tagInterracial LoveAwakening Elise Vol. 01

Awakening Elise Vol. 01


Chapter 1.

As the plane's wheels lifted off the ground and tucked themselves into the plane's underbelly, she leaned forward and gazed out the window, trying to relax as a torrent of emotions coursed through her body.

"What have I gotten myself into?" She wondered.

The plane's acceleration pushed her back into her seat, and, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as she watched the verdant farms of northern Wisconsin grow smaller beneath her, eventually transforming into what reminded her of an exquisite patchwork quilt laying softly across the land of the only state she'd ever called home.

Within a few short minutes, the plane broke through the clouds, and with that, her view of Wisconsin disappeared. She peered out of the window again, looking down, trying to catch a final glimpse of home, but all she could see were spires of clouds jutting up like stalagmites from the fluffy white carpet beneath her.

"Well, this is it." She sighed. The sensation of heaviness induced by the plane's acceleration seemed to mirror the emotional gravity of the moment. There was a feeling of momentousness. After spending all 22 years of her life on a farm in Wisconsin, she had decided to leave her friends, her family, indeed, her entire life, to move to California. It wasn't that she didn't love her life in her small town. But for the last several years, even during her happiest moments, there was a gnawing sense of emptiness that would creep up on her. It had taken years for that feeling to percolate up from the depths of her subconscious to the point where she could articulate it; she felt that there had to be more to life than that which lay in the friendly, safe confines of her farming community. The citizens of her town seemed to be so thoroughly enmeshed in the drudgery of farming life that they had forgotten, or never even learned, what it really means to be alive, to explore, to seek out experiences instead of simply enduring whatever experiences life happened to throw their way.

As her thoughts retraced the path that led her to this moment, she could feel a sense of lightness growing within her, a sense of pride that she had been able to transcend, or at least try to transcend, the life that she'd been born into. She was not, she said to herself, simply following the path that had been laid at her feet, but instead, blazing her own trail, one that was guided not by what others told her she should do, but by what she desired to do.

This idea that she would not submit to the weight of her family's expectations and would instead allow herself to be guided by her own internal compass had made her somewhat of a pariah in her town, long before she took that fateful step of buying her plane ticket to San Francisco, the same ticket that she now gripped tightly in her hands and regarded as the key what she hoped would be her new, authentic, fulfilling life.

It was when she reached high school when this feeling of otherness began to flower within her. She would sit in church, listening raptly as the pastor condemned to hell all those who would engage in premarital sex. Not only, according to the pastor, must sex wait until marriage, but so must all sexual pleasure, including masturbation. Sexual pleasure outside of marriage was a sin! the pastor intoned, a violation of God's will and an affront to the divine sanctity of marriage.

Though she couldn't quite articulate it at the time, those words had a false, hollow ring to them, all the more so when, after night fell, she would lie in bed, her thoughts drifting, as they always did, to Scott Hartford, a tall, athletic, supremely confident senior with piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and a worldliness that seemed incongruous with his small-town upbringing. It was this latter quality that seemed to exert a particular magnetism for her, this lurking feeling that, though she hardly ever spoke to him, he sensed, as she did, that there was more to existence than the humdrum routines of those around them. He was, she felt, the only person who understood, and it was this feeling, this sense of connection, whether rooted in reality or not, that alleviated, albeit only for fleeting moments, the dull throb of loneliness that seemed to embrace her like a fog as she trudged through her daily existence.

It was more the idea of him that entranced her, but this, in some ways, had its advantages, or at least that's what she tried to convince herself as the bungled interactions with him piled up and her hope of sustaining a meaningful conversation dwindled. Her ideas about him, she told herself, were unadulterated by the reality of him, and as she lay in bed at night, her imagination weaved wondrous tales about the magical life they could lead once they escaped small town life. Each time she allowed herself to indulge in these fantasies, she would notice a heat growing between her legs that, no matter how many times she shifted positions or tried to ignore, would remain, mystifying, exhilarating, and even frightening her.

