Striga Ch 02

Night came once more to the bustling city. Lizabeth stepped from the cab in front of the high rise building in which she lived. Making her way through the lobby, she nodded and gave a shy smile to one of her new neighbors as he waved a hand and said hello. A gorgeous guy, faintly resembling Keanu Reeves. Who couldn't help but beam a little at that?

Fumbling with her keys, Lizabeth could hear the phone ringing as she pushed the door open. By the time she got in and sat her bags aside, the ringing had subsided.

"Feh." she muttered as she started thumbing through a collection of mail that had accumulated on the top of her coffee table

"It was probably just another telemarketer anyways." she added flatly.

It had been almost a week since her torrid encounter with the ethereal stranger behind the mirror. For nights she had sat in her bedroom and waited. Nothing. Maybe the event was just a once a year occurrence, or what if it only happened on some kind of anniversary?

Lizabeth sulked at the thought of not seeing him for any length of time. She yearned for him, yet she didn't even know his name. The very thought of his tongue flicking against her thighs made her dizzy. She wanted more...so much more. Whimsically, she had daydreamed at work and in the cabs going to and from her normal, everyday places. Men with dark hair passing her on the street became him at a glance. She imagined more than once, being whisked away into the darkness of a deserted alleyway by the mysterious man, feeling his strong body between her legs for the first time. A shiver of pleasure ran up her spine as she envisioned him pushing his swollen girth into her eagerly.

Blinking twice to recover, Lizabeth tossed aside the mail that she had been starring at for ten minutes or more now, but not really reading. The dull ache from days of unsatisfied arousal beneath her skirt was a constant reminder that she should have stayed just a little bit longer. There had been a hint of guilt on her part. He had unselfishly pleasured her on that strange and confusing night.

"The least I could have done was...well...something." she thought to herself.

Shaking her head a bit, Lizabeth walked into her bedroom and changed into a long black, silk poet shirt. Looking in the mirror she fussed for a moment with the ruffles and sighed. Could he see her? Her finger reached out, smudging the surface of the glass. It was solid and did not give as it had the night she passed through it. Choking back uninvited tears, Lizabeth pressed her lips together and turned from the antique mirror. Sulking, she was able to drag herself back into the living room.

There had to be some clues hidden somewhere in all the things that belonged to her grandmother, Rosalia. If not, maybe there were some answers buried in the piles of her mother's belongings. The curiosity consumed the petite woman like a wildfire from her head to her tiny toes. To wait another moment was unthinkable. Jerking around boxes and bags, Lizabeth hurried through hoards of possessions. Pinning back her unruly sea of sable tresses with one hand, the other hand continued to sift through an open box.

Hours of disappointment. That is the only thing that seemed to result from her exhaustive effort. Frustrated now, Lizabeth growled and hurled the folder she had been examining across the room.

"For once...just for once in this godforsaken world...can't I get some cooperation?!?" she blurted angrily. Since her mother had died, this was the only time Lizabeth had felt like breaking down into tears.

From across the room she could hear papers falling from the folder, which had apparently landed on the edge of one of the boxes and the contents spilled out onto the floor.

"One thing after another." she groaned hopelessly, her forehead coming to rest in the palm of her hand while she leaned for a moment against the wall. Truthfully she felt like beating her head against it.

Glancing towards the pile of disheveled documents that had once sat in the safety and order of the folder, Lizabeth raised an arched brow. There were a couple of boxes over there, unopened. She swore under her breath. Part of her thought it was useless to pursue the matter any longer. Bed sounded so much better. The other part of her complicated little mind held the nagging "...but what if..."

