Mistress of the Moon

What are we willing to do when we can be someone else? Who are we able to be when no one knows who you are? Being in a strange place with no attachments can be very freeing. A limited time to be someone else, to explore the person you never were and always wanted to be. The only problem is, what if you fall in love while you're there?

*****

A pile of clothes lay on the floor of the hallway, just inside the room past the black pair of dress shoes, one toe atop the other, in the doorway. Beyond, a wool coat was carelessly tossed over a message table and laying next to the car and house keys, was the elegant new purse from Taylor Shands bought in the sea of rainbows. Past the pile of clothes were the smaller accessories; the hematite and amethyst earrings with sharp platinum settings, the mineral agate bracelet with scrimshaw whalebone inlays she bought from Tipper Ellesse´e Diamond sellers, Near Pico and the satiny necklace of spun crystal from Ari Stysonton Contemporary crafts in Lake of sorrows.

By the time she had reached the couch, she had discarded her thin black panties and hose. She had no use of a bra here. Here she only weighed twenty pounds. Her breasts weighed practically nothing. There was nothing like a season spent on the moon to keep the important body parts young and full of bounce.

Cyrrel had just returned from a date with herself. It had been fabulously romantic and ultimately sexy. She had taken herself shopping in all of those expensive stores she had heard so much about back on Earth. Had a delightful time trying on sexy clothes and fancy things. Giving her reflection admiring compliments and letting herself touch her in suggestive places while in very present danger of being caught by customer service personnel. She had smacked her own hand teasingly and grinned at her naughty reflection before taking herself to the cinemas.

She and herself had seated in the less favored section behind the central action of the circular stage and used the relative privacy to engage in heavy petting. The dimenfilm was riveting and kept the rest of the moviegoers attention fixed on the blaze of lights and panoramic vistas in the center of the theater rather than her and herself who were openly fondling parts usually kept hidden.

Dinner was also quite fine, offering the very best the fine chefs of the moon could bestow on a vacationing Earther. For dessert, she had a finely wrought chocolate structure that would have collapsed under it's own weight if it had been attempted back home. It was as good as orgasm and got her fired up for ravenous uninhibited sex. She couldn't wait to get herself home and fuck her.

She had not made it to the bedroom, no further than the couch in fact. She lay with her behind on the edge of the cushions, her feet up high on an easy chair arm and her legs splayed wide. She had both hands pressed firmly to either side of her vulva and was massaging the spongy tissues beneath. Her thumbs twiddled rapidly, one after the other, over her clit, her index fingers moving slick fluids about the lips. Her head tossed back, her mouth working soundlessly. Teeth catching lips like cat playing with mouse.

She began to moan as the growing wetness gathered on her fingertips and her hands began to slide over one another and her mound like octopus tentacles. Frictionless, she dipped fingers inside from one hand than the other, one from each, two from each. Drawing her liquid out, spreading it around. Covering every surface.

She slipped three fingers in from one hand, two more on top from the other. Ah, bliss. Ah, heavenly viscosity. A fourth finger from the first hand, the second hand wetting the back of the first. In she curled the thumb then push, gently, harder. The stretch, Oh god the stretch. Breath stopped, all the world stopped. Anticipation. Pleasurable ache. Good pain. The good pain of stretching and with a slow exhale she is greedily devoured. Her whole hand inside, the muscles tightening around her wrist. Fingertips brushing her cervix.

As she did this she imagined herself a holy woman, a planetary tribal witch on a small and distant world. She lay upon a great stone dais built for this purpose, raised to the level of her adoring parishioners eyes. She was teaching them to know enlightenment through pleasure. Teaching them the dream sense than comes over one with the Isam du haiib, the stretch. The holy intensity. The throng or worshipers were all women for this meeting, all hear to learn her revered arts. They crowded close to touch her legs and inhale her smell.

At the moment of orgasm she would remove her hand and flick her fingertips, spreading droplets of her holy water of life over the upturned faces of her devout. She would do this several times, pushing her hand back inside and then drawing the water out and flicking it, until she had no more to give for a time. Then she would lay without making a word while her people sung hymns of vision making. And, she would have her visions, deep in the hynogogic state blessed by her extreme exhaustion and the riggers of Isam du haiib, she would dream quest for her new apprentice.