Even years later, she would always remember that one Sunday in particular, when she answered that warm calling from between her legs. She had returned home from church after a particularly fiery sermon during which the pastor, in unusually florid language, castigated those who gave in to their passions and wallowed in sins of the flesh. As his words rained down upon her, she glanced to her left and was startled when she saw Scott watching her. When her eyes met his, their blue fire seemed to grow in intensity, and she could feel her body respond, almost against her will. His lips turned up slightly at the edges, in what struck her as a knowing grin. Unable to turn away, she felt as though he was not simply looking at her, but transmitting something to her, a sensual energy that flowed through her eyes as though they were gates that he had willed her to open. That energy seemed to course through her body, flowing languidly through her arms, her legs, spiraling around her heart, and culminating in that tender spot between her crossed legs.

Her cheeks reddened and she quickly looked away, but even after she returned her eyes to the pastor, whose sermon seemed to be building to some sort of crescendo of condemnation, she could feel whatever it was that Scott was transmitting flowing through her, as though it had its own intelligence. As it streamed through her hands, she felt her palms grow damp; as it encircled her heart, she could feel it will her heart to beat faster, and it did, which only made her body temperature rise even more. Breathe for me, it seemed to say, and as her lungs filled with air, she became aware of her nipples, which had begun to harden and grow even more sensitive, their tips rubbing softly against the inside of her bra, sending bolts of electricity throughout her body. The deep breath seemed to relax her, and she had the almost eerie feeling of Scott's voice within her, soothing her, urging her to give in to the sensations.

As her body responded, she became aware of the warmth blossoming between her legs. Struggling to resist it, she crossed her legs even tighter, but doing so caused what felt like a lightning bolt of pleasure to shoot from between her legs throughout her body. She breathed in sharply, the sudden intensity jolting her from her inner world and bringing her awareness back to the church where, a quick scan of the room revealed, a sea of parishioners were nodding their heads approvingly at the pastor, who was concluding his sermon with a dire warning to his flock to beware of the devil's infinite disguises.

As she listened to these words, a battle raged within her. Scott's energy seemed to be on the verge of conquering her, stoking the flame between her legs and urging a warm liquid softness to flow from her virgin sex. Yet weren't these the precise feelings about which the pastor was warning? Weren't these sensations among the devil's many disguises? The human body, she had been taught at church, was not immune to possession, and didn't her body, at the moment, feel like it had been taken over, enslaved, by this exquisite pleasure? As her mind grappled with these questions, the pastor abruptly concluded his sermon and the churchgoers began to file out of the holy sanctuary.

Outside several minutes later, exchanging pleasantries and struggling to make small talk with a sea of parishioners, she felt disoriented, disconnected. Was this what it felt like to have the devil within? Was she acceding to the very temptations that, only moments earlier, the pastor had warned about?

"Hi Elise." A male voice said, snapping her from her revelry. She turned her head and saw Scott approaching her, his parents on either side of him. "Did you enjoy the service?"

"Ummm, I guess so. It was pretty, ummm, intense."

She looked up at him for a moment, and their eyes came into contact. What passed between them, she could have sworn, was a flicker of understanding. But how could he know? she thought to herself.

"Yes it was," he replied. "Well, I'll be seein' ya."

With that, he and his parents continued on, leaving her alone in the church parking lot, struggling to grasp what had just transpired. The rest of the day had been a blur, a seemingly endless sequence of insipid interactions with friends, family members, and fellow churchgoers. She was fortunate, in a sense, that this day was, in some respects, exactly like all other Sundays and she could endure it by simply pressing play on tape and watching, almost as if from above, as her body mechanically navigated its way through her banal existence.

When she lay down in bed that night, she realized that, to her surprise, she hadn't thought about Scott for several hours. Perhaps, part of her hoped, she had managed to banish those feelings once and for all, though as soon as she had this thought, Scott's image roared back into her consciousness and the warmth blossomed between her legs like a soft breath. So suddenly did these sensations arrive that she didn't have time to mount her usual defenses - the recitation of Bible verses, the fervent supplications to Jesus.

