None So Forbidden

The room was full of fog. A heated mist that swam drunkenly from wall to wall. A strange miasma only he could see, or - more accurately - only he could feel, as he anxiously awaited the arrival of his prey to this opulent trap, located on a floor above the tenth.

Walls once mauve, now crimson. A glowing hue that was slowly oozing. He'd made them such. Candles control color. Darkness changes things. Darkness had changed him. He looked the same, he thought, as he peered through the fog at his reflection in the large, ornate mirror. Yet here, in this hotel room and under the spell of this fog, he was something he could not fathom. Never taking his eyes from his own, he slowly stepped backward until he found himself sitting on the edge of the massive bed. He neither fantasized nor thought realistically about what was to transpire in this room. He just thought.

Temptress. She had invited this, he assured himself. She beckoned danger, if only secretly; if only in her thoughts. It was her nature. Her mind wandered into places it should not. And he was the only one in the world who knew this.

He'd made the discovery as a young boy, perhaps of eleven years. He'd made the discovery at a time when his child mind was unusually consumed by adult desires, the nature of which he could not come close to understanding, yet which devoured him, nonetheless. She, at the time, was a young woman of eighteen years. Her form already carrying the burden of buxom beauty generally befitting that of a woman several years her senior. Together and without words nor explanations, they would secretly probe and prowl the forbidden alleys of a dark and sophisticated thrill that somehow haunted them mutually. Pretty nightgowns and kitchen knives. Rope-burned wrists and kissing whips. Naked shoulders and hungry hands. What he did to her thickened her breath, shivered her skin, and caused her eyes closed to see that which was not there. Her secret was safe with him: the boy would never admit to this sin.

CHAPTER TWO

More than two decades had passed since their sins. She was now well into her forties, married and with three children. He was in his mid-thirties and had spent most of the time since in gotham before returning to a willowy hometown six months prior. The two had even less in common now than they had twenty years ago. The exception was this that was to bring them together that afternoon.

Arrangements had been made electronically. Instantaneous and faceless missives sent to one another late in the evenings - small and scattered black markings against an ice-white surface that bled languid lust and fueled forgotten fires. This had been the method used for all of their exchanges of this nature. He had chosen his words carefully: She could not know the identity of her pursuer. He had chosen his words skillfully: She must be seduced and not scared. He had succeeded.

He had evoked that in her which he knew had laid dormant for so many years. His dark lust had not dwindled; nor had hers, he convinced himself. The twisting tumult of a demon urge that smelled of roses - it surely still existed. That she was intrigued by the vague words of a mysterious predator was testament. That she ultimately began to beg him for more was proof.

Though it had begun as a difficult courtship. Responses few and brief, mostly skeptical and often dismissive - relentless reminders that she was a happily married woman who had little interest in his peculiar provocations. Yet he persevered. Picking through the vast volumes of memories from their lurid childhood encounters, he selected the perfect tools by which to manipulate her secret soul. Things he had learned. Bizarrely bestowed with the acumen of a grown man, the child had been acutely aware of the mysteries of womanhood. He had learned how to read her reactions. He knew what it was that she uniquely craved and when she craved it. Her neck and shoulders bared and touched. Wicked words whispered into her ear. Equal parts threat and sensuality. Dark intentions laced with lustful need. To be a princess in the clutches of a villain. These were the hints delivered to her in his anonymous letters. These were the desires no other knew.

She never confessed in her letters. Merely that she responded to his words was admission. A woman in her station did not admit to interests unusual, not even to her husband. Perhaps not even to herself. Hence, he provided her with a seemingly safe means by which to venture into the dark areas that stirred something sacred within. They were just words. Words no one else would read, it was promised. Though he knew he had never completely earned her trust as the faceless stranger who hungered for her, one more aware of her desires than she, herself, he also knew it was that element of fear and danger that compelled her to continue.

CHAPTER THREE

The flickering candles perfumed the fog, turning it into a sultry serpent that gracefully slithered as it hypnotized. He was hypnotized, in a sense. Otherwise, he would not have been where he was. He never intended to be there. He never thought it would come to this that was so forbidden. He'd begun to seduce her with words without consideration of the consequences. What he did was born from a restlessness brought about by a life that lacked the thrill to which he had become accustomed. He had found minor refuge in the idea of seducing her. It entertained him in its perversity, it challenged him in its impossibility, and it aroused him in its ability to re-awaken a forgotten history of beautiful filth and vile eroticism.

He enjoyed composing the letters and, even more, he thrilled at her replies. When he had commenced with this scandalous endeavor, he was manipulating her with icy precision. However, he soon found himself, too, seduced, not only by the bizarre set of circumstances but also by her curious responses.

"Whoever you are, you are taking me someplace I do not want to go," she had once written well into their month-long discourse. "Please take me deeper into that place. Much deeper." Words hardly profound, yet a masterpiece when considering their author. For a middle-aged society wife with a sunny disposition and tendency toward conformity, betraying such a darkly suggestive fascination was to compromise all. The loot from this crime had exceeded his expectations. Though, like any criminal, he could not resist his greed for more.

