In The Library Ch. 17

I have been in this city for just over one month, but I have not yet met Alexandra, my mother.

I have made a mistake and revealed myself to her maid, Odette. So I have left the tavern and taken untidy and cheap rooms down by the lake. I keep to myself, but I do not know what to do about my mother, for I have discovered that she is a powerful woman in this city, and I am the interloper. I am uncertain.

I am sitting in a small tea room down by the shore of the lake, and there is a bridge across the water here. My coffee is a hot and strong tasting brew, and refreshes me. I reach for the day's paper, and there on the society page is a small, grained photograph of Alexandra Cain, who "has recently announced her engagement to ..."

So, my mother is to marry, and hastily, it would appear. Has she had the misfortune of another misadventure, I wondered, for that is usually the reason an only daughter and an heiress announces a quick match. Clearly, she was too young to be match-made when she was disgraced by me, her bastard son, so I wondered who the slut had partnered with this time, that a swift marriage was required. Or was I too harsh, perhaps my mother could truly find it in her heart to love, just not her babe of a son. My own heart was hardening against her, this Alexandra.

But her wedding is to be a society event, and maybe I can gate-crash it. Odette will know my face and would inform Alexandra of my presence, but the woman cannot risk a confrontation, for I am the walking evidence of a prior disgrace. So perhaps I could turn an encounter to my advantage. I did not know how I might do that, but if I was careful and subtle, I might find an opportunity. At the least, I could speak to my mother discreetly, but in a public situation, and she would be obliged to listen for fear of what I might do. I thought that I would be able to make a discreet entrance, and observe from the shadows. So there is the plan. It is all I have got, but I have nothing to lose.

The Cain mansion was emblazoned with electric lights, the grounds filled with tents and pavilions and numerous tableaux for the wandering guests. Naked men and woman, dancers most likely, were posed still as statues on pillars and in front of constructed grottoes, their bodies cleverly lit with spot lights and shadows, light and dark, no movement. And then the lights would flicker and change, and the human statues would strike a new pose. Their nakedness was blatant, but there were so many unclad bodies of all shapes and sizes, and all about the gardens and rooms of the house, that eventually their licentiousness became predictable and did not arouse.

But look, there is the bride Alexandra, promenading at the top of the grand staircase. And I am spellbound and struck speechless, for she is the image of the woman who was not my mother but who raised me as her son. This Alexandra is clearly of the same blood that ran in the veins of Catherine who reared me, and the likeness is uncanny. I am unnerved and tremble, for here is my family like some strange echo of my family, yet I have been cast out and am alone.

Alexandra is exquisite in her long white gown, or is it the palest cream, or the palest silver? My eyes cannot hold the colour of her gown clear in my head, for it shimmers and shifts in the light on the stairs. She is medium height, perhaps halfway between a tiny five feet and my six foot, and exquisitely curved in the hip, but slighter in the breast and waist. She is slender but not thin, and her hair is long and waved and thick and black, and falls like a wave of midnight down her back. I gaze upon her from beside the foot of the stair, this beautiful woman who is my mother who deserted me.

And I hate her and love her, and my emotions conflict and torment me, and I do not know what to do. I remain motionless and in the shadows. There is no sign of the groom, her husband to be, so I can make no measure of the man who would have this woman for his wife.

But there is Odette, there beside Alexandra, and she is tall and handsome, the white blaze in her hair striking in the light. And she sees me by the stairs below her, and her eyes narrow. She turns to her mistress and whispers in her ear, and the raven black haired woman slowly turns her head and gazes down at me. I cannot back into the deep shadows fast enough, and I am unnerved, for her gaze reveals nothing but everything.

I cannot respond and do not know how to respond. The corners of Alexandra's mouth turn up in ever so slight a smile and she is amused. Some small thing (am I that small thing?) amuses her. She turns away and her gaze passes to one of her guests and small talk is made. I am dismissed, yet she then turns back to gaze again upon me, and I feel as though I am summoned and welcomed. Damn the bitch, she commands me and I cannot control this night.

I turn away, for I must leave and lose myself elsewhere in this house. I do not know how to cope with Alexandra's presence, and I am best away from her. So I grab a glass from a passing waiter, and make my way to the lawns where there is an entertainment underway in one of the pavilions. A number of naked men and woman have set up a casual fuck on the lounges under the white billowing canopies, and guests mingle among them and touch or watch, and a murmur of voices runs commentary on the scene.

And an elegant, tall, thin woman comes to my side and stands. She too holds a glass of wine in her hand, and she is silent beside me as she observes the play proceeding before us, these people carelessly fucking. She is tall, as tall as me, and in her high heels, even taller. Her limbs are long and slender, her back thin, even gaunt, but lean muscled.

She is clad in a flowing gown, with a plunging neckline falling over breasts that are hardly there, nipples the only flesh rising from her chest and pushing against the cloth draped tight, and the cloth is joined in a single clasp at the centre of her flat belly. Her back is bare, with just a thin edge of cloth sweeping down to the slight curves of her ass cheeks. Her skirt is long to the ground. She is dressed in midnight black, her long dress a shimmering material, seamless and a curious texture, as if it were a part of her.

