What Dreams May Come Ch. 08

Warning: This one is experimental and changes perspectives and breaks the fourth wall. Everyone consents to everything, but they tend to bitch about it. Bitching about stuff is healthy, sometimes. Changing perspectives can be tricky and I haven't done it before, so please be patient.

What Dreams May Come -- Ch 08

(throat clearing) You will forgive my assumption of the narrative role at this juncture, but as our stories diverged at the conclusion of the previous chapter in this series, it became literarily difficult to have Cowboy recount scenes to which he was not privy and apparently such literary challenge is beyond the talents of our "author." To be honest, I was outvoted in the choice of LingeringAfterthought as our group biographer. In my view, they play far too many fictional empire-building application games of tenuous merit, and not enough time documenting the precise details of—

Oh my God, you're still pissed that I uploaded "Game of Sultans," aren't you? There's no way you're taking over the storytelling, Sir. These people want the sex scenes that were left out of the last chapter. I mean, please! Mantha could tell it better! You'll make having sex sound like IKEA instructions or something. (imitating Simon) "He mounted her base assembly and inserted his bolt into—" (muffled noises)

I find your lack of faith... disturbing, Rose. You thoroughly enjoyed the bedtime story my tongue told you last night, did you not?

I um... that was... there was... um... something in my mouth most of the time, but that was... um... yeah.

Exactly. As I was saying...

No. I'm sorry, but the readers like my voice better. Look at the ratings!

The chapter in my voice currently stands at a respectable 4.75.

And mine is at 5. FIVE, Sir. I am empirically the sexier narrarator.

(Sighing noise) I believe you mean 'narrator,' Little One. A narrator narrates a story.

Sir, you know that grammar stuff doesn't get anyone else hot except me, right? Now hold still, I'm gonna narrarate the fuck out of this thing.

Into it.

What?

You are going to narrate the fuck *into* the story, yes? There was an appalling lack of lovemaking in the previous chapter, and now you are going to provide the deprived and depraved readers insight into the coupling that happened outside of the purview of the previous narrator. You are going to narrate the fuck *into* the story.

You can't let well enough alone, can you?

Quite incorrect. When it is well enough, I usually do *leave* it alone. The difference therein usually lies as to when each of us find things to be "well enough." Your version of "well enough" appears to be satisfied with non-existent words and nigh blasphemous grammar. This is discussion is counter-productive. Mantha, disable the Game of Sultans server #404 until LingeringAfterthought has submitted—

Don't you dare! They've almost leveled to Master Sultan 3! Mantha, belay that order and— (scuffling noises, fabric ripping, sound of a wall panel cracking, and rhythmic panting breaths)

(Mantha's synthesized voice of Richard Attenborough) After forcibly removing the female's outer plant-based mesh covering, the male immobilizes the female against the wall and repeatedly penetrates her birthing canal with his proboscis-like appendage—

***

I rested my head against Simon's shoulder as he carried me in his arms up the stairs to the 8th Floor. I had a little problem. The break from hearing people I loved screaming in pain had made me incredibly horny and my face was pressed into the neck of the man who smelled better than anything else in the world. You see, I knew the minute he got me back into my body, Simon would be all "limbic this" and "prefrontal that." He hadn't touched me in so long, that even the feel of his body breathing against mine was enough to make me squirm, wet and ready. How could I get laid before I was turned into a science project?

As we approached the fifth floor, I noticed that he was beginning to sweat. I opened my mouth to complain that I didn't really weigh anything, so he hardly had anything to sweat about. Then, I realized why he was sweating and I closed my mouth with a smile. I drew a deep breath and sighed, burying my face into his neck and smelling that perfect scent that had lulled me to sleep for years. Simon cleared his throat and held me tighter, speeding up his pace. I inhaled against his neck, sighed and snuggled closer to the source of that intoxicating fragrance.

Simon's pace faltered. He was breathing heavier. "I need to get you back into your body, Little One."

"Mmm... yes, Sir," I said against his neck. He began climbing the stairs again.

He hitched me up against him again and I let out the slightest of moans. "Are you all right?" he asked, his cheek brushing mine as he tried to pull away to see my face.