And yet it was she who had first proposed a rendezvous, though not of the scandalous nature that now awaited them. Coffee, she suggested. Lunch. Indiscretion and was not in her nature. Nor was tempting it, prior to his pursuit. Now she desperately longed to place a face to these words that had begun to affect her in such a strange and unexpected manner. He knew that she would have done almost anything for such an opportunity. This, he exploited. Toying with her delicate disposition. Tearing at her sumptuous femininity in the same way he had once done. She obeyed him, far more so than when he was but a boy. With words alone, he had gained control of the loose jewels of her lust. Divine treasures she possessed without knowing until he did show her. Surrender, she must. To whomever he was, she would not care, so long as he delivered her into some sublime realm.

Or so had been his distant hope, once agreeing to their unholy liaison. Alas, it was unlikely. The damnation of better judgement would no doubt prevail, which would lead to catastrophic results. He cared not, however, intoxicated by the same nefarious trance that undoubtedly controlled her.

Nonetheless, the fog suddenly began to clear the room. He stood. She knocked on the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

He peered through the peephole and out into the plush hallway. Flesh, fur and jewels, she stood, heavy perfume wafting under the door. She'd never been this before. Without her knowing, was this now for him. She was this now for it. Darkness, danger painted her elegant and turned pretty day into sultry night.

A second series of knocks trembled against his door-pressed cheek. She longed, persistently and desperately, and would not flee timidly. The fog enveloped him. "Go away," he whispered to himself, film of sweat across his brow. Then he witnessed glass-red nails being checked and exposed shoulders inspected. No longer the tall maiden with a sheet of cascading dark chocolate silk flowing down her back. No longer did her body curve like a gentle hourglass. Thick contours of ample shape and loosened lines of supple form made her the woman she once was not. A lady awaited. She now labored to allure. Efforts to entice a demon's lust conjured the woman she craved to be. In her sensual vulnerability came her sublime feminine beauty. It existed now, perhaps for the first time in twenty years.

"Very well," he thought when she knocked a third. He reluctantly loosened bolts and slowly pulled the door toward him, feeling the shadow crawl from over his features. He revealed the face of her phantom.

A clang of bracelets shattered his wits as she brought her hand to her mouth in silent repulsion. Paralyzed, she stood. Her mind overwhelmed and toiled. Zombie-like guided, he brought her in, softly, and positioned her in a stiff armchair associated with the fine desk, the fog full of sparks but not seducing. Not yet. With ghost-like frailty, the door behind clicked to a close on its own volition, sealing the two within the vapored room.

Raping words, she declared. Ravaged against her will. Escorted into humiliation by the most inappropriate of culprits. She covered now unneeded skin with the coat and held her arms firm and fierce across her unavailable chest. As trance evaporated, confused fury tangled her tongue. Diabolical. Sick. She demanded motives for this sinister subterfuge.

No cruel joke, he insisted. Neither diabolical nor sick, he continued.

"Then why," she pleaded. "Why did you do this to me? Why?"

He did not answer. He could not answer.

He could detain her. Attempted stand, he took hold of her arms and pressed her back into the chair. "Listen to me," he barked, still keeping grasp on the charcoal fur of her coat. Half-hearted resistance was feigned, as she was not eager to return to her family with the sin of indiscretion intent marking her conscience. Moreover, she begged for understanding. Explanation for the most dastardly injustice ever perpetuated in her sweet life. And still, she secretly seethed with the carnal curiosity that had stolen her soul.

CHAPTER FIVE

"Do you remember..." With veiled grace he whispered subtle reminders of childhood sins.

"No," she would reply, viciously annoyed and vigilantly angry, time and again. But he knew she lied. Her body betrayed.

"Do you remember..." From the politely vague to the intimately darker came his reminders as he moved his mouth closer to the back of her neck, as his fingers subtly seized her with peculiar plying. Still, she would not confess.

"Do you remember..." Deep into her ear, he did breath the most sinful and secret of their sordid indiscretions. Wicked rites, the likes of which only unbridled minds youth can concoct, and only be executed in the most private of circumstances.

"Yes. Yes. I remember all of this," she finally spurted in a desperate whimper, her face in an exultant grimace. "But we were just children! It is not worth remembering now. And you. You were just a boy then."

"A boy I may have been, but my desires were that of a man." Refrain relinquished, invasion advanced. Hissing details, into her ear, of tawdry desires never fulfilled. Plans and schemes of darkest delight, meant to torment, seduce and devour the delicious damsel of his childhood desire. She'd never known the extent of the boy's stirring and sophisticated lust for her come-hither form and aching womanthoughts. Her heart raced as his words fell heated upon her neck. Why didn't you, she panted to herself. I would have let you, she confessed in her imagination - her mind, like his, salaciously sliding back in time. She raised her eyes and glanced into the mirror before her.

The fog was suffocating - for both of them. Through it, however, their eyes met in the reflection. Same skin. Familiar flesh. A genderless rapport, deep in its foundations. Nothing that could ever suggest adult desires. It would be impossible. Unless passions, so sublime, shatter that which is so stable. Transformed, before their eyes, into man and woman; creatures craving the others lust.

"Woman me," came the unspoken words as she pondered the reflection of the mature starlet and the young provocateur who stood behind her. So strange and sensual. "I've never been such a woman. He sees me as I should be seen."

"And this is the reason," she asked with a breathless whisper. "This is the reason you did this to me? These memories of childhood?"

"Yes," was his reply, hesitant and ashamed. Though he wished to expound, he would not.

"You may leave now, if you wish," calmly came his words. He peeled his mouth from her face, released his hands from her body and stood straight. His blood shed, he had shared the truth. He could ask nothing more from her.

She rose, after pause. Slowly. Staring down at flickering shadows on a white carpet. Exit imminent, she, instead, opened her long coat, letting sleeves slide down a body tightly sheathed in softest black. She would be staying.

CHAPTER SIX

Hands unstoppable grope precious neck, fingers rattling chokered pearls that wrap rounded flesh. Growling gentle, gentle, he makes his wicked threats. Pounding pulse within her throat reveals their affect. Nervous nails claw chair's arms. Wheezing winds pass parted lips as her chest rises and falls.

"Stop. Stop," she cries weakly. "We cannot do this. It is far too wrong," her shoulders wincing to shun his touch, her head tossing to avoid his words.

It is wrong, and that is craved, he explained to his panting prey. She denied and did resist continued advances against her wish. His fever now fueled, he would not allow this to cease so suddenly. Sliding easily, black sleeves fell from shoulders, releasing restrained perfume. Freckled flesh, tanned - delicious in its way. He placed lips to skin, kissing her upper back. Never had he imagined kissing a womanskin so much older; never had he imagined kissing sister's skin. So strange a sensation. Softly pressing tongue to flesh, beneath his grasp, muscles melted. Sliding languid into chair, she moaned and churned in passion-bliss.

Now controlled, fingers travelled. Talons creeping over half-bared body: shoulders, neck, back and chest. Abandoned constraint, he lavished in the luscious feel of fevered flesh never forgotten. And she closed her eyes and bit her lip as spewed venom caressed her mind. He told her of his twisted thoughts: his plans, his needs, his vicious demands. He told her she was meant for this: the gorgeous victim such a villain could not resist.

Go ahead, she said, in the way she turned her face. She wanted to be kissed by her little brother, a man of disgrace. The fog was full of thunder, and the candles' flame, a fire. Jerking jewelry up her wrists to expose a place to tie wrapped-white ropes against her skin. "Please, please kiss me, before you go further."

Without a kiss, he stripped her back and a crack broke the silence. Leather lash against soft skin, she beckoned with her quiet. Stroke and stroke and stroke again, each wicked kiss beckoned sin. Brought to feet by harsh hands, knees placed upon the floor, she pleaded once more for a kiss so that she could endure. He craned his neck, placed lips to lips and kissed his sister as never before. A simple gesture cum passionate union neither could fathom. He never imagined it would come to this.

Dress to elbows, stockings slit, another hour had soon passed. The fog was now a part of them, joining them with their past. Black bodice cups in his hands, she pleaded for him to stop. "No," she whimpered, "don't do that." Boundaries still a concern.

"I will not touch them," or so he promised. "They must be bared, you cannot deny."

Peeling stiff lace and wired reinforcement, bountiful breasts of his sister's did fall. Bowing her head to see cherished secrets exposed to "little" brother, his lusts, and all.

"Oh my God," as she awaited her torment, her mind a frenzy of stained longing and moral conflict. With each dark blessing, she arched back to receive all that which no other man in her life could conceive nor deliver. Pinned against wall, thrown on the bed, her brother, this man, invaded her head. Straining, straining, despite his vowel, to rub her bosoms against his arms, as they handled her body or labored to bind her in various ways. He was good for his word.

"Just kiss me there," she pleaded like a child, laying on bed, hands tied behind back, head nodding in the direction of her breasts. He did obliged, and kisses became kneading, pinches and pulls of his sister's ample shape. Now dark lovers, in a sense.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sweating sheets and stripped-downed sister. Pretty dress upon the floor. Buxom-bound woman breathing heavy with rose-colored stripes kriss-crossing flesh. Scars that dripped and bled faintly on soft back: remnants of darkness explored. What he has, displayed upon her request: a scandalous plea to expose her affect upon him. It hung heavy, pulsing and strong. Shirtless because of heat - the fog had become a poisoned steam.

Languidly laying cheek on stretched shoulder: "What are you going to do to me now." She was not naked, but still looked pretty. Black lace, nylon and leather kept her such. Makeup smeared and shortish hair messed. He should not have removed her panties. "Please let me touch you again," as she wiggled her long-nailed fingers from their white-roped binds above her head.

He considered, then refused, not wanting to allow his own, middle-aged sister to bring him to his crisis. Instead, he straddled her stripped and large buttocks and began to knead her beaten back and shoulders menacingly, whispering wicked words in the process, stirring both well beyond that which they were