In her mind's eye, Scott's image seemed to float above her, his eyes glowing with that deep blue that so effortlessly entranced her. The same energy that had flowed through her at church returned, nestling itself between legs and calling forth from her body those forbidden sensations. For a fleeting moment, she tried to resist, but she could feel him whisper to her, "Just relax, Elise. Try to let go. Just let it happen." His words seemed to melt her resistance and she exhaled softly, nodding her head almost imperceptibly to him.

She felt as though, in this twilight state between dream and reality, he could sense her thoughts and she could sense his. She could feel his approval ripple through her, and she took another deep breath. As she exhaled, she became aware again, as she had in church earlier that day, of blood flowing to her nipples and their sensitivity increasing.

"Yes," she felt him say, and her right hand slid beneath her shirt and came to rest on her left nipple.

"Gently. Very gently." With those words tingling in her ears, she imagined her fingers as delicate feathers, slowly circling her areola, then sliding off the very tip of the nipple. Electricity seemed to emanate from her fingers into the nipple, through her breast, then ripple out through her body. A soft moan escaped her lips, and without thinking, her hand began to move toward her soft center, toward what she was beginning to understand was an urgent need for release.

"No, Elise. Not yet." She was startled by these words, but she found herself heeding them, and her hand crept back up to her breast, resting just below the left nipple. With this movement, she could sense his approval, and she was somewhat startled by how much she enjoyed it.

"Very good. Now Elise, I'd like you to undress please." She did so willingly, letting the warmth of the Wisconsin summer night bathe her skin. As she removed her underwear, she noticed a small wet spot on the portion that had been pressed between her legs. A fleeting sense of shame rose within her then disappeared as quickly as it had come. Naked, she began to slide beneath the sheets when she could feel his words, gentle yet commanding, instructing her to lie on top of them. Again she heeded his instruction, and felt that familiar, albeit somewhat disconcertingly pleasing euphoria that came with his approval.

What an odd sensation, she thought to herself - lying naked on her back, feeling so exposed, so vulnerable, yet as her awareness of these sensations increased, so too did her sense of arousal. Focusing her awareness between her legs, she noticed that the warmth had deepened and she could feel the depths of her sex grow moist. It was unlike anything she'd ever permitted herself to feel. Whenever, in the past, she could feel these sensations lurking at the edges of her consciousness, she called upon her training in church to drive them away, forcing herself to construe that encroaching pleasure as one of the devil's many cunning tactics.

But tonight, with Scott's image guiding her, she simply allowed herself, for the first time, to feel her feelings, to experience her feelings.

Her nakedness, her awareness of her mounting wetness, the sheer newness of it all, intertwined, creating what felt like an insatiable need to fill the space between her legs. Again, she lifted her hand from her left breast, tracing a path down her stomach towards her aching sex. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, and she felt the tiniest drop of warm liquid escape her and drip down, eventually darkening the pink sheets beneath her.

When her outstretched finger was less than an inch away from the glistening rosebud that had, by now, revealed itself at the top of her opening, she felt Scott's voice inside her: "No, Elise. Not until I say so. Now please place your hands on your breasts." A whimper of frustration escaped her lips, accompanied by a sense of befuddlement as to why she even cared what this ridiculous image in her head was ordering her to do. She knew what her body wanted her to do, a want that that was rapidly transforming itself into what felt like an urgent need. But yet she did as she was told, and returned her hands to her breasts and found the hardness of her nipples waiting for her.

"Now, Elise, please squeeze them gently."

Again, she obeyed, and felt that now familiar surge of pleasure.

"Harder please."

As the pressure increased, she began to feel a sense of lightheadedness, of losing control, as the world around her receded and all that remained was her bedroom and the sensations swirling between her nipples and the space between her legs. Involuntarily, she turned her head to the right and rested her cheek on the cool fabric of the pillow, eyes closed tightly.

"Very good, Elise. Now please open your legs, and pull your knees back then apart. I want your pussy wide open."