"Sir?" I asked, looking up into his face, holding his eyes with my own and blinking slowly.

"You made a noise. Are you well?" he asked, stopping again, his eyes searching mine and then drifting down to my mouth.

"Yes, Sir," I said, a smile teasing my lips. I snuggled back into his neck again, breathing against it. Just to be evil, without making a sound, I giggled.

I felt Simon's lips purse against my head. He had felt my body shaking. It made me giggle harder. "It is against my better judgment to ask—"

"And yet, you always do, Sir,"

"What is it that you find so amusing now?"

"Does this remind you of anything?" I asked.

Simon hissed out a sigh. I knew he remembered. "That was nearly an international incident, hardly anything to look back upon with mirth."

"You should have left me on the tour bus to sleep," I said.

"After receiving five offers to purchase you?"

"I only heard three..."

"That is because you did not trouble yourself to learn Quechua before we toured Peru."

"Yeah... cuz people just decide to do that. What was the going rate?"

"Enough to convince me carry you around Machu Picchu. Though, I admit I was tempted when the last one raised his offer two llamas."

"You gave up two llamas for me," I sighed, "if that's not love, I don't know what is..."

"True... the Customs and Import fees would have been formidable, as well."

I elbowed him in the ribs and he did that thing with his eyes that nobody else understands, but that I knew was his version of a belly laugh. It felt so good just to talk with him again. To get under all the stiff respect and formality to the man I had missed so much. Before I knew it, I was crying again.

His eyes darted to me, concerned and assessing, but then relaxing when he understood that the voices weren't back. He pressed his lips to the top of my head and I felt him release a long breath. "I missed you, too, Little One."

I pulled myself together after a bit and looked up at him again. "Can you let me down, please, Sir?" I asked.

Simon stopped climbing, and stood there, holding me and looking at himself holding me, like he still couldn't believe he was doing it. When he met my eyes again, he had a wry smile, and shook his head.

I rolled my eyes and laughed silently again. "I mean, *will* you let me down, please, Sir?"

He let out a shaky breath. "It appears that I am currently incapable of releasing you, so I neither can, nor will, let you down. I regret that my condition may inconvenience you indefinitely."

I leaned up and kissed his cheek. "It's no inconvenience, Sir," I said grinning, "but can you carry me Inca style for a bit, then?"

Simon hesitated, looking at me dubiously, then released my legs and I slid them around his waist so that I was facing him. His hands folded under my bottom to support me, inadvertently positioning me so that my clit would rub against his furious erection with every step. Exactly the position that had started all kinds of trouble in Machu Picchu. I smirked, as I snuggled back into his neck, kissing his collar bone where I knew he was sensitive. With superhuman effort, I somehow kept myself from laughing evilly, knowing he'd willingly set himself up, led like a lamb to slaughter.

***

What? What is it? What's that look?

(sighing noise) I really must protest.

You don't say. I'm surprised you've even let me write this far without filing a grievance. What is it? Some dangling participle split infinitive?

On the contrary, your grammar is exemplary. So much so that I would suspect you of fornicating with your editor. My issue is with your complete self-delusion. Do you really suppose for a moment that the perfectly sexually gratifying positioning on the staircase was a complete accident? Has the concept of subtlety never drifted in passing through your perverse mind, or must every sexually charged moment be ruined by a constant barrage of over-explanatory conversation?

Oh please! If the change in position was my idea, you can hardly claim credit for it, unless you're claiming you're some kind of sexual Svengali that seduced me into seducing you. OOH Seduception!!! Let's call the story Seducep— (muffled kissing noises)

(Mantha's synthesized voice of Richard Attenborough) The male's display of prowess and intrigue have left the female favorably impressed and she indicates her willingness to proceed further in their mating dance, rewarding him by lifting her buttocks and presenting him with her swollen and well-lubricated...

***

I lowered my head to feel her cheek softly brushing mine as she nipped my clavicle, sending shocks of sensation down to where we both yearned to meet. My Little One had returned to me, eager, provocative, and as was her particular talent, bringing with her "billions" of insights into what my limited perspective had overlooked. How had I survived so long without touching her? Without watching her eyes gleefully betray every little scheme into which she thought she was secretly entrapping me? I needed to be inside her, to tame her, to torture her until she pleaded with me for satisfaction. I had watched her struggle for so long, not knowing what was wrong, not allowed to give her what she needed, and seeing her suffer for lack of it. It was almost more than I could bear to keep myself from bending her over the railing of the Fifth floor and punishing her for keeping herself from me for so long.