As the women in her congregation sung, they became one voice, soft and low. Soon words were lost and the cavern was filled with a low sexually charged hum of many voices. In the period during the wait for their priestess to awaken from her trance, they would make religious signs with one hand above their heads while their other hand aroused their second souls, the ones that slept inside the tiny tent at the crevasses peak. Many more experienced women would squat slightly and perform Juduset Du Haiib, standing holy stretch. All the while, the deep glassy hum.

Priestess Cyrrel at once would snap her eyes open, her vision complete and raise her Besttat dil nimar, Paw of religious exploration, to point into audience. She would quicken her breath in the ancient way and intone the texts of Gissib Senraquin causing her grand opening to once again begin the flood.

The women of her congregation would perceive exactly whom her gesture was directed and step respectfully aside, rubbing their own liquids in small circles around their navels. Priestess Cyrrel was pointing at a young girl who was standing now, alone in a circle of women older than her. Her hands were crossed against her breast and her chin was down. "I, Priestess?" She asked in a small voice. "It is me you want, blessed?" "You." Cyrrel intoned," And the girl stepped forward.

The girl raised both her hands to meet Cyrrel's one outstretched hand and kissed her palm. She stayed several seconds, inhaling the aroma of the holy woman's most prescient place, the source of her power. Then Cyrrel directed Her to move her hands to her vulva while the Priestess spoke in the most ancient of tongues, telling her to enter as though to be unborn. The girl did as commanded, slicking her hands and then pressing first one and then the other inside her holy mother in the manner of Essib Saturiiet ilsulahib, "The washing of hands in holy water." She then bent her head forward and kissed Cyrrel's second soul.

When Cyrrel came back to reality, she was drenched in sweat, fist buried deep inside herself, her vulva thrust up into the air, feet on the couch, one hand on the floor. Here on the moon she felt like she had fantastic strength. She held this pose for a long time, feeling the power of her seemingly inexhaustible muscles and riding out the after glow of her orgasm.

She lay down to the floor slowly and removed her hand. Thinking about the young girl in her fantasy, the kind of girl she always created for these kinds of fantasies and wondered suddenly if she couldn't hire a girl like that. Yes. She had never done anything like that but it was a vacation. She had shopped in exquisite places for beautiful things she could not afford. Maybe she could do this too. Maybe.

She pushed herself off the floor with so little effort she had to catch the wall to keep from going over forward. What would sex with another person be like in a place like this? A person was practically weightless here. She felt so strong, even fierce. She imagined having this young girl here and Cyrrel was like a spider in a web or a cat, pouncing on her and taking her, ravaging her. Animal desire, that was a vacation. Rampant abandon and raging passion, things she had never really allowed herself before. Why not? Here she could be anyone she wanted to be. She would likely never be back to the moon, who here was known to her? She glided down the hall of her hotel room to the phone.

The face of the concierge blinked on. Cyrrel's breast spilled over a robe she clasped with a hand at her sternum. With complete reserve and utter impassivity, the concierge smiled and asked her what she could do for her, eyes meeting hers with unfaltering professionalism.

"I wonder if your hotel provides certain services." There was no real question in her voice, just enough flirtiness to bring across what she wanted. "With a flash of a smile and a hint of amusement, the concierge made arrangements.

When she was off the phone, she raced into her beautiful guest bedroom stumbling in the weak gravity and trying frantically to straighten the mess she had made of the place during the last week of her stay. First grabbing clothes and trying to fold them and then giving up and stuffing them into drawers. Filing away papers and souvenirs into luggage and tossing them into closets. Turning off overhead lights and dimming table lamps. She remembered several things, went running, tripping and running again toward the phone.

With bedroom straightened she started on the living room, frantic and eager. She was annoyed when tossing food containers into the cubbies in the small kitchen caused them to ricochet out and bound back into the living room. She was cleaning bits of food out of the carpet when the door chimed. For a frightened second she thought, good God, She's early! Then the wallscreen showed her an image of the bellhop standing outside the door with a cart. She raced down the hallway and yanked it open.

