Alice Bluegown
08-16-2011, 08:50 AM
END OF EDEN (extract)
(Okay, here’s my first proper contribution to this site – it’s an extract from my novel, taken from the 5-part saga ‘End of Eden’, and has not appeared on my website or anywhere else. The setting is the Hawaiian Islands in the late 19th century, just before the American annexation. The major characters are Aloula, daughter of a tribal chief, and Lorelei, a woman of mixed parentage and mysterious agenda. This is their first hook-up, and as we join the action they have just indulged in a spot of Hawaiian dancing, which has naturally caused them to be in state of partial undress – Alice.)
“You dance well,” Aloula commented, and Lorelei bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
“My father made sure I had an English education – compulsory colds, ballet & posture. But it was my mother who taught me this.”
As the dance built Lorelei swayed closer to Aloula by almost imperceptible degrees, so that their bodies touched fleetingly. Just as gradually, Aloula retreated, all the while in thrall of the unheard rhythm that seemed to be coming from inside of her. She could feel perspiration beading on her brow; flecks of hair fell across her eyes, but she was too bound up in the dance to brush them back.
“What else did your mother teach you?” she asked, a trifle breathlessly.
“She taught me all about Pele, the fire goddess,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “She taught me some of Pele’s magic – how to set fire in the blood of others, and bend them to your will. She imagined I would use it to conquer men, but from an early age I had something different in mind.”
Aloula’s back bumped against the cabin’s cool wall. She stopped moving suddenly, left panting in the aftermath.
“I think I’d better go now,” she gulped. “I must say goodbye to my sister.”
Lorelei ceased dancing with a controlled, precise slowing of motion, like an automaton winding down. She gave a peculiar half-smile.
“Very well. But if you leave now, you’ll never know what happens next.”
She stepped close to Aloula, so that their breasts were touching ever so slightly. Aloula gazed up at her with wide eyes, her mouth open in puzzlement. Lorelei dipped her head a fraction, and kissed her.
Aloula was momentarily stunned, her senses overwhelmed as if she had just looked straight into a blinding sun. She was aware of nothing save the faint brushing of lips: the dryness fringing into tangy moisture. Heat seemed to rise from deep within her, rushing up to fill her breasts and cheeks, making her lightheaded. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think; even breathing seemed a lost skill. And then Lorelei raised her hands to Aloula’s breasts, gently lifting them with her fingertips and stroking her thumbs across the bronze orbits of her nipples. Aloula could feel them readily engorging, and the sensation was at once shocking and strangely comforting. She made a faint, birdlike sound in her throat; but any words that might have issued were stolen by that luscious mouth still pressed relentlessly upon her own. Lorelei’s tongue ran slowly along the seam of her lips, pushing wet and unstoppable as a Waikiki breaker. Aloula let her mouth open, yielding to the warm honeysuckle intrusion. Behind her closed eyelids a vermilion glow flared like a tropical sunset: the breath through her nostrils was hot and laboured as a colt’s; her temples throbbed to unheard drumbeats. All the while the implacably soothing touch was on her breasts, melting and moulding her to the spot as though she were carved from candle wax.
The kiss seemed to last an eternity, and when it finally ended Aloula felt physically drained, stranded by a tidal wave of unearthly emotion. She clung to Lorelei in trembling helplessness, hands pressed tight to the smooth marble of her back, face wedged into her shoulder, gasping for air.
“What are you doing to me?” she panted.
Lorelei’s catlike eyes burned fiercely into her, making her quail inside.
“I would have thought that was obvious, Darling – I’m seducing you.”
Her hands went to Aloula’s sides, pressing just above her waist. They descended slowly, gripping the band of her petticoat and beginning to pull. For all she had been lulled into submission, Aloula felt a sudden surge of panic.
“No,” she gasped, “You mustn’t – it’s taboo...”
Lorelei’s counter was to kiss her again, ferociously, lips taut and tongue lancing into her head, driving breath and reason from her. She swayed and clung on, her eyes closed automatically and the red glow blazed once more beyond her perception. The petticoat slid monumentally down over her wide hips like the lowering of a flag: she felt cool air between her thighs, and with a seething rush of shame realised she was exposed. Dark silk pooled around her ankles, leaving just her black stockings – Lorelei took a step back and coolly perused her as if she were a figurine. Aloula hung her head, unable to meet those mesmeric eyes, and thus was utterly unprepared for the hand that brushed lightly against her mons veneris, rustling the nest of jet-black curls and slipping into her pudenda. She started violently, with a squeal of shock, and looked up at Lorelei with moist, pleading eyes.