And yet... my Little One was troubled. The slight insight she allowed me had provided unbearably visceral detail into the hell her life had become. I needed to see her body. I needed to delve inside her mind and obtain the data that would lead to the resolution of her suffering. I refused to believe that a cruel trick of fate would irrevocably destroy our happiness the moment we had found each other again. She was mine. Mine to care for. Mine to protect. Mine to control... because only I had earned her trust and loved her well enough to do what was needed to keep her safe. I would always keep her safe, even if it meant leaving her forever.

Still, I had so longed for this moment, that I refused to let my compulsions cheat me of it. My Little One needed me. I tightened my arms around her and began climbing. She knew intuitively, and rightly, that my focus once we arrived at her bed would no longer be on pleasure and reunion. The moment deserved my complete focus... and yet, it would be a waste not to take the opportunity to make her appreciate her reward with a bit of suspense. Her every breath told me how much she craved wanton consummation of our reconciliation. Her punishment for delaying it so long would be the threat of not receiving it at all.

I climbed, increasing my pace, allowing myself to groan slightly at the bouncing friction caused by her heat nearly embracing my turgid need. "I will have you in your body shortly, Little One. Do not worry," I rasped, threatening her with her greatest fear.

She clung to me more tightly, squirming in her need. "Thank you, Sir," she said, leaning her head down upon my shoulder, her body humming and yet completely trusting in my embrace. "You always take such good care of me, Sir..." she whispered, repeating that phrase she knew had an almost hypnotic effect on me. To take care of another is the greatest honor, the greatest responsibility. For one such as Rose to entrust me with that privilege had compelled me toward excellence beyond any other motivation in life.

I looked around, surprised to see that I had completely stopped ascending and was only staring into her limpid violet eyes. I shook my head, cleared my throat and resumed climbing, increasing my pace to give the appearance that I intended to make up for lost time.

"I'm sorry to be such a bother, Sir. You should have tried to take the elevator..." she murmured into my neck.

"You are no bother, Little One," I said, warming the crown of her head with my breath. "I could not risk the delays of waiting for someone to go to the 8th Floor, much less the possibility of becoming trapped should the device malfunction."

"Mmm hmm..." she said, placing delicate yet devastating kisses up the length of my neck and tracing my jaw. "Like Paris..."

I thought back, a small smile played across my lips against my will. After a night at the opera, we had become trapped in a small lift, wherein I availed myself of the opportunity to show Rose that my interest in anal sex was not purely academic. I had been able to bring her to orgasm beneath her gown and expand her to the width of three fingers when the device jolted back into motion. Our experimentation continued when we staggered into our room and throughout the night. "Given my appreciation of the outcome, I can hardly fault the Parisians for their deplorable elevator maintenance, though. Can you?"

"Well... I... um... yes, Sir," she said, turning her face away from mine. I was intrigued. She was not blushing, her warm blood suffusing through her against her will because of arousal. She was hiding something. I had no doubts she had enjoyed that night and countless others sharing similar rigorous interludes together. She begged for the experience more times than I could remember. What was this reaction, then?

"What is it, Little One? Tell me what you are not saying," I said sternly, turning her face to mine. "If these experiences have taught us anything, it is that no good comes from you keeping secrets from me."

"I... I'm ashamed, Sir," she whispered, her forehead resting on my shoulder. "That night... after the elevator... something happened that you don't know about. I didn't tell you... I couldn't," she said, her face twisting when she dared to look into mine again.

"You will tell me now," I said, tipping her chin up after she dropped it again. "There is not one moment between us about which I will permit you to feel shame. Tell me, Little One," I ordered, stopping again and pressing her against the wall of the stairwell, resting her bottom on the handrail. Confession was not a time to multi-task, and my Little One was extremely crafty. I needed to focus completely to be certain every truth was divulged.

