Maggie lay on her stomach, each breath sounding like a rushing wind in the silence of her bedroom. Would it happen again tonight? Had she concocted last nights adventure from a glass of wine, a wish, and a videotape?
For some reason she had pulled on the mall-store copy of a Victorian dressing gown a former lover had presented her for Valentine's day. It was too hot to wear anything, but for some reason, she did not want to be completely naked and vulnerable if he came again.
Last night she had been nude, sweltering in the late August heat wave that had Denver baking for the last week. The upper floor apartment in the converted Washington Park Victorian had no air conditioning, so a Wal-Mart fan had been rotating back and forth lending an illusion of cool. She had just watched Dracula. Not the old black and whites, but the newer one with Gary Oldman and Keanu Reeves trying to pretend he was English. She had just finished a cool glass of wine when the scene where Dracula takes Lucy in the garden in wolf form occurred. She had hit the pause button and watched it several times, feeling a tingle begin that she had not felt in months, not since the breakup.
When the movie finished and Annie Lennox was singing the final mournful tune while the credits rolled, Maggie had stepped out the windows onto the balcony. It was almost 12:30, and her two male neighbors had no interest in the female form. She felt a slight breeze caress her nude form, and felt her nipples crinkle, not so much with a chill, but with an aching desire.
"I wish I had a daemon lover," she said. "Someone dark, and mysterious, who would slip through these doors and make me feel inflamed, possessed, and just plain wicked! If you're out there, I am here, my window is open for you!"
She walked back inside to her bed, feeling giddy and foolish. She stood in front of the fan for a few seconds relishing the feel of it on her bare skin, then flopped down on the bed with a squeaking protest of the old metal four poster bed.
In a few moments, the wine helped her drift off to sleep. She awoke a short time later. She despised clocks with luminous dials, so she did not know how long she had been asleep, or whether she was even really awake. There was a scent in the air. Sandalwood, cinnamon, deep rich freshly turned earth and many other scents somehow familiar yet unidentifiable assailed her nose.
Her eyes focused on the rectangle of diffused light that was the balcony doors. Silhouetted there was the shape of a man. Fear gripped her and news reports of assaults began playing over one another in her head. Her logical mind interrupted the regular broadcast to remind her there was almost no way anyone could climb the back roof without a big ladder and a lot of noise that her very wary downstairs old maid land-lady would not have heard. She had called the police so many times in the past year they knew her number when it showed up ion the incoming ID!
It had to be a dream. She did not usually drink anything. The booze and the movie had combined to try and freak her out.
The shape moved. It did not walk or jump, or use any manner of locomotion known to Maggie. One second it was at the window, the next it was filling her entire vision and standing by the bed. The smell was stronger now, but not at all unpleasant. She felt a tingle of fear that was quickly transforming into some other sensation. Then he touched her. She knew the intruder was male, but she was not sure how she knew. It stoked her hair very gently. She felt waves of peace and contentment pass through her. If she had been a cat, she was sure she would have purred.
His hand ran down her back, then brushed lightly against the cheeks of her buttocks. Her muscles tightened then at the brash familiarity of that touch, but there was no urge to tell him to stop. Another hand joined the first, swirling on her skin, raising gooseflesh wherever they passed. The hands made circles on her back, then went down to the side of her ribcage. In almost a trance state, Maggie felt herself lift her body off the bed with her elbows, and the hands swirled down to cup her breasts. Her nipples were hard almost to the point of discomfort. She felt the blood throbbing through her whole breasts as they hung down and were then pushed back up by those strong, long fingered hands. She realized then her legs were clenched together and she could feel a puddle forming under her pubic hair, soaking into the sheets.
A gentle nudge from him and she turned over with a soft squeak from the bed. One hand was now replaced by a mouth engulfing her nipple and a tongue molding it to a molten point. Her left breast was being skillfully massaged and caressed. The next few minutes were lost in a fog of pleasure and she was startled to hear her own voice moaning in a low -pitched caterwaul.