“Don’t,” she begged, but her voice was faint. “Please, don’t...”
Lorelei smiled down at her, and for once it seemed devoid of irony. With a single fingertip she lightly traced the outline of Aloula’s labia, and the girl shivered. She was still unable to move: her arms, her breasts, her stomach had become molten lead; and now her legs began to tremble uncontrollably.
“You want it, don’t you?” breathed Lorelei, staring her down.
Aloula shook her head, more in confusion than dissent: she opened her mouth to form a sound and Lorelei seized the moment, unleashing her fiercest kiss yet. At the same moment the fingertip pressed home, sliding between the retracting labia into the bubbling magma of Aloula’s repressed desire. A powerful spasm like an eruption jolted through Aloula, shattering the crust of her nascent excitement and threatening to vaporize the last of her reticence. She clung to Lorelei’s shoulders, back arching out from the wall and straining on tip-toe; her body taut as piano wire and poised upon that single digit like a resonating gyroscope.
“Please, I beg you, stop,” she pleaded, burying her face in Lorelei’s night-and-pewter curls; but her voice was a dry, dying murmur, betrayed by the mighty exhalations that wracked her. Lorelei made no response: instead, with that same, precisely mechanical motion, she began to lower herself. She slipped slowly from Aloula’s arms, her wet mouth trailing silver across the hollow of the girl’s throat and upper thorax. The tip of her tongue slid between her immense breasts like a canoe navigating amid mountains; the feathery brush of Lorelei’s hair upon her taut nipples made Aloula throw back her head and gasp – she muttered something in fractured Hawaiian that might have been a prayer.
Lorelei’s tongue continued the inexorable descent, flowing stolidly like lava, leaving both heat and cool in its wake. It swirled the outline of Aloula’s deep, shell-like navel, making her moan. Not knowing what to do with her hands, Aloula put them first at her sides, then on her breasts – this felt at once delicious and depraved – then finally to her head. Tangling her fingers in the softness of her own dark locks, she tried to brace herself for the inevitable unknown.
Glancing down briefly, she saw as if in a dream Lorelei knelt before her; saw her own stocky thighs slightly parted in helpless anticipation; saw that torrid, tormenting tongue slithering through her own stiff curls. And then all was consumed by fire as Lorelei licked the length of her vulva with slow, agonisingly controlled strokes. She closed her eyes instinctively, saw glowing red spume splash up behind her lids, and knew what it was. The fire – Pele’s fire – had been set: it burned within her body, within her soul. Abandoned now to the flame she relaxed, her body melting in abject surrender. She was now only dimly aware of what Lorelei was doing to her – the tongue curling up to push deep between her labia minored, then flicking back, across the engorged bud of her clitoris. There was an uncontrollable fluttering deep in her belly, and she knew she was about to erupt, conclusively, discharging herself like the dead craters of Haleakala. The notion filled her with last-second panic – she snapped open her eyes, wildly staring.
“O gods and goddesses,” she cried, in frantic Hawaiian, “I commend my soul to – to – oh...!” and the rest was rendered gibberish by an unquenchable cry torn from her throat as her body convulsively vented its very essence into this strange woman’s exquisitely compliant mouth.
In the event – and it was a mild surprise – she didn’t die. But there was a blank moment at the peak of her ecstasy where she seemed to lose consciousness: next she knew, she was lying on the floor in a sweating, shuddering heap, tangled up with her own underwear and Lorelei’s enfolding arms. She felt wanton, slightly soiled, and blissfully relaxed all in one: the press of a warm body against her own was a wondrous comfort; the light kisses raining down upon her cheeks and throat were like a baptism, conjoining her to a hitherto unimagined world of secret female pleasures. For if indeed she had died a little, she was reborn now – her eyes filled with tears as she looked around, for everything seemed sharper, deeper; the colours vibrantly renewed.