I held her face in my hands, watching every micro-expression. Her lids fluttered heavily, and she rubbed her cheek against my inner wrist, craving contact and reassurance. "Sir, in Paris, after the elevator, you took me to our room and took off my dress. You kissed each nipple as it slid down, and then you had me go to my knees.

"I remember it well. You were naked, but for your heels. Your long tresses, still piled in loose curls atop your head. I twined my fingers through it and guided myself into your mouth. You were eager, yet curiously shy. You had satisfied me with your mouth before, and I surmised that your reticence must have been the effect of being anally stimulated so recently." In the stairwell, she nodded, her eyes had closed and she was clinging to me, drawing breath as if the air had thickened. "You knew that I intended to complete what I started in the elevator. You were frightened and aroused."

"Yes, Sir. I was naked and you were still wearing your tuxedo with your tie off and your shirt open. I wanted so much to touch your chest. When you finished in my mouth, you kissed me and led me to the shower. When it was warm, you put me inside and told me to wait for you. Then... you left the room," she said, her voice trembling. My mouth curled, suspecting how my Little One's story would end. Another reason for discipline, presented to me so freely. A gift to show her enduring devotion. I would reward her.

"And did you wait for me, Little One?" I asked, tasting her soft lips. Her lips always spoke volumes more to me than simple words. Swollen, tender, yet hungry and demanding. "Did you obey me... or did you touch yourself?"

"No, Sir," she whispered against my lips. "I was a good girl. I stood in the shower where you put me, feeling the water run down my body. I kept my hands on the wall where you placed them. It was so hard, Sir," she said.

She drew another labored breath and her lips trembled against mine. I frowned, looking more closely into her face. This was not the answer I expected. "What happened then? Tell me what is troubling you, Little One."

"Well, you had prepared me... back there... and then I felt you put the slippery stuff inside me and around me back there," she said, then swallowed hard. "I felt you get into the shower, pressing your body against mine. I was trembling, but I was so ready. I needed you, Sir. I felt you put your arms around me and then I felt you pushing into me. It felt different than your fingers... warmer, smoother and so much bigger."

"Mmm... I remember. You were trembling, weak. I needed to hold you up, pressing you against the wall. You were suffering until you relaxed... submitted... opened yourself willingly to me. I heard the change... your cries were almost surprised when it happened." I slid my fingers down to her slit, dipping inside her and smoothing the wetness around her clitoris.

"Unnh yes, Sir. I felt so full... full of you. So deep inside me... you were everywhere, hot and hard. I could feel you thrusting back and forth inside me, I felt it all the way to my toes. It was overwhelming, Sir. I couldn't control myself. I couldn't think of anything but that you were inside me... I... I'm so sorry..."

"Whatever for, Little One? It was exquisite to be sheathed so tightly inside you... finally behind all of your walls. You were mine. It was only when you lost control that you were completely mine..." I whispered, pinching her nipples and smiling when it brought forth a keening moan.

"But, Sir..." she gasped, "y-you don't understand... when I l-lost c-c-control... I... I... lost *control*"

"What do you—"

"I p-p-peed, Sir! You were fucking my ass and pumping into me, and I was so overwhelmed I couldn't even hold on and then I was peeing and peeing and peeing... I was screaming and you were grunting and I was peeing and then I saw it running down your legs and down the drain and you never noticed and I peed on you, Sir! I'm so sorry!"

***

Writer's block, Sir?

Hmm?

You've been staring into space for about 30 minutes, Sir. Let me see where you stopped... ohh... yeah.

Hmm?

Yeah, you really had me wrapped up in your reverse-engineered seduction plan that day. Boy, oh boy. Yep. I shouldn't have messed with the master. I have to give it to you, Sir.

Hmm?

Yeah... maybe I should just take over for a while...

***

It's always a bit of a risk to try out a new kink on your partner. It's an even bigger risk when the moment is pretty emotionally charged and you haven't exactly been communicating in a while, much less fucking. Kinks introductions require careful advanced planning and good communication to really go well. Plus, if your partner is someone pretty uptight who likes things tidy and you spring a golden shower kink on them... well, let's just say you gotta roll with whatever comes. What I'm saying here is: don't try this at home, kids.