Curiosity, at this point in Lizabeth's life, should be been reprimanded by the Humane Society for killing so many innocent kitties. Grabbing her box cutter, she sliced the edges of the box carefully. If some idiot had packed the box to the top, it wouldn't be wise to let her tired eyes lead her hands into careless haste. The box sat opened soon enough, a light flustering of dust could be seen floating through the air near the light of her living room lamp. Books...some big, some small...lots of them. One in particular caught Lizabeth's attention. A book with a tattered, black leather cover. Some of the pages were hanging out, yellowed with age. The book's binding appeared to be only holding on by strings. Opening it, the musty smell of age filled the young woman's nostrils. To her delight, the book's yellow pages contained hand drawn sketches, and little entries, like that of a journal, some in English, others in what appeared to be Italian.

Looking in the corner of the antique journal, there was a name scrawled in an old fashioned hand.

"Rosalia L. Giolinni"

A surge of excitement ran through Lizabeth's body. Running a finger over the sketches, she marveled at the timeless images. Trees, miniature landscapes, and birds. Quite the artist, her grandmother had turned out to be. Middle ways through the book, Lizabeth paused. The mirror. It was illustrated there before her widened, dark eyes. The smooth long oval frame with the cherubs, even one illustration detailing a close up of one's little innocent face. It was obvious that Rosalia had loved the mirror just as much as Lizabeth was starting to. Beside it was the same hand writing, in English, that began to spin a web for Lizabeth. A tale of young, unrelenting love.

. *** July 24, 1934

"I have foolishly fallen in love with a young man, though older than myself. A wanderer who traveled the countryside near my parent's farm. Immediately he had my heart in the palm of his hand. He was the most handsome man my young eyes had ever seen. Secretly, I began taking time away from my chores to spend time with him. Antony. I loved the way his name rolled off the tip of my tongue. He knew nothing of my questionable practices. I refused to chance that with anyone. Months passed and the closer we became. I would not use the arts on him. I had decided that if he were to truly love me, it would be of his own accord."

"One very sunny July morning, I dodged most of the workers and meandered into the barn. Of course I found my love sleeping in the hay. We were ensconced here in our secret place, with the smell of straw and the soft neighing of one work horse that had not been used that morning. I watched my nomad slumber. He looked so beautiful with his eyes closed, stray pieces of the hay collected in his long raven hair. Antony's strong hands were cupped behind his head for a pillow. In the absence of his shirt, his broad chest and rippled stomach were visible. Only a baby-fine spray of dark hair covered his chest. A dark line of hair led my eyes from his navel, past the waistband of his slacks, and still further to the mystery that rested between his thighs. It was like a trail leading my eyes to a treasure. I wanted to see what all the older women on the farm giggled and talked about while out picking in the fields. I wanted to finally know why at certain times, in conversations, my mother and father would stop talking and look away from one another with a smile when I stepped into the room. Licking my lips I knelt down beside Antony. I watched him for a moment, making sure that his breathing was still shallowed. Hesitantly, I touched his stomach with my index finger, lightly tracing the dark trail of hair against his smooth olive skin. Hooking my finger on the loose waistband of his pants, I leaned back and tried to see what made him different from me. Catching a glimpse of dark hair, I pulled the waistband out just a little more. I saw his stomach begin to shake with half stifled laughter.

The fool had been awake the whole time!

I bolted up from his side, my cheeks burning with humiliation. Small tears welled up in the corners of my eyes, further stinging my pride. Somehow my pride did nothing to quench the desire that had already taken hold in parts of me that I never given much thought to before.

Laughing, he sat up and grabbed my ankle, pulling me towards him.

"Antony! You are impossible!. A wicked and foul man!" I hissed while trying to shake his hand from my leg.

Gently, his rough hand slid over the smooth skin on the back of my leg, stopping only short from the curve of my bottom. I trembled while he stood slowly, his hand still up my skirt. I was sure no other person had touched me there since infancy.

"Rosalia." he whispered softly, every syllable dripping off of his heavily accented native tongue like drizzled honey. "I did not mean to embarrass you. Please don't be angry. You are very precious to me." he confided warmly against my cheek. One finger tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his wet lips then finding my earlobe.