The bellhop gave her a startled and appreciative glance and recovered his composure. She closed her robe and invited him in. he busied himself setting up candles and lighting them around the room. On his cart he also had a chilled bottle of champagne, several bouquets of sharply smelling deep red flowers in gray vases, a collection of music slips and player, a plate of delicate looking chocolates, a carousel of oysters, bottles of perfumes, bath soaps and towels and a small silver box with black clasp.

He arranged the living room and bedroom while she dashed into the shower to wash up before her guest arrived. When she came out he and his cart were gone and the room was transformed. On the small occasional table was the ornate silver box. She crossed to it, lifted it, and couldn't tell how heavy it was in this gravity. She thought it was real though. She flipped the clasp which might have been hematite and inhaled sharply. Nestled in a bedding of wine colored velvet was a beautiful strap on penis wrapped in protective plastic labeled, certified sterile. She opened it and inspected it. Subtly lifelike and decorated with semiprecious gems it was made of something like glass. Smooth and filled with swirls of colors and patterns of gems it was also soft and collected her warmth quickly. Some kind of sensitive plastic she guessed. It had malleable "skin" and a semi rigid center. The straps were like a fine watch, chromed interlocking pieces with soft kid leather inside to protect from pinching.

She placed it carefully back in it's box and closed the lid. Busied herself with the act of dressing. The bellhop had stacked the clothing and jewelry in a neat pile on the couch. She put on everything but her new dress, opting instead for a sheik nightgown. When the door chimed again, she was poised and glamorous.

The wall screen showed a demure little black haired creature of about twenty years old. Tiny with tightly curled short hair and small thin bones. Two red barrettes above her eyebrows. It was clear she knew she was being watched through the door but did not pose. Her hands folded, one over the other at her waist, she looked intense with her deep black eyes right through the door at Cyrrel. She was so like the girl in the fantasy.

Cyrrel let her in. Her head was bowed but her eyes were fixed on Cyrrel's. An unreadable but knowing, Mona Lisa's smile, on her lips. These were painted blue. A red and blue dress, long, fit her well and showed off small breasts with large nips. She didn't speak and Cyrrel wondered if she was really the predator in this game.

"Come in," she said, acting seductive. "What's your name?" The girl did not speak, continued her aloof smile. Walked past into the room her eyes never leaving hers. Cyrrel's brow creased. She thought; is the girl mute? The girl seemed to understand her thought and her eye's glittered. She takes pleasure in my discomfort! Cyrrel thought.

"Would you like anything to drink? Eat?" No answer, just that sly smile. Cyrrel became a tiny bit angry. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, she had lost control somehow, right from the start! She was off balance, had to think of something else to say. "My, you are pretty, I think I'll have to fuck you roughly." That should do it, shock her, let her know who's paying for whom here.

The girl smiled now, sexy and impish. "You have to catch me first," she said. Her hands came up to her clavicle and pulled the shoulder straps of her dress down letting the silky material bunch up in her crossed arms. The gesture conveyed conflicting identities for this girl. One interpretation could be that this girl was shy and perhaps awkward the way she had crossed her arms over her breasts like that. The other way of seeing seemed truer to Cyrrel. This girl was the real spider in the room, she was doling out in small amounts her stickiest silk.

Cyrrel watched her hands. Such small, neat hands. Thin fingered and long with short round nails. The girl let her dress fall lower, over her small breasts to her tummy. Static electricity made it cling to her hips. Oh God, what nipples! Cyrrel thought, like olives. I wonder what they taste like? Her tummy was a small paunch with perfect navel and covered in tiny hairs, well balanced below her narrow shoulders and wider hips.

Her hands were stroking her breasts, playing with her large nipples, pinching them and plucking at them. Such small hands, Cyrrel thought, she will need two. The girl was watching her watch her. Cyrrel stepped closer, hand reaching out to touch and the girl stepped back. She backed to the couch stepping out of her slippers and pushed her dress all the way down as she sat. Her legs were short and slim but with defined muscle tone on calves and thighs. Her pubic mound was bare save a tight dark mass of hair, cut into a perfect circle high above her opening.

Cyrrel stopped and began to remove her own clothes. Slow. Trying to be as alluring as the strange dark eyed girl. She played with her own, very large breasts. Undressing in the manner the girl had, exciting every part as it was exposed. She bit her lip in the way she had seem women in vidplays do it. She did not need to exaggerate her excitement; she was literally shivering with it, gooseflesh popping out all over her body.

