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There Aint No Justice 115
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #115 |
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- To Sleep, Perchance to Dream 02: -
The Lady in Lilacs
by Tal Meta
Stairs, narrow and steep. The aged, brittle wood of the steps creak
beneath my weight. The darkness at the top of the stairs does not blind me;
enough light creeps up from below to illuminate my path.
That scratching sound is louder now; is it coming from that little
door over there? I push aside the landlord's forgotten clothing that hangs
before the door and listen carefully. Yes, the sound _is_ coming from in
there.
I switch on my flashlight and tug open the door. But wait... instead
of the tumble of boxes and jars I remember from last time, the beam of my
flashlight reveals a goddamn HOLE in the floor!
I pull myself through the opening of the door and shine my light down
into the hole. It looks like... a storage closet? I pause for a moment,
redrawing the floor plan of this house in my head; a hole right there should
lead down into my dining room, not a closet. There's no ROOM for a closet
where this hole leads.
Okay. A hole that shouldn't be there, leading to a place that can't
possibly be where it seems to be. I leave the door open as I trek back
downstairs for some supplies.... this just begs for investigation.
Flashlight: check. Extra batteries? Certainly. Hmmm.... weapon? I pull
the kukri down from over my bed, and thread its sheath into my belt. I draw
the blade, and give it a quick toss for luck, then resheath it quickly. A
quick jaunt out to the car nets me a length of rope and another knife... (What
can I say? Steel just comforts me.)
As I climb the stairs again, I consider, briefly, fishing my revolver
out from its hiding place. I shrug to myself and ignore the impulse. If
wherever I'm going warrants more than two knives, I'm probably dead meat
anyway. As I reach the top of the stairs, I notice that my cats, curious
little bastards that they are, have preceded me. Both are looking eagerly down
into the hole I'm about the explore. Sensing my arrival, one promptly gets the
hell away from the hole, but the other jumps straight down.
Stupid fucking cat. Part of me hopes its curiosity WILL kill it.
I spend about two minutes playing the flashlight around, looking for a
good spot to anchor the rope on. I finally decide to anchor it to one of the
exhaust pipes leading from the septic system to the roof... 4" PVC ought to
have enough strength to support my weight for short periods.
"Smudge? C'mere, you little bastard. I'd think by now you'd have
learned to keep your nose out of trouble." As I play my flashlight around the
closet, I note that there is one of those forced air heating register things
lying on the floor, right next to a hole more than adequate for the cat to
have used to escape punishment... for the moment anyway.
Forgetting the feline for a moment, I turn my attention to the
contents of the closet.... mostly old cardboard boxes, stacked on and around
an antique roll-top desk. Part of me hopes that I didn't damage it on my way
down. The door to the closet proves to be unlocked, and leads out to a dimly
lit hallway straight out of the Mauve Decade.
19th century wallpaper above rich, dark wood paneling. The trim on the
doors, and along the walls are also of a similar dark wood, perhaps mahogany.
_Oil_ lamps are spaced alternately down the hallway, their dim, flickering
radiance giving the entire scene a somehow restful feeling. Shutting off my
flashlight, I close the door to the closet and start off down the hallway.
The first door I come to is ajar, so I push it open to reveal an
elderly maid dusting the top of a dresser in what might be the master bedroom.
Everything in the room, from the cut of the maid's uniform to the decorations
on the wall, whisper to my hindbrain that wherever I am, it's not _when_ I
came from, either. I clear my throat and attempt to get the maid's attention,
but she continues to dust. I tentatively reach out to touch her and.... yes,
she's there, all right. My hand doesn't pass through her; at least. I grasp
her by both shoulders and turn her to face me, but her eyes don't focus on
me...
I can see boredom in her eyes... I can even see my own reflection. But
it's quite clear that she can't, or won't, perceive me. Part of me wonders
what her reaction would be to a slit throat... but I pass on that little
voice's suggestion.