Her face, too, is long and thin, with high cheekbones and dark dark eyes. Most striking of all, her head is completely smooth, not a thread of hair, and she is tall and bald and striking, pale and tall and thin. But I cannot fix my eyes firmly upon her, she has a strange tension in her body that is somehow not solid, yet not ephemeral either. It is as if she is somehow concentrating on her being, silent beside me. There is a strangeness here, but I cannot settle on what the strangeness is.

In front of us there is a beautiful couple fucking hard into each other; she is face down and breasts flattened onto the cushions of a couch, he is strong and dark behind her, his thick cock pounding into her cunt, bouncing her body into the softness of the pillows. Her hands grapple at the covers of the ottoman, and soft cries are sobbing from her mouth. Her partner rears back his head and growls a low sound as he thrusts into her.

And then the tall, tense woman beside me moves forward, and she trails her long, thin, almost skeletal fingers over his strong back and muscled ass, her hand snaking close to his flesh as he thrusts. Alerted by the touch, he turns his head to her, and she leans to his mouth and thrusts her tongue to his lips, and fucks his mouth as he fucks the girl.

My prick tightens in my pants at the sight of them; and this tall spectral woman moves with a strange and powerful grace, her long limbs twisting in her flowing gown, her muscles shimmering with her strange concentration. She twists her long hand between the rutting couple and rolls two fingers around his thrusting cock and wettens them with the juice from the girl's lush, wet sex. And then she returns to my side, her black eyes jet and dark, her pale flesh like a skull with the roundness of her naked head, and she offers those cunted fingers to my lips.

The smell of sex is upon those fingers, and heady to my nostrils, and I touch the tip of her fingers with my tongue, and the taste of the girl's sex is upon my tongue. And she then touches my tongue tasted fingers to her own lips, and then we have both tasted the sex of the girl to our mouths.

This tall woman, and she is older than me by many years, this tall woman takes my hand and leads me to another pavilion, sumptuous pillows on a wide bed, braziers burning scented oils into the billowing canopy above the bed, and a slight mistral blowing the canvas cloth of the tent walls. The bed is wide and the blankets deep, and a bowl of fruit is beside the bed upon a small table. The tall woman, and she has not spoken and somehow I know not to speak, turns to me and with her preternaturally long fingers and hands, she caresses my head and the locks of my hair.

And I in turn caress the smooth skin of her hairless head, and trace my finger down the protruding bones of her spine, down her gaunt back, down to the rise of her ass cheeks, and I pull her thinness to my body. I feel the strange tension in her body and she is almost quivering, as if she is struggling to keep herself solid and planted to the ground. It is as if her long thin body is not so much standing on the ground, but somehow drifting ever so slightly above the ground, as if she were a tree bowing its limbs in the eye of a storm.

I put a slight pressure on the base of her spine as if to anchor her, and for several minutes she sways slowly in my arms, my hands holding her tight and slowing her quivering tension. She is pale and tall and tense.

My fingers are trailing up and down her spine and the tightly muscled flesh of her back. She is tall and gaunt and thin but uncannily sensual, her black gown a shadow over her long body and legs. Her nipples are pressing hard against my chest, but there is no soft flesh there, just tight nubs. My hands drift down her long back and over the tight cheeks of her taut ass, and I separate the weight of those two small globes into each hand, and I edge them apart. She arches her body back so that the fold of cloth covering her ass lifts away from her flesh and makes a gap for my hands there, and I can curl a finger down to the heat and crack of her ass hole, and she only has the gown about her body, there is no lingerie or intimate covering about her centre.

My finger then is an intimate cover for her hot hole, and I press the tip of my finger onto that small pulse and feel a tight clench there, and then a tiny opening and pull on my finger. Her ass clenches my finger and holds me firm there, hot. The tent is shadowed and the movement of the breeze outside shifts and flickers the walls, and shadows drift across her body and parts of her body are pale and thin and white, and other parts are shadowed and black and dark. She pulls away from me and reaches to my clothes and belts and buttons, and with her long hands and serious eyes upon me, she pulls them from my body and I am naked before her and she is tall and her strange tension is still upon her, and her dress is still upon her like a veil of blackness.

Her eyes widen at the sight of me, my rising prick summoned up by her gaunt beauty, and a slight smile turns the corners of her mouth. I please her, and her long fingers curl, one hand along the shaft of my cock, the other cupping my rising balls carefully in the palm of her hand. She is caressing and gentle, and my prick pulses between her fingers, my heart beating there. My hands stroke again down her long back, and she arches her spine, her strange tightness and tension pulling on her own muscles and they are ridged across her back. My fingers caress in slow looping circles across her flesh and up and down her spine, and I hear her breath quicken.

I turn her body slightly so that my fingers can twist on those long hard nipples, and her breath quickens again. She presses to me, and again arches her body, and the flatness of her chest and those tight nubs push against the palm of my hand, and she has a hot heat over her heart. I undo the clip at the front of her gown and two long swathes of cloth separate down the front of her, and the blackness falls like water from her flat breasts, and her nipples are rich and dark and long, and there is a heat to my tongue as I suck on them and pull them between my lips. And her breath quickens.