“How?” she whispered, voice thick with emotion, “How can you know such things?”
(Okay, here’s my first proper contribution to this site – it’s an extract from my novel, taken from the 5-part saga ‘End of Eden’, and has not appeared on my website or anywhere else. The setting is the Hawaiian Islands in the late 19th century, just before the American annexation. The major characters are Aloula, daughter of a tribal chief, and Lorelei, a woman of mixed parentage and mysterious agenda. This is their first hook-up, and as we join the action they have just indulged in a spot of Hawaiian dancing, which has naturally caused them to be in state of partial undress – Alice.)
“You dance well,” Aloula commented, and Lorelei bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
“My father made sure I had an English education – compulsory colds, ballet & posture. But it was my mother who taught me this.”
As the dance built Lorelei swayed closer to Aloula by almost imperceptible degrees, so that their bodies touched fleetingly. Just as gradually, Aloula retreated, all the while in thrall of the unheard rhythm that seemed to be coming from inside of her. She could feel perspiration beading on her brow; flecks of hair fell across her eyes, but she was too bound up in the dance to brush them back.
“What else did your mother teach you?” she asked, a trifle breathlessly.
“She taught me all about Pele, the fire goddess,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “She taught me some of Pele’s magic – how to set fire in the blood of others, and bend them to your will. She imagined I would use it to conquer men, but from an early age I had something different in mind.”
Aloula’s back bumped against the cabin’s cool wall. She stopped moving suddenly, left panting in the aftermath.
“I think I’d better go now,” she gulped. “I must say goodbye to my sister.”
Lorelei ceased dancing with a controlled, precise slowing of motion, like an automaton winding down. She gave a peculiar half-smile.
“Very well. But if you leave now, you’ll never know what happens next.”
She stepped close to Aloula, so that their breasts were touching ever so slightly. Aloula gazed up at her with wide eyes, her mouth open in puzzlement. Lorelei dipped her head a fraction, and kissed her.
Aloula was momentarily stunned, her senses overwhelmed as if she had just looked straight into a blinding sun. She was aware of nothing save the faint brushing of lips: the dryness fringing into tangy moisture. Heat seemed to rise from deep within her, rushing up to fill her breasts and cheeks, making her lightheaded. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think; even breathing seemed a lost skill. And then Lorelei raised her hands to Aloula’s breasts, gently lifting them with her fingertips and stroking her thumbs across the bronze orbits of her nipples. Aloula could feel them readily engorging, and the sensation was at once shocking and strangely comforting. She made a faint, birdlike sound in her throat; but any words that might have issued were stolen by that luscious mouth still pressed relentlessly upon her own. Lorelei’s tongue ran slowly along the seam of her lips, pushing wet and unstoppable as a Waikiki breaker. Aloula let her mouth open, yielding to the warm honeysuckle intrusion. Behind her closed eyelids a vermilion glow flared like a tropical sunset: the breath through her nostrils was hot and laboured as a colt’s; her temples throbbed to unheard drumbeats. All the while the implacably soothing touch was on her breasts, melting and moulding her to the spot as though she were carved from candle wax.
The kiss seemed to last an eternity, and when it finally ended Aloula felt physically drained, stranded by a tidal wave of unearthly emotion. She clung to Lorelei in trembling helplessness, hands pressed tight to the smooth marble of her back, face wedged into her shoulder, gasping for air.
“What are you doing to me?” she panted.
Lorelei’s catlike eyes burned fiercely into her, making her quail inside.
“I would have thought that was obvious, Darling – I’m seducing you.”
Her hands went to Aloula’s sides, pressing just above her waist. They descended slowly, gripping the band of her petticoat and beginning to pull. For all she had been lulled into submission, Aloula felt a sudden surge of panic.
“No,” she gasped, “You mustn’t – it’s taboo...”
Lorelei’s counter was to kiss her again, ferociously, lips taut and tongue lancing into her head, driving breath and reason from her. She swayed and clung on, her eyes closed automatically and the red glow blazed once more beyond her perception. The petticoat slid monumentally down over her wide hips like the lowering of a flag: she felt cool air between her thighs, and with a seething rush of shame realised she was exposed. Dark silk pooled around her ankles, leaving just her black stockings – Lorelei took a step back and coolly perused her as if she were a figurine. Aloula hung her head, unable to meet those mesmeric eyes, and thus was utterly unprepared for the hand that brushed lightly against her mons veneris, rustling the nest of jet-black curls and slipping into her pudenda. She started violently, with a squeal of shock, and looked up at Lorelei with moist, pleading eyes.