I follow the hall to its end... a wide, graceful half-spiral staircase
leading up as well as down. The staircase evokes a strong felling of deja-vou
{deja vu] in me; sometime, somewhere, I have seen this staircase before. In
its own way, it is as beautiful as anything can be. Some forgotten part of
myself can almost remember playing on it as a child... but no relative,
friend, or other acquaintance of my parents could ever have afforded this kind
of house.
At the bottom of the stair is a grand foyer. Wide double doors with
heavy frosted glass panes glint in the gaslight. I try to touch the doorknobs,
but suddenly a sense of foreboding fills me, and I take a step back. Turning
to examine the rest of the room, I note three doors leading away. One stands
open to reveal a living room, the other two are closed.
The first door I try is locked; I can hear sounds behind it, but no
amount of calling out or knocking nets me any response. The other door swings
open easily, revealing a large kitchen. From beams in the ceiling, a variety
of meats hang, some salted, some smoked.
A short hall leads me into a dining room beyond the kitchen. The
ceiling is high and domed; a crystal chandelier hangs low over the table. Two
places are set, not at opposite ends of the long table, but across from each
other at one end - an intimate supper.
Folding French doors lie half open along one wall, admitting a warm
breeze. It brings the scent of lilacs, tilled earth, and water, from outside.
I step through them, and as I do so, night becomes morning. I cannot see the
sun rise, mind you, but I can tell from the amount of light that it is
mid-morning, at least.
Several yards away down the lawn is a medium sized gazebo, with ivy or
kudzu twining in among the latticework. A pair of winged zebras gambol about
the lawn, whickering to one another almost as if locked in a cheerful
conversation. I can see someone, partially obscured, sitting in the gazebo,
and as I draw closer, I take a deep breath.
She's simply the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair is a
dark, lustrous copper-red, falling in long cascades about her shoulders. Her
skin is the palest color of ivory, and even at this distance I can see that
her eyelashes are long and full, and frame what I am somehow certain will be
green, almost emerald eyes. She is small of stature and build, yet has the
energy of a wild mustang, smoldering inside.
As I climb the steps to the gazebo, I take in the dress she is
wearing. It's mostly white, with vibrant purple lilacs embroidered on it. It
isn't a 'revealing' dress; the neckline is high, and the skirt hides all but a
hint of her bare feet and ankles. On her lap sits Smudge, my wayward feline.
Her small, slender hands are kneading his neck, and I can hear his usual
subdued purr has raised itself to a throaty roar.
When her eyes meet mine, they are the emerald color I expected. I have
seen this woman before, but I cannot remember where.
She rises to greet me, and takes me into her embrace, Smudge
forgotten. We held each other for I don't know how long, and when I pull back
from the hug to gaze into her eyes, I find them partially closed, her face
tilted upwards in a way that any fool should recognize.
Her mouth seems so small, compared to mine. Her lips are dry, but her
mouth is moist, and her tongue eagerly seeks out my own. I can feel the
passion rising between us, and when at last we break our kiss, we are no
longer in the gazebo, but standing near the dining table I had seen earlier.
My usual garb has been replaced; where I had formerly worn jeans and a
sweatshirt, I am now dressed in a formal (if slightly outdated) suit that fits
me as if tailored specifically for me. My kukri is gone, but I can feel my
smaller knife still in its ankle sheath. Her hair, which had formerly been
loose about her shoulders, is now tied above her head into an elaborate hairdo
held in place by several jade combs. The candles on the table are lit, and our
food is growing cold, so we both sit and begin to eat.
Our conversation over dinner is anything but subdued. We laugh and
chatter like two old friends long separated. At several points during the meal
our hands touch, and the wine is making our eyes shine in the candlelight. We
end the meal by feeding one another dessert, at last pulling our chairs around
so we are seated next to one another.
After dinner, the sounds of music can be heard from outside, so we
venture forth to the gazebo again. Moonlight threatens to drown out the stars,
but the sky is so clear that the stars are still ahead by a margin. We dance
closely together, swaying in time with the music, holding one another for fear
that something will sweep us apart. When at last we kiss again, we both know
it is time to be going back inside.
