later." I walked over to him, slowly, my hips swaying teasingly and kissed him softly on the lips. Pushing him out of the bathroom I smiled, and said "I'll be out in a minute, wait in the study" I shut the door behind him and breathed deeply, my temperature always seemed to spike whenever Damien was around and my belly ached at the thought of him inside me. I dried off quickly and dawned a short sheer black gown, wrapping my favorite red silk robe around me and headed back upstairs.

Sitting in a plush conference chair, Damien had taken off his suit jacket, sat down, and turned on an antique lamp that stood in the middle of a cherry wood conference table. Candles still filled the large study and the glow danced against the blush colored, and book filled shelves. Being in the room always made me feel knowledgeable even though most of the books were purchased and placed just for show, regardless the calm ambience of the room always made me smile. Damien glanced up, his soft eyes baiting me in as he nodded addressing my presence and began to open a manila envelope.

"Come here, E." He patted the chair next to his left.

Quickly, I walked around the table and sat at his side, hiding the smile that rested in the corner of my lips I leaned closer and nudged him, playfully, my eyes beaming as I gazed into his.

"Here is everything that you need." Passing the documents over to me he read off the contents of the envelope. "Birth certificate, drivers license...not that you'll be driving. A social security card, two major credit cards, and a .... passport?" Glancing over at me he raised a brow but continued talking. "All in the name of Mortigan DeLoncre, just as you have requested."

Sliding the envelope over to me he asked a question that he had asked many times. "Are you sure?" His tone was concerned, soft.

Running my hands through my hair I looked at him tenderly as I answered. "Yes, I'm sure, Dame."

He leaned closer towards me, the musky smell of his cologne caressing my senses. Looking deep into my silvery gray eyes, he reached up drawing a single finger down the side of my face. "I just want you to be sure...thats all." I could feel his breath against the side of my face as he whispered in my ear, his tone husky, alluring. Damien put his hand on my thigh and rubbed it gently as he looked into my eyes, his tone was soothing, tempting as he said, "Since you're so sure, then I have no need to worry any longer". Damien stood up and his soft eyes skipped happily as he noticed the redness of my flesh in the mellow light of the room, he saw the want in my eyes and my face flushed red at his discovery.

He picked me up from the chair, his ample arms cradling me as he sat me on top of the table. Standing in front me he and parted my legs with his and ran his fingers through my wet hair, slightly clinching it in his hand. Gazing at me tenderly, intensely, he stared deep into my ashen eyes and asked. "What can I do to make you stop this"? But before I could form my lips to speak, he clinched my hair tighter pulling my head back and started kissing on my neck ardently. My blood ran hot and I started to pull off his shirt exposing his toned, firm, chest and I gently raked my nails down it, my heart pounded quickly, Damien always made me feel nervous, and my body craved for his.

With one hand he untied my silk robe while the other hand pushed the flimsy fabric of the gown to the side, and caressed my breast. I softly moaned with pleasure and felt my nipples pucker in response of his touch. His hands were large, able and glided along my smooth flesh gently, my thighs trembled with desire. He let go of my hair, looking at me hungrily. "I'll be the reason why you stop this silliness... so brace yourself".

Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, the sound of my heart pounded, I was moist and I didn't know what to expect next but I knew that he meant business and soon I would know what his warning meant. Damien's pants were down and around his ankles and he grabbed me by my hips pulling me closer to him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, my tounge gently dancing against his. Breaking the kiss, he smirked and pushed me back on the table and digging his fingers into my sides as he raised my hips and slid into me. Breathlessly I moaned, he filled me completely and bit my bottom lip as he plunged into me hungrily.