There is an urgency to her movements now, and she takes my hand and places it to the mound at the base of her belly, and her mons is smooth and hairless. She has no hair at the split of her, not even a fine down on her skin, her head is smooth and the base of her belly is smooth. The split of her sex rises up the front of her belly, her lips are smooth and slightly raised from her flesh. The red nub of her is high and bright and protrudes from the top of her crease. Her long fingers twist around her rising nub, and one long finger threads in between the lips of her sex and is wet with the juice of her. She drifts that cunt wettened finger to my lips and I taste her deep into my mouth, and it is a little fuck there.

And as she trails her finger down from my lips, she traces her finger down my throat and it touches the chain about my neck and the tiny locket there. And her finger stops momentarily on the heart of the locket and is paused there. The wind holds its breath. And then gusts again and the curtains billow, and her finger traces down my chest and around the stiff nipple there. She bows her head to my chest, her eyes closed and heavy lidded, and her lips suckle to my nipple and pulls it into her mouth and she lightly bites. The slight pain in my nipple jolts a connection through my nerves to the base of my prick, and it tightens and twitches. And her hand upon my shaft can feel the connection through my nerves to my nipple, and as she sucks she squeezes, and a circle is made.

And with my finger I make another connection into the wetness of her naked cunt, and she is slick there, her moisture like a sweetness upon the tip of my fingers, and I gently push two of my fingers into her heat and I feel a clench there, and she grips me. Our fingers and tongues and lips join us together in tight twists of sensation, and still she holds her strange tension, and her breath quickens. We sway against each other like this for several minutes, our bodies upright and our legs apart for balance, our hands upon each other, smoothing over the flesh of ourselves like water liquid over rocks in a tumbling stream.

But now she is backing towards the bed in this tented place, and she lies back upon it, her flat breasts even flatter now but her nipples long and peaked, her long legs raised and apart, the long black folds of cloth draping between her slender thighs. The bare slit of her sex is soft and open, the open wings of her cunt long and dark and the mound of her is high and heart shaped. The glisten of her arousal is like dew in the morning, and her sex is like a mouth, calling for the filling cock of mine to slide into it.

My prick is hard and full, and my balls are high and tight, and her long fingers spread apart those wet lips and her other hand places the head of me, that purple red helmet, at her opening. And there is a motionless moment between us as I lie poised there. And then one of her hands is upon the cheek of my ass, and the other hand is upon the cheek of my face. She unblinks those heavy lidded eyes and her dark eyes hold mine. But before I lose myself in her eyes and in the long depths of her cunt, I glance to her mouth, and there is the edge of a slight smile there.

And then her mouth is open in a soundless sigh, her eyes blink closed and I am lost to her sight and she to mine, and her hand upon my ass pulls at me, and she pulls me deep into her long depths with a speed and a certainty that shocks me. And I know then that her control of me has been complete, but I do not care, because her cunt is deep and gripping and hot, and her lips and tongue are teasing my mouth and fucking there as I fuck into her with a long heaving thrust and I am buried in her, my balls thrust up to the centre of her groin and I am in her deep.

And from deep within her I hear a long keen from deep in her throat and her breath hisses from her mouth, "yeeeesssssss."

And as I reach up to my own quick climax, my seed rising from deep within me and churning from the base of my spine and pulsating up my thrusting shaft, my hands grab the insides of her thighs to widen them further so that my body can be closer to the deep core of her and the head of my cock deep to the womb of her, and as I grasp her long thighs one of my fingers touches across a strange raised hardness of skin upon her thigh, brushing over raised flesh there.

And as I do so her convulsion is upon her too, and her neck arches back in ecstasy as she comes, hard, and as she comes she clamps her long legs tight to me and holds me deep into her as I come, spurting deep into her womb. And as she comes around me and my seed jets into her, deep, I hear her voice finally. I hear the long keen of her voice, "ah, sweet boy, I cannot hold this shape any longer, you have made me peak."

And as she cries out, there is one massive final shudder along her whole body and then that strange, strong tension in her is gone. Her body shudders and shifts and softens, and where her smooth bald head had been smooth and hairless, now a soft mane of midnight black, silken hair is swift about her body, spreading long about her breasts and draping to her waist.

And where that long black dress had clung to her limbs, now there was a pale nakedness beneath me, and her black hair was long around it. And where that long gaunt thinness had reached long limbs and gaunt fingers about my body, now there was something slighter and softer under me. And the golden locket with its two tiny feathers lies on the chain about my neck, and the metal lies warm between our breasts.

And where those dark, lidded eyes had once had some dark spectral essence about them, the eyes that gazed at me from that pale, heart shaped face, those eyes were the eyes of my mother Catherine who had reared me. But Catherine was dead, and Catherine was not my mother.

"Sweet boy, my father and my aunt were wrong. They could not break the line of blood and I was more willfull than they could ever know. And my aunt taught me too well."

My name is Alex Cain, and Alexandra my mother holds me close in her arms, and my seed is deep in her womb, and we are blood.