Hand in hand we climb that beautiful staircase, heading, I'm quite
sure, to the room I saw the maid cleaning earlier in the 'day'. Once the door
closes, she is in my arms again, kissing me with a ferocity that surprises
even me. I take her head in my hands, slowly removing each of the combs that
bind it until her hair is free once more; if anything it, seems longer than
before, cascading down her back nearly to her thighs. I bury my face in it,
smelling the glorious scent of it.
As we stand by the side of the bed, I can feel all the longing for
that "certain someone" welling up inside myself.. If any woman on this Earth
was meant for me, it is her. She turns away from me, lifting her hair to allow
me to unbutton the back of her dress. Twelve opal buttons later, we slowly
begin removing it, one arm at a time, until it falls in a bunch at her feet.
Beneath she wears a silk camisole, lace panties, garter belt, and silk hose.
I slip off my jacket as she begins unbuttoning my shirt. As she
reveals more and more of my chest, she places one hand inside to caress my
skin, and brings her mouth close to deliver gentle nips as she works her way
down. When my shirt is completely undone, it too is discarded on the floor
with her dress.
I run my hands along her sides, delighting in the feeling of the silk.
Her whole body shudders as my hands cup her breasts through the fabric,
although her nipples don't respond to my touch as yet. I trace the curves of
her body, taking in every bit of the sensation of her quivering form under my
fingers. She is looking at me with a half-smile on her face... behind her eyes
I can sense that she is growing just a little impatient with my taking so much
time.
Forgetting the camisole for a moment, I turn my attentions to her
delicate panties, gently pulling them down over the curve of her buttocks,
exposing her full and softly glowing mound of pubic hair. I plant a quick kiss
at the upper edge of it, which makes her knees buckle slightly... I catch her
before she falls, and in straightening her, lift the camisole up over her
shoulders, purposefully dragging the silk across her slowly awakening nipples.
The slight chill in the air makes her nipples harden and crinkle, and if
anything they grow harder as I brush the palms of my hands over them. With one
finger I flick the two tiny hairs growing from the edge of the left nipple's
areola, which sends shudders through her body anew.
She pushes me back, so that I am sitting on the bed. I gently push off
my shoes with my feet, as she kneels before me, her hands reaching down to
undo my belt and unbutton the fly of my slacks. As her hands brush against me,
I can feel my excitement mounting... her merest touch is causing me to grow
harder and harder.
Once my slacks are undone, I stand again, letting them fall to the
floor, as she tugs off my underwear, gently nibbling and kissing her way down
my stomach to my manhood. She once again pushes me backwards onto the bed, and
then quickly engulfs me in her mouth. Her hands are busy removing my socks and
undoing the ankle sheath of my knife, but once they are free she uses them to
gently tickle my inner thighs, causing me to buck my hips and pull myself from
her mouth.
We stand together, and embrace once again, my hardness pressing
against the softness of her belly. This time I take the initiative, and push
her backwards onto the bed. Her hands catch my shoulders, pulling me down on
top of her. Our lips meet again, and soon I am tracing the curves of her neck
and breasts with my tongue. Her nails rake their way upwards from the small of
my back to my shoulders, urging me downwards, as I ease myself down the length
of her body, stopping here and there to lick or nibble at her belly.
Her sighs of pleasure have become more palpable, but a note of
frustration enters into them as I move my attentions from the edge of her
pubic hair and far down to her knees. My hands straighten her legs and I
gently release her legs from their silken hose, pause to nip and the back of
her knees, then proceed to slowly edge my hands forward as I slowly lick my
way towards the heart of her womanhood. Once my hands have cupped her
buttocks, I use my thumbs to part the flower of her vulva, and I gently
insinuate my tongue within the humid folds.
Her whole body spasms as my tongue finds her clitoris, and I gently
clutch it with my lips as my tongue traces an elaborate pattern over it.
Whispering to me in shuddering breaths, she bids me to lie beside her, so that
we can both sample the taste of each other, sharing passion's most succulent
pleasures.