That mouth began kissing its way down her sweat covered stomach, her pubic hair meshing with his stiff beard. A pair of thumbs pulled aside her lower lips, which were fused together with her own excited fluids. She felt his breath on her. Anticipation made her quiver like a plucked harp string. Then a tongue darted forth and touched the swollen button of flesh. That was all it took to send her over the edge. She grabbed his head, clutching at his hair and thrust her wetness into him. He devoured her, his tongue and lips sucking, pushing and doing so many different things Maggie lost count of her orgasms. She finally had one huge shuddering climax where she swore she had actually screamed as she clutched the headboard and bucked her hips against him grinding her pussy into his face. The he stopped. He had then crept up her body, and kissed her gently. She responded by licking her own fluids from his lips, smelling her musky juices in his beard and mustache. He moved his head down and began licking her neck. If she hadn't been so exhausted she would have been very turned on. As it was, she had just achieved more orgasms in the last hour than she had in the previous year of her relationship. It felt good to have him lick just there, and then she had fallen asleep. She swore heard him whisper two words before she drifted off. "Until tomorrow."
The next morning Maggie awoke with a start. Her subconscious realized she had slept through four or five songs blaring from the bathroom on her clock radio. She rolled out of bed, and noted a weakness in her thighs and a content soreness between her legs. She did not remember the visitation until she slapped the radios silencer and looked into the mirror. There were circles under her eyes, and her short hairs stuck out in all directions. Then, she raised trembling fingers to her neck, Right there where the collarbone gently rose; there was a bruise. She hadn't had a hickey since when? Her last lover had considered them childish and "non-professional" and had scolded her when she had left one. It looked like it should be sore, but it felt rather numb as she touched it.
"Crap!" she hissed as she looked at the clock. No time to gamble on the RTD's less than stellar record of keeping its schedule. She was almost 30 minutes behind. There would be enough time for a quick shower (thank Goddesses all for short haircuts), and a pop tart in the car. She could really use some morning thunder tea to wake up, but there would be no time for that!
Once in the shower, she noted her breasts felt very tender, yet still tingled. The memories came flooding back as she passed the soapy wash cloth over her pubic mound. Her clitoris was still somewhat swollen and she found herself catching her breath as a tingle of pleasure shuddered through her. Had it been a dream? What about the bruise on her neck? Hadn't she read somewhere about people who were hypnotized and told they w re being burned who developed blisters? Maybe she had believed in the dream so hard her body had produced the bruise. Maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep.
She definitely had several orgasms last night. It had been six months since the break up, and even the vibrator her crazy friend Terri had given her as a gag gift had really never seen any action. It was not the first time she had cum in her dreams. There was the time as a kid when she had the crush on the lead singer from the By City Rollers. She would dream about just making out with him and cream her panties. She had been a little drunk and that scene in the movie seemed to have turned her on quite a bit.
As she ran out the back door to her car, she waved to her landlady Mrs. Smitts. She was kneeling on a foam pad in her garden, wearing a ridiculously huge straw hat, a long sleeve shirt, and those weird sun glass goggles that seniors with cataracts always wore. Mrs. Smitts would go on for hours about the damaging effects of the sun. Here she was on the west side of the house on a cloudy morning dressed up like a ... vampire?
Mrs. Smitts stopped, and stared at her, even reaching a bright pink glove up to pulled the UV goggles away from her face. She wore a pinched, disapproving expression that Maggie could not understand, until she remembered her "dream" and the prolonged squeaking of her bed.
All day at the hospital she found it hard to concentrate. Every time she kneeled down. Her pussy would throb and ache with a strange sort of hunger feeling. When she reached up, her nipples would instantly harden, causing juices to flow. She had raided her locker at first break and scrounged for some panty liners. Terri saw her briefly at lunch and had made several crude jokes about her "hickey". Maggie had blamed it on an insect bite she must have been allergic to.