A fire crept from the tips of my toes and engulfed my entire body. All of this was so foreign, yet exciting to me. My eyes closed as his masculine body pressed against the back of my own. He planted a slow, deliberate kiss against my cheek and I turned my head, letting my lips meet his timidly. Sugar and store bought confections paled in comparison to the taste of his mouth when his tongue danced around mine. I became intoxicated and literally drunk with passion. His hand moved upward, cupping the round flesh of my bottom and then taking a slight change in course. Two fingers grazed the silken material over my femininity. I felt my own moisture seeping into the cloth while he touched me. Antony's heart beat was like a tiny hammer against my back. His breathing quickened noticeably, he moaned my name once more and I melted. Whirling me around, he kissed me like no man would ever kiss me again before lowering me onto the pile of hay on which he had slept earlier. Gently, I felt the weight of his body covering mine. My legs fell apart with instinct and building desire as he settled between them, his hips moving in a circular motion against me. I glanced down at him and saw those beautiful green eyes brimming over with animalistic lust. Through his loose pants I could also see his erection standing out proudly in front of him. Clumsily, I fumbled with the button and heard the unfamiliar sound of a man's zipper opening. The pants fell off of his narrow hips easily and I raised my head once more to look at the enchanting vision that awaited me. He was like a god that time and myth had forgotten. I wanted to devour him, yet at the same time I was frightened. I had never known a man in this fashion.

Antony caught the tincture of fear in my eyes. He paused for a moment and leaned down to brush his lips against mine.

"The pain will only last a moment. After that you'll feel pleasure like you have never known." he whispered and brushed yet another kiss against the tip of my nose.

I nodded timidly for him to proceed. Leaning forward, he balanced himself with one arm and grasped his swollen arousal with the other hand. Gently he brushed the rather large, round tip against my wetness. My eyebrows knitted together as I gasped and rolled my hips in time as it slid up and down against the little nub that until that moment, I didn't think had a function. A few times, that was all it took. My legs shook as his hand guided him over me again and again. My breath caught in my throat. It seemed as though I could feel the earth moving around me, yet I was still on the bed of hay. My back arched up off of the straw, my hands clawing at the primitive bedding around me. Beneath my closed eyelids, I could almost swear I saw color. Heat passed over my tensed body and continued to build into a surmounted frenzy until it exploded. I felt moisture flowing like a warm river onto the straw under me. Grabbing his forearm, I sank my nails in as I cried out in unexpected pleasure. Almost simultaneously, he guided himself with his hand to my opening and pushed his hips forward. A small shock of pain ran through me, but just as he had said, after a moment it subsided. He pushed into me gradually, being as gentle as possible. Deeper he moved until I could feel him pushing against the very end of my tunnel. One hand slid under my bottom, pulling me towards him with every thrust. The other, rested on top of my head, making sure that every stroke plunged just as deep as the last. I wrapped my legs around his strong body. This was a moment that would live in my mind forever. Feeling my body begin to tense once more, I cupped his bottom with my hands and drove him into me hard. At that moment our eyes met and we kissed furiously. He withdrew completely, then dove back into me with a new found vigor and determination. Pleasure washed over me like a raging storm as orgasm took me to new heights. My walls closed in around him, squeezing him with every contraction. The loud cry of my release stayed muffled into his mouth as he held me to the kiss, his own cry sounding into my mouth. His own release filled me entirely with a warm flooding of lust. Lying there on top of me, he caught his breath and pressed soft kisses against my cheek and jaw line.

"I adore you, Rosalia. I wish you could see that." With that he touched his nose to mine and smiled.

"I..." Caught in that gorgeous stare, I hesitated.

"I love you." I thought. Say it stupid! I could not. I would not.

"I...have to go before someone catches us in here." I replied instead.

"Will you come back later...please?" he brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek with one gentle motion and seductively let his finger curl underneath my chin.

"Of course I will, silly." The love I felt for him sparkled in my eyes. I could feel them gleaming and giving me away even as I spoke.