As we assume the position the ancients called the two-backed beast, I
find myself delving deeper and deeper into the folds of her vagina, until it
feels as if I'm completely surrounded by it. Pressure surrounds me on all
sides, squeezing me forwards, pressure so tight it almost hurts. Somewhere in
the distance I can hear cries, and ahead of me I see what can only be that
thing called light...
All around me is water. Sounds seem incredibly amplified, and the
cries of my fellows could be heard for literally miles all around me. I drive
for the surface, pushing against the liquid medium all around me, finally
leaping free into the air and drawing my first, triumphant breath. The sea
rolls out beneath me, and the shower of water droplets that accompany me into
the air create a mini-rainbow that follows my arc back into the water.
At the edge of the horizon a storm is brewing. I turn towards the
raging waters, heedless of the danger. On the surface, rain beats down and
waves crash, but here, underneath the waves, there is naught but the currents
and the omnipresent sound of the fury of the storm above. I am making my way
by leaping from swell to swell, laughing at the fury all around me. As I
plunge into the next swell, I can feel her legs wrapped around my back,
pushing me deeper into her. Sweat covers both of us, making our bodies shine
in the gaslight.
Her back is arched, her breasts upthrust, as I slowly penetrate her. I
lean against her, and bend my head downwards, kissing her and nuzzling her
earlobes until she gets the shivers. As her nails gently rasp against my
sholderblades, I can feel her lower lip gently scraping against my earlobe
while her tongue gently insinuates itself into my ear canal. Her breath is
hot, and the feel of her saliva drying under the ministrations of her breath
makes my penis throb even harder within her. Her hair is splayed out behind
her like a fan, blazing in the flickering glow that fills the room. As I move
within her, her hair seems to catch the radiance until it begins to spread and
rise up on its own. Soon the flames of her hair have engulfed us both, and I
can feel myself running with her, hand in hand, through a raging fire.
Fire is everywhere. A fallen tree lies across the path of least
resistance, but it offers no problem. While narrow, my legs now have great
strength, and the four of them are more than sufficient to give me the
strength to leap over any obstacle. I turn behind me to watch her clear the
log, and the sight of it nearly takes my breath away.
Her face and torso remain unchanged, still the ivory color they were
before. But where her legs used to be she is melded to a horse's body; a
centaur. The creamy ivory skin ends only at her hair and tail... both are the
color of the flames, and as she moves fiery motes trail out behind her,
lighting new fires amid the underbrush. My own form mirrors hers, except that
where she is bright, I am dark. My skin is the color of soot, and my hair is
streaked silver and ash. Together we streak off into the forest, until we
cross a stream, and follow its path to the sea.
The sand on the beach shimmers with a million colors in the moonlight,
as if it were made of tiny diamonds. The spray from the waves extinguishes the
flames of her hair, and as we stand in the surf, the danger of the fire we
left behind is forgotten. We embrace, as we had done before, our hands and
mouths exploring every inch of these new bodies.
As I move around behind her, she twists her torso around to face me.
My forelegs climb her back, and she arches her tail to give me better access
as I plunge my arm-length penis into her quivering flesh. Her hair spills out
and down over her left arm as she rests her head against the disheveled
mattress. My hands clutch at her hips, striving to force myself deeper and
deeper within her innermost recesses.
I can feel her vagina contracting around me, almost milking me inside
her when I pause for a breath of air. I can feel her fingers brushing against
my testicles as she stimulates her clitoris. Reaching under and down, I take
her breasts into my hands and caress them for a moment, pinching the nipples
between my fingers. As i feel her breath growing shorter, and the contractions
within her vulva growing stronger, I redouble my efforts, achieving my own
climax as close to hers as possible.
Like a siren, her cries cut through the night as her orgasm consumes
her. Her hair thrashes with the movements of her head like something alive,
and she is bucking her hips against me so hard I need to lean into them to
keep her from throwing us both to the floor. I feel as though I were standing
upon a precipice, with the moment of culmination just an instant away....
...when the sound of her cries becomes the sound of my alarm clock.
Another day in Hell begins.
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