The Blackmere Society Ch. 01

My hand travels downward, trailing down my stomach as it reaches for something sweeter. Fantasy and possibility become too much to bear, and my body seems to react of its own accord. That first delicate touch when I feel my fingertips graze across my womanhood sends shocks of excitement through me, excitement, then pleasure, my skin rosy and soft from the warm water and soft sheets, now set ablaze by sleep-defyingly restless lust. "Nnnn..." I coo out quietly, fingertips more firmly seeking out my sensitive pearl and massaging it in slow circles, a hot breath catching in my chest.

Fantasies bleed in and out of my mind, flickering to life to serve their purpose before fading to another, and my fingers get more bold. I imagine Anathema quite strongly, especially at first, imagining my fingers as her own, boldly taking me, molesting me, holding my soul in place with her gaze as she takes what she likes from me. It's all so illicit, but doesn't become any less so. Not when my mind finally wanders to Erasmus, wondering what his firm touch would be like, remembering his hand on my shoulder earlier. A part of me - a deep, dark part - even contemplates what he might be like when he changed. How the beast within might manifest, on the battlefield and... and in the bedroom...

A second hand begins to travel, sinful and direct in purpose. I have a mind to stop it, but choose not to. My thoughts find themselves too preoccupied, too spurred on by the anxious rubbing of my clit, now wandering to think of the Wraith, all painted and predatory. Imagining her pinning me, her hands cold, her touch invasive as if her flesh can pass through mine. The second hand probes one finger insistently against my back entrance, teasing at first before penetrating, drawing a soft cry of pleasure from me that I attempt to muffle into the pillow.

Another little whimper escapes me as my breath picks up, two hands working in unison now, carrying out a rhythm so devious I can scarcely believe that I control both. One reaching in front of me and one behind, their tempo increases, stroking my clit in rapid circles while the other eases one finger, then a second, into my ass, the two digits driving in a little deeper now as my body twitches, then relaxes, at once encouraging and resisting their advances.

Am I truly such a wicked girl, to be so aroused in the face of such horrors? With such responsibility on the shoulders of myself and of the Society, is my mind truly so preoccupied with these aimless fantasies and lusts?

Yes, perhaps I am as such. My body seems to think so, and my mind struggles not to agree, especially as my chest and cheeks begin to redden with the intensity of my self-driven ecstasy. I writhe and moan on the bed, hidden beneath the covers, my sin unseen to any but myself, a secret except to me. My fingers drive deeper, starting to pump in hard, thrusting in again and again, now a surrogate for many different fantasies. Perhaps they represent Erasmus teasing me with the tapered, reddened tip of a canine member. Perhaps they belong to Anathema, her fanged mouth clasped to mine in a hard kiss as she violates me. Perhaps the tip of a certain celtic ghost's tongue, pressing lewdly into me.

I grind my thumb hard against my pearl and finally scream out into my pillow, back arching as blissful convulsions shake me, toes curling as I cram my fingers deeper into my ass, almost sobbing out with blissful excitement as I come. I only pray nobody heres, or comes to check on me. Or... don't I, considering all those fantasies?

I fall to a soft panting, the covers now far too hot, arms and legs splayed out as I tremble on the bed. My eyes drift open just briefly, just long enough - or just short enough - to be unsure of what I may have seen. Unsure whether I just witnessed a pale, war-painted face drift back through the wall of my room.

There's no telling how long the Wraith had been present, if indeed she had been. Maybe I don't care. Maybe I wanted her to see. Though I suppose it isn't the best first impression for my first day as a member of the Blackmere Society. Hopefully - if indeed the Wraith had been playing the part of the Peeping Tom - I'll have a chance to prove myself once that foul thing in the dungeon gives us our next instructions. Perhaps I can show the rest of the Blackmere Society how truly useful (and dangerous) well-practiced magic can be.

That, however, is something I will need to discover tomorrow. Now, with my bound passions finally released through climax, I am claimed by the darkness of sleep.