The girl made a slight widening of the eyes when Cyrrel's panties came off. They were wet through and her mound was shaved absolutely bare. The moisture did not collect and a small runnel started down to her knee. So, I get something from you, She thought. But she was also embarrassed about her extreme wetness. It seemed even in undressing she could not stay on top of this girl.

She quickly stepped to the couch, intent on grabbing the girl up and kissing her hard on the mouth, being ferocious with her but the girl leapt from the couch in an astounding back flip, hit the wall with feet and behind and landed neatly on the other side. Cyrrel was astonished. The move had been like a monkey or some kind of cat, quick and sharp. The girl stood in a half crouch, looking at her, dark eyes glittering with that ghost of a smile on her lips.

Cyrrel grinned back at her. It was easy to forget that being on the moon made anyone an amazing athlete. "Okay, so that's the way you want to play it!" And she bounded over the couch with arms outstretched. She misjudged her strength and the girl dodged. She hit the wall hard, jostling a picture hanging there, and fell on her ass on the rug. On Earth, hitting a wall going that speed would have knocked her unconscious, at the moment of impact she had been prepared for the fun to be over, she would be getting hauled out of here on a stretcher on her way to the hotel sickbay. As it turned out she was fine, she was stunned, that was all. Frightened by the wall coming at her so suddenly. She looked up to see the girl looking at her anxiously, wondering also if she was hurt. No. She was fine, here she only weighed twenty something pounds.

She got up and lunged at the girl again, again the girl dodged. The game was on. She jumped up, nearly to the ceiling trying to land behind her and she rolled away to the side near the couch. She jumped over the couch but the girl deflected her again. They did this twice more before Cyrrel grabbed the couch and simply hurled it aside. The girl did another spectacular backflip, kicked off the ceiling, caught a hanging light and spun off toward the master bedroom. Cyrrel was off after her, turning a corner by leaping at the far wall and bounding off of it in a new direction. The girl was there behind the bedroom door and bolted out past her, hurling a giant pillow at Cyrrel to slow her down.

"Ha! I'll get you!" Cyrrel shouted happily and launched the pillow at the girl's retreating back. She went down but rolled quickly on her back, grabbing for the pillow. Cyrrel flew into the air and landed with a leg on either side of the prone girl. She reached down but the girl grabbed her arms, planted her feet on Cyrrel's hips and tossed her over her head. Cyrrel twisted in midair, reached back and broke the impact of the wall she hit, kicked off it and landed awkwardly with her shoulder on the thick carpet. She rolled, her hand flashed out and she caught the thin muscular leg of the girl. Dragged her back as she was almost running back toward the bedroom. Her other hand clamped on the girl's hips and yanked her down on top of her in a clumsy pile.

"Got you!" She crowed but the girl was already twisting out of her grasp.

The girl was suddenly sitting on top of her, straddling her and trying to get Cyrrel in a wristlock. "Looks like I got you." The girl crooned. But Cyrrel bucked her hips up and the girl was bounced off of her. Cyrrel was sweating now and her heart was beating fast. She was grinning fiercely. This was not the fantasy she had wanted but she was having fun. A lot of it.

She pushed herself off the floor and chased the girl into the bedroom again. The girl ran right up a wall and did a half circle around the room before coming down to the floor again then she leapt at Cyrrel and caught her full force with her legs wrapped around Cyrrel's shoulders. Cyrrel's tongue darted out at the dark eyed girl's puss but the girl rolled forward, over Cyrrel's head. Cyrrel's arm flashed out and grabbed the girl's upper thigh, bringing her back down to the floor.

She had thirty, maybe even forty pounds on this girl but that was on Earth and didn't amount to more than a few pounds here. Also this girl had been here a while and was used to what she could do in 1/6th gravity. She was lithe and agile, almost a circus performer. The girl was under her control for only a second before positions were reversed and her dark eyes were looking down at Cyrrel from on top again. Cyrrel played tired for a moment, acting meek and then, in a burst of strength, tossed the girl over and pounced on her, hands grabbing her wrists and thighs clenching the girls ribs. She moved her hips down until she was sitting on the girl's hips and bent down to kiss her.