I left for the house and meandered into the kitchen. As my mother turned her back, I stole a pinch of the freshly baked cake that sat cooling. A smile was never far from my lips the rest of the day, nor was a happy spring in my step. Antony...what have you done to me?"

***

Lizabeth sat with the book in her lap, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She didn't realize people were that open about sex back then, even if this did appear to be a private journal.

That certainly didn't do anything to help the stirring desires that had been rooted between her thighs after her meeting with Antony less than a week before.

There were plenty of journal entries in there, yet no clues to what make the mirror work so far. If they were there, they were probably buried deeper in the book. Sighing with disappointment, Lizabeth flopped the book down on the sofa, throwing one leg over it's arm. Lizabeth could certainly say one thing at the moment. She would have no trouble admitting that she envied Rosalia. No doubt about it, she wanted to write things like that one day about Antony. She looked from side to side, as if to make sure she was alone, merely out of habit.

One hand disappeared beneath the ruffles on the bottom of the night shirt. The thin, black mesh thongs barely covered the thin triangle of dark hair beneath. Lizabeth let her head drop against the sofa, a fingernail tickling over the crotch of her panties. She moaned breathlessly. Just the one small motion had set off sparks deep within her. Discreetly, Lizabeth slipped a finger under the see through panties and felt her hot moisture.

Moaning softly, she began to imagine it was Antony touching her. Lizabeth lowered her small body back against the oversized pillows on the sofa, her legs falling completely apart. Pushing the panties aside, she had easy access to now quench the burning desire that the mysterious man had sparked. Dipping her finger into herself, she breathed deeply. She wanted him so badly. To feel his skin against hers, his hot mouth on her pale skin. The urge to kneel before him and suckle him like a starving babe had also implanted itself into her mind with a vengeance. She wanted to taste him on the tip of her tongue. Slipping a second finger inside of her dripping femininity, she arched her back against the cushions.

"Mmmmm...oh yesssss. I want your cock." She moaned out loud, though he was no where around to hear. Lizabeth wanted him, and she was unashamed at the moment while on the threshold of sheer satisfaction. Faster her fingers moved, her thumb moving upward to find the neglected blossom and rub her thumb around it with a circular motion. Greedily shoving both fingers in deep at the same time, Lizabeth felt the familiar tingle of pleasure creeping up her legs. Her whole body began to tighten. No. She didn't want it to happen that fast. Sitting up, Lizabeth moved into straddling position on the sofa, balancing herself on her knees with one hand on the arm of the sofa. Pulling the panties aside hastily, Lizabeth's fingers found the swollen treasure once more, plunging deep. The woman's hips moved in time with her efforts, and when sure she was balanced, her other hand slid up the front of her body to pinch one of her long, pink, bullet-like nipples. Faster her hips moved to meet the exploring fingers. She could her the sounds of her own moisture as her fingers were sucked in with each probing touch. Lizabeth tried once more to slow down as she felt herself getting too close, but it was too late. The needs and parts of her that had been so sorely neglected refused. Sliding lower against the sofa, Lizabeth rocked back and forth slowly savoring the building orgasm. Holding perfectly still, Lizabeth held the heavenly, intense feeling for a moment before the walls of her tunnel closed in around her fingers and contracted hard. Rivers of sweet moisture ran down her inner thighs in a sticky line. Throwing her head back, her loud moan echoed throughout the apartment with her release. Pushing her fingers in and out a few more times, Lizabeth enjoyed every last contraction that the orgasm had to offer.

Breathlessly, Lizabeth collapsed on her side against one of the rather large pillows and smiled to herself. That would hold her off for now. Calling in sick tomorrow for the first time in her five year history with the firm seemed like a good idea.

The sleep would be nice. It would also give her time to read more of the journal. Lizabeth was way too tired tonight to continue the search. Yet she knew that there had to be some clues hidden in that book. More information that would either tell her how to get into the mirror...or how to get the handsome wanderer out.