Waking World: Part Two (Preview)
Jul. 18th, 2010 09:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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inthewildwoodSince I am taking forever and a day to finish the second half of Waking World (it's coming! I promise!) I figured I might as well post something, even if it is less than 150 words. Think of it as a teaser. An angsty, porny teaser.
Alice was kissing her. Alice had one hand tangled in her hair while she slowly slid the other down the length of her body, her tongue prodding Cecily's lips, her breath coming in heavy pants. Cecily opened her mouth obligingly, and Alice slipped in easily, her tongue hot and moist and impossibly sweet in her mouth. Her hand crept lower, grasping a fistful of Cecily's skirt and lifting, baring her leg to the knee. From there, her hand creept higher, fingers tickling against her skin, until she reached the apex of her legs and slowly, maddeningly stroked her, while Cecily cried out and bucked against her hand, and gasped Please, please, please-
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the pallet, her face to the wall. Alice was snoring softly, their backs pressed together- they had dragged their beds next to each other, to share warmth as the castle grew colder. Cecily was shivering, but with heat rather than cold, and the place between her legs that Alice had been stroking in her dream was wet and throbbing, the sensation so strong it was almost painful. Would it be so terrible to touch? Not for long, just enough to relieve the pressure and make the ache go away. It wouldn't take long-
No! She slammed her knees together, and shoved both hands under her head, where they couldn't rebel against her conviction and sneak under the covers. She was still shaking- with heat, with tension that pulled her whole body tighter than a lute-string, with unshed tears of fear and frustration and misery. She did not sleep for the rest of the night.
Alice was kissing her. Alice had one hand tangled in her hair while she slowly slid the other down the length of her body, her tongue prodding Cecily's lips, her breath coming in heavy pants. Cecily opened her mouth obligingly, and Alice slipped in easily, her tongue hot and moist and impossibly sweet in her mouth. Her hand crept lower, grasping a fistful of Cecily's skirt and lifting, baring her leg to the knee. From there, her hand creept higher, fingers tickling against her skin, until she reached the apex of her legs and slowly, maddeningly stroked her, while Cecily cried out and bucked against her hand, and gasped Please, please, please-
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the pallet, her face to the wall. Alice was snoring softly, their backs pressed together- they had dragged their beds next to each other, to share warmth as the castle grew colder. Cecily was shivering, but with heat rather than cold, and the place between her legs that Alice had been stroking in her dream was wet and throbbing, the sensation so strong it was almost painful. Would it be so terrible to touch? Not for long, just enough to relieve the pressure and make the ache go away. It wouldn't take long-
No! She slammed her knees together, and shoved both hands under her head, where they couldn't rebel against her conviction and sneak under the covers. She was still shaking- with heat, with tension that pulled her whole body tighter than a lute-string, with unshed tears of fear and frustration and misery. She did not sleep for the rest of the night.
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Date: 2010-07-21 05:18 pm (UTC)- I would be a potential reader who, hoping Cecily would not restrain herself, is sadly losing the beginning of a blood-flow redirection
- and really, what more could writers hope for, than a few million readers "oh-godding" from their words?
- and how could that be a bad thing, if it meant there would be less war?
- NEWS ANNOUNCER: And, finally, today in Stockholm the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize was announced. Under the pen name "Kitten Purring," this girl from the former wilds of South On-tarry-oh-dear, is credited with establishing a world where, as one critic put it, "the orgasm is mightier than the sword."