“Don’t,” she begged, but her voice was faint. “Please, don’t...”
Lorelei smiled down at her, and for once it seemed devoid of irony. With a single fingertip she lightly traced the outline of Aloula’s labia, and the girl shivered. She was still unable to move: her arms, her breasts, her stomach had become molten lead; and now her legs began to tremble uncontrollably.
“You want it, don’t you?” breathed Lorelei, staring her down.
Aloula shook her head, more in confusion than dissent: she opened her mouth to form a sound and Lorelei seized the moment, unleashing her fiercest kiss yet. At the same moment the fingertip pressed home, sliding between the retracting labia into the bubbling magma of Aloula’s repressed desire. A powerful spasm like an eruption jolted through Aloula, shattering the crust of her nascent excitement and threatening to vaporize the last of her reticence. She clung to Lorelei’s shoulders, back arching out from the wall and straining on tip-toe; her body taut as piano wire and poised upon that single digit like a resonating gyroscope.
“Please, I beg you, stop,” she pleaded, burying her face in Lorelei’s night-and-pewter curls; but her voice was a dry, dying murmur, betrayed by the mighty exhalations that wracked her. Lorelei made no response: instead, with that same, precisely mechanical motion, she began to lower herself. She slipped slowly from Aloula’s arms, her wet mouth trailing silver across the hollow of the girl’s throat and upper thorax. The tip of her tongue slid between her immense breasts like a canoe navigating amid mountains; the feathery brush of Lorelei’s hair upon her taut nipples made Aloula throw back her head and gasp – she muttered something in fractured Hawaiian that might have been a prayer.
Lorelei’s tongue continued the inexorable descent, flowing stolidly like lava, leaving both heat and cool in its wake. It swirled the outline of Aloula’s deep, shell-like navel, making her moan. Not knowing what to do with her hands, Aloula put them first at her sides, then on her breasts – this felt at once delicious and depraved – then finally to her head. Tangling her fingers in the softness of her own dark locks, she tried to brace herself for the inevitable unknown.
Glancing down briefly, she saw as if in a dream Lorelei knelt before her; saw her own stocky thighs slightly parted in helpless anticipation; saw that torrid, tormenting tongue slithering through her own stiff curls. And then all was consumed by fire as Lorelei licked the length of her vulva with slow, agonisingly controlled strokes. She closed her eyes instinctively, saw glowing red spume splash up behind her lids, and knew what it was. The fire – Pele’s fire – had been set: it burned within her body, within her soul. Abandoned now to the flame she relaxed, her body melting in abject surrender. She was now only dimly aware of what Lorelei was doing to her – the tongue curling up to push deep between her labia minored, then flicking back, across the engorged bud of her clitoris. There was an uncontrollable fluttering deep in her belly, and she knew she was about to erupt, conclusively, discharging herself like the dead craters of Haleakala. The notion filled her with last-second panic – she snapped open her eyes, wildly staring.
“O gods and goddesses,” she cried, in frantic Hawaiian, “I commend my soul to – to – oh...!” and the rest was rendered gibberish by an unquenchable cry torn from her throat as her body convulsively vented its very essence into this strange woman’s exquisitely compliant mouth.
In the event – and it was a mild surprise – she didn’t die. But there was a blank moment at the peak of her ecstasy where she seemed to lose consciousness: next she knew, she was lying on the floor in a sweating, shuddering heap, tangled up with her own underwear and Lorelei’s enfolding arms. She felt wanton, slightly soiled, and blissfully relaxed all in one: the press of a warm body against her own was a wondrous comfort; the light kisses raining down upon her cheeks and throat were like a baptism, conjoining her to a hitherto unimagined world of secret female pleasures. For if indeed she had died a little, she was reborn now – her eyes filled with tears as she looked around, for everything seemed sharper, deeper; the colours vibrantly renewed.
“How?” she whispered, voice thick with emotion, “How can you know such things?”