It did not even cross her mind to disobey. His tone was stern, forceful, and she complied willingly. As she recalled this incident years later, she wondered why she wasn't more startled by his use of the word "pussy." That most certainly was not a word bandied about in her secluded rural town. But when she heard it that Sunday night, it sounded so . . . dirty, but paradoxically, she liked that aspect of it, liked the way it made her feel, liked the gruffness with which Scott had spoken it.

A person standing over her would have seen a stunning 18-year old high school senior, about five feet, six inches tall, lying naked on her back, her head resting on a swirling sea of blond locks, eyes clenched shut, knees pulled back and opened wide, her sex glistening as her juices flowed forth from it, pooling into a darkening splotch on the sheets beneath her, her small pink nipples, the crown jewels of her 34B breasts, squeezed firmly between thumb and forefinger, soft whimpers escaping her lips sounding almost like pleas, growing ever more desperate, for release. In this position, she had remained for several minutes, the energy in her body almost visibly coiling itself tighter and tighter, causing her movements to become quicker, even twitchy, her forehead furrowed, her feet flexing forward and back, her stomach fluttering, her breaths shorter and shorter.

"Yes, Elise. Keep squeezing your nipples. Notice how you can feel the pleasure from your nipples expanding outward, enveloping your breasts, making its way down your stomach, and concentrating itself between your legs."

She kept her eyes closed tightly, and she could feel her hips starting to move up and down in tiny, stilted movements, as though she were lifting them up to meet some invisible stranger between her legs.

"Very good, Elise. Breathe deeply, and notice how your body is responding, how empty you feel between your legs. Notice that sense of longing, Elise, that longing to be penetrated, to have that opening filled, to have that beautiful pussy fucked, my cock sliding in and out of you, letting you feel every inch of me, making you want to open yourself wider and wider for me, wanting me deeper inside of you. Can you feel that, Elise?"

"Yes," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat as soon as that word escaped her lips.

As she imagined Scott penetrating her, her hips rising up to meet his thrusts, she could feel a warm ball of light building deep inside her belly; some primal part of her understood what it was. She noticed that as she squeezed her nipples harder, the light began to grow. She knew that her release was close at hand, and she beckoned to it, with growing urgency. Her pussy, her whole body yearned for it. That emptiness between her legs seemed like a chasm, and she wanted it filled, needed it filled. Without even realizing it, she moved her right hand from her nipple toward her pussy, which by this point, was experiencing minor convulsions that seemed to carom throughout her body.

"Feel it build inside you, Elise. Imagine it getting closer as I fuck you harder and harder. Imagine me placing one hand behind your neck and lifting your head towards me so you can look between your legs and see my cock moving in and out you, fucking that beautiful sweet pussy. Feel my balls slapping your ass as I fuck you. Feel your body respond to me, aching for me to bury my cock deep inside you. Yes, Elise. You're so close now. Almost there."

Elise felt a dizziness start to envelop her.

"Please," she moaned.

"Please what?"

"Please," she moaned again, more urgently.

She felt him smiling down at her, enjoying himself as she teetered on the brink.

"Please, Scott. Please can I cum?"

"Yes you may. Cum for me, Elise."

Those words were all she needed.

She plunged her right forefinger deep into her pussy, and immediately experienced an explosion of energy rip through her body. Spasms rippled out from her pussy, causing her hips to shake uncontrollably and all of her muscles to contract. She lost awareness of her surroundings, and she felt like a star that had detonated in deep space, causing wave after wave of bliss to expand out into the universe. She was dimly aware of soft, meek murmurs passing from her lips, sometimes intensifying, sometimes softening as her orgasm surged through her.

As the shudders subsided, she felt herself grow dizzy, and the darkness beckoned to her. She greeted it with open arms and plunged into a deep sleep.

Four years later, on a plane bound for San Francisco, Elise, in a dream-like haze, recalled that fateful night with astonishing clarity.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

A tap on her shoulder shattered her reverie, and she opened her eyes. She looked over and saw the man sitting next to her eyeing her with a concerned look on his face.

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