It was the middle of the night in the Realm of the Succubi, a time when the stars above played hide and seek with the clouds of the sky, with the waters of the Lake, and, sometimes, with those who found themselves out in the Realm having their own games with their own special rewards.
It was the middle of the night somewhere on a place called Earth, in the Human Realm, a time when the moon above played hide and seek with the clouds, with the sands of the desert that scattered into the air, to swirl about making patterns in the sky, and, sometimes, with those that braved the chill of the night to gather about campfires to share stories with their own special rewards.
In the midst of both of these realms, these universes, this existence, sometimes two parallel moments connect, merge, and, for but an instant, the lines are blurred and the reality becomes one.
The fire flickered in its pit, the stones awash in the light being cast upon them. Before there were many souls telling stories, laughing and more. But the night had grown long, the call of rest drew them away, one by one, until one there was but one figure left to watch the fires slowly dim, the embers cool, and the fire draw to a close. She was alone now, in the depths of the night. Her features were hidden by the darkness, though it could not completely shroud her; she was alone with her thoughts, the moments passing as they were want to do.
Until however, a seductive purr came from the other side of the fire: “You look like you could use some company.”
She tried to see who it was, but the fire was still enough to overcome her sight and make the woman that asked the question all but invisible to her. “I was just going to bed. Thanks.”
The voice had some amusement now, which only made her wonder: “No, you weren’t. You’ve been sitting here for a while, and you aren’t going anywhere.”
She smirked: “Cute.”
“If you’d like, I could … toy … with you.”
The word “toy” seemed to have a growl all its own. For an instant, her mind drifted back to a fantasy … the silk bonds holding her wrists and ankles … the glorious feeling of being helpless … whimpering in need as …
… A shiver passed up her spine: “Um … No.”
The purr was a little deeper, a little more suggestive: “Oh … yesss …”
Those words … the touch along her thighs … the nip of teeth … the sucking of lips against her skin …
… Licking her lips, she managed: “Have … a good night.”
“We will … I’m sure.”
When she stood to leave, she looked over the fire and could make out a bit of red, but nothing really distinct. As she turned away, there was one more comment whispered: “Pleasant … dreams.”
She turned back to wish the same, but her breath caught as a pair of amazingly green eyes that flickered in the darkness, illuminated by the fire, pierced her soul. It was a good thing, she decided as she walked away, that she had brought along extra panties.
The winds blew a little stronger, the light of the moon was eclipsed by the clouds, and the night turned dark and deep. A swirl of sand surrounded her, masking the world, but she continued onwards. It was, after all, only a short walk. Not long after that, she approached where her tent was … but it wasn’t. Confused, she looked around, trying to get her bearings as the wind let go of the sands and the air around her cleared. But the moon wasn’t in the sky, and the stars seemed odd, somehow—though she wasn’t sure why, exactly. But things didn’t stop there: she realized that the landscape itself had changed. Rolling green lands were all around her. So was a forest, something that wasn’t there a moment ago.
She laughed lightly, nervously. It had to be a dream … a really vivid one, but still, just a …
… Her thoughts were interrupted by the lick of a tongue against her earlobe: “… just a dream … I know.”
It was a dream, of course. The voice was the one that made her weak, that caused her skin to tingle. It did in every dream. She wanted to answer, her lips parting to say … something. But the long nails, red, she knew from all of the dreams before, were raking lightly against her hips. Then came the press of soft, warm curves, a hot breath against her neck. This was how the dream always was. She felt owned, possessed, the centre of attention. Unlike the waking world, she craved this attention, the feeling of … her. She needed, so much so that her sex dripped in anticipation.
Her eyes fluttered, became half-lidded as fingers that played her body, knew all of the places to make her pant, moan, and whimper, cupped her mound lightly. A finger played over her folds and her legs parted a little wider, her body slumped backwards, falling into the desires within and without. Not to be left out, more fingers treated her to the pleasures of every little ache and want as they explored her navel and her curves, danced over her bosom, nipped with nails against her now-aching nipples that wanted, needed, begged for the touch of lips and tongue.
Then came the moment she both feared and craved. The fingers left her, the warmth of the one pressed against her still there. Then a long red ribbon was dangled, almost carelessly, in front of her eyes. No words were said, they were unneeded. She took the ribbon, placing the warm silk over her eyes, her nose catching the scent—Goddess, the scent! She felt the ribbon being tied, making her blind, not able to see the one that held her, wanted her, needed … something more from her.
For a long moment she was left alone, anticipating the next moment, the one that she craved to be real and not a dream: fingers dipping, folds parting, a long, slick, wet tongue lapping at her sex, her cream leaking, her moans thrilling her; she wanted, so much, to take off the ribbon and see. Her hands moved to do so, but no. The binding around her wrists … how they were tied … was something she never remembered happening, but it was a dream, after all. Hands kneaded her rear. Her knees wobbled. A firm pinch of one cheek: she understood the command. She would not fall, not falter. She would be … something more.
The moment stretched on, her hips bucking, her lungs gasping for air, her voice mewling in submission, need, and wanting to fly over the edge, a hot white light filling her mind as she came, her submission dripping from her sex, being devoured by the one that owned her, mind, body, and soul. Keening in need, her thoughts stilled, her sex ached as she felt the emptiness within her, but, as well, the fulfillment of being what she was … something more.
The blindfold fluttered away, but she did not see. Her mind waited, needing only to see the green eyes, needing only to obey. Still dripping, still aching, the commands to kneel and to serve were a joy that only made her moan in the pleasure her submission gave. Her hands caressed, her lips touched, her tongue tasted. The mirror of what she was given was returned for the bliss she had in the dream. The twining of fingers in her hair thrilled her. The knowledge that she was pleasure, obeying, serving … left little but a singular certainty: the dream was … something more.
The realization, as it always did, flooded her mind, crashing through her soul, and, as the dream turned to shades of red and black, it was consumed by the white.
She awoke to find herself entangled in her sleeping bag, pinned within, unable to move easily. It took her some time to free herself. Her thoughts while she pulled on a sweater were of how vivid the dream was, how much she wanted … no, that wasn’t true, she craved the dream, the woman within the dream, once more. Hearing the others moving about outside, she gathered her thoughts, tried to dampen down the simmering heat that teased her. Pulling open the tent, she crawled out on her hands and knees …
… and came to a stop when the leather thigh-high boots came into view.
Her sex melted into a hot mess at the purr: “I seem to have lost something.” Looking up, she found herself crawling before a woman with ebon hair, hair never seen in the dream … a smile never seen in the dream … soft, plush, kissable lips, never seen, but just like she felt in the dream …
… and the eyes … the green eyes … the dream could never compare to the reality.
She swallowed: “It … wasn’t a dream.”
The next words caressed her mind: “No, my sweet … it wasn’t a dream. It was … something more.”
Kneeling now, she gazed into the endless green depths of her owner, lover, mistress: “Am I …?”
“Are you … ?”
The words were a whisper: “Am I yours?”
The reply made her shiver in anticipation: “Yes … but something more.”
She liked the sound of that.
In the midst of both of these realms, these universes, this existence, sometimes two parallel moments connect, merge, and, for but an instant, the lines are blurred and the reality becomes one … and those involved become something … more.