Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
The frigid, glacial cold slithers in through every pore in her body as she steps naked from the Jacuzzi. Then it slaps her full in the face, a stinging blow that reminds her of a nasty little French godmother that didn’t tolerate sneaking Macarons past bedtime as a child. She welcomed it though, even spread her arms wide to embrace it. Ivalo, Finland and the Northern Lights were a desperate ploy to save a failing marriage and to prevent the spiraling death of the one career she had always craved.Her cunt of a husband ensured the corpse of the first by sticking his indiscriminate cock into the bald young quim of yet another teenage trollop with daddy drama at home and a twisted, tabooed fantasy to fulfill in bleak frozen tundra. The things that Finnish twat screamed while he fucked her silly had Willow vomiting hot liquid into the snow outside their cabin. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, even if she was strictly exit only. However, certain things are just… seven circles of twisted fucking hell kind of wrong, ok? If that wasn’t enough, there was little doubt Aunt Mireille would relish the opportunity to berate her yet again for letting her ‘sinful cunt’ dictate her romantic decisions rather than propriety and family duty. So fuck the both of them, particularly Gabriel in his perfectly formed arse with a rusty wrench.Even so, continuous adultery be damned, a frustratingly obscene and instinctual part of her wants him back. It wants his thick prick buried inside her and his masculine hands wrapped about her neck, squeezing and relenting, yo-yoing her dangerously back and forth between death and orgasmic delights over and over again.“Fuck,” Willow screams, annoyed that her traitorous cunt was throbbing at the thought, warm arousal cooling between her thighs just as quickly as it juiced out of her. She noisily gulps another swallow from a wineskin and chucks it toward the swaying pines laughing at her troubles, red droplets sparkling as if they were Dionysus’ own tears, wept over such pathetic, selfish waste. “Fuck him too,” Willow mutters, and sits down shakily at the side of the Jacuzzi.The truth of the matter is that she could get over Gabriel… eventually. Or, at least, she could convince herself pretty damn well thank you very much. She is, after all, a professional at making things up for a living. It was just that inspiration has been… elusive. For twelve months. Not a single solitary splash of ink on the page, just wine, lots and lots of wine.Willow looks mournfully out at the pines, suddenly regretful for having had a “childish hissy” as Aunt Mireille liked to call them. She licks her lips, desperate for one more swallow. Ivalo was intended to spark inspiration while fulfilling a wish she had had since childhood. The Aurora Borealis, majestic and alien, was supposed to reach down into her creatively barren brain and plant some seeds. Wake her rebellious brain istanbul travesti back up. Make her some bloody money for a change, some goddamned JK Rowling money. The kind of fuck you money that would have Gabriel crawling back on hands and knees through the muck just so she could tell him to toss off and find his next daddy loving quim instead. Oh, she’d probably fuck him first. But then she’d deliver swift justice to his balls with rugby style ferocity. One week in, however, and there we no Northern Lights, no sparks of creative magic. And now, her only company was an empty black sky and an oppressive cold. She thinks of moving her pert little arse, sliding back into the blissful heat of the Jacuzzi. What was the point though?“What IS the point?” she mutters, teeth clattering as she lies back against the side of the Jacuzzi. She was perfectly warm right here anyway. Besides, she feels suddenly sleepy, worn thin from angry bitching and drunk off not enough wine.Willow feels her eyes begin to drift, fluttering open and closed while the smarter part of her brain, the one in charge of the survival shite, fights to get her back inside or at least back into the hot water.No such luck.All it can do is observe as its stupid cunt of an owner kills itself. Well, that and watch in baffled curiosity as a streak of thick green light is suddenly painted across the sky in a wide arc. Then it begins to pulse, coiling and undulating like a wave. Or maybe cracking like a whip. Words aren’t exactly its strength, so piss off. Point is, it was writhing like a two-bit floozy until it shivered to a stop and reached down toward Willow’s comatose body with a finger-like projection. At shit’s end, the survivor protocol of her brain yanks her arm up to it and promptly blacks the fuck out.♦She floats in a void of sugary warmth akin to the Dead Sea but instead of salt it was what could only be described as fragrant, red velvet cake batter. Willie Wonka could bugger right off with his prosaic chocolate river shite. This was heaven, she thinks, moaning a musical little giggle she usually reserves for Gabriel’s talented cad of a tongue. If this was death, it was a wonder anyone feared it. The Reaper could have come for her ages ago and she’d not have complained if this was the end result.Willow sighs, sinking further into the delicious batter, moans transforming into surprised yelps and yips of electric pleasure when something soft and hot teases over her clit before diving between her pulsing lower lips. Her hips buck hard when something plunges inside her and curls upward.Her climax hits her like a bag of bricks to the cunt, hard enough to curl her body into a fetal position as it spasms, unintelligible curses spinning out faster than a whirlybird.“Fuckitty, fucccrkkk, fauuccckk,” she grunts, as her lithe body uncoils, fingers and toes pumping in rhythm with her staccato istanbul travesti heart beats. Then her post orgasm giggles slap her back into reality, back into the Jacuzzi, and away from that delicious cake batter and the prodding appendages.When her eyes finally slip open, she screams bloody murder and not in the metaphorical sense either. Her brain, pulverized by climax, wine, and frigid Finnish cold, quite literally has her screaming “BLOODY MURDER!” while wagging and pointing a finger… as if anyone was around to care about another drunk English bitch.This goes on until her voice finally cracks and the logical part of her brain finally wakes up, rightfully pissed at having been torn from its orgasmic slumber.‘What’s all this damn fuss about?’ it thinks, peering through Willow’s eyes to determine the cause of the insufferably loud squawks.The alien creature before it, sitting right there in the Jacuzzi across from Willow, has it turning right back around and handing off any Sherlock duties to the creatively insane part of Willow’s brain. It wasn’t about that kind of shite. Not a damn bit.“Whawhawhawha…wuh?” Willow blubbers out. As it so happens, the creatively insane part of Willow’s brain can’t really comprehend what the fuck is happening either.As luck would have it though, Willow didn’t need to Sherlock shite; the creature seemed to take care of introductions itself, gliding through the water with marine-like grace to lay very human-like hands on her skull.♦“Soooo,” Willow squeaks. “You’re the,” she waves her hands skyward where the Northern Lights had been before she passed out.The creature trills musical notes that make her skin shiver. She can’t explain how or why, but she can taste, yes taste, the meaning of those notes on her tongue.Yes.“What are you?” Willow asks.More trills. What you need me to be.“Excuse me?”What you need me to be. The things you need. Then it points a finger-like digit to Willow’s head before tracing an invisible line between her tits, over her pierced belly-button, and further still to the gash between her legs that still throbs.Willow throws back her head and laughs. Or rather, cackles. Like a witch. Unbridled and unhinged. She had to be losing her mind. She’d had too much wine. She was hypothermic and delirious. She is emotionally shattered, again, because of that twat Gabriel. Sure. She writes for living, or tries to. She makes up new worlds for, as of now, a few hundred paltry pounds of nothing per month. She has to have made this shite up, trapped herself in a fantasy world to cope.She opens her eyes, looks at the creature looking right back at her and laughs again. Blimey, she thinks, she was off the deep end of sanity. Its skin is a shade of neon green just shy of translucent, eyes a bright shade of amber. It was… humanoid. Not the little green man of Area 51 those wankers in America believe in. This thing had tits, istanbul travesti violet, bee-stung lips, and not a speck of hair, unless you counted the rather short, bone like projections that curve like licks of small flame or a quick textured brush stroke. Female, she supposed, if a thing of particles and light had sexes. Fuck if she knew.“What’s your name,” Willow asks.Trill, trill, trill, name tasted on her tongue, too alien to comprehend.The being shrugs perfectly formed shoulders.Aurora.“Aurora?” Willow shakes her head, laughs more. Of course it is.What do you need? Aurora trills musically. Willow lets her laughter die down to twitching tugs at the corner of her mouth. She thinks of Gabriel, all to herself for once, a good man instead of a raging cockhead with his prick buried in teenage pussy on Christmas Eve. Then banishes the thought because fuck that good looking dullard.So what did she need? What did anyone need?Aurora drifts through the water to straddle her, semi-translucent green arms encircling her until they were tit to tit, nose to nose.She smelled heavenly, like dried, sugar dusted fruits and fresh winter air.Aurora trills again, musical notes exploding in Willow’s mouth like tubes of popping confetti. Her body tingles and there’s a sudden itch between her legs that needed scratching.Warm lips meld to Willow’s and a cool tongue slips into her mouth to tangle with hers. An orchestral symphony comes alive in her mouth, and she moans.Didn’t you desire inspiration, Aurora trills. Didn’t you come here… for me?Their kiss deepens, frantic and searching. Willow’s own arms, once limp, encircle the strange creature of light, pulling her closer. Her heart hums and her pussy throbs, desperate for release. Fingers find her clit before she can voice what she wants, pinching and squeezing, shooting sparks of pleasurable pain to the baser parts of her brain while shutting down the more rationale parts. She’d never been with a woman, human or otherwise, and now she wishes she’d conquered that mountain when she had the chance years ago.Willow’s legs wrap around Aurora, squeezing tightly.Inspiration? Mhmm. That shite could take a back seat. All Willow needed was to get fucked to the edge of insanity. Maybe even totter across that razor’s edge. Explore a bit of unadulterated madness.♦She’s bent over the edge of the Jacuzzi, half in and half out of the water, pale freckled ass waving proudly in the frigid Finnish air, her mane of red-gold curls hiding the last of her nerves and the cranberry flush of her cheeks. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess. A singular thread is all that’s left connecting her to reality. A singular thread preventing her descent into… well, she isn’t quite sure what where this descent goes. A rabbit hole seems thoroughly lacking as a metaphor at present. She wonders if it even matters given the state of her life at this moment.Alien hands find purchase on her ass and she shivers.The thread goes taut.She wonders what Aunt Mireille would say if she brought Aurora home… snogged the shit out of her right there on the kitchen counter. She’d be speechless, for once in her rancid, miserable life. It’d be the greatest success of her life. She’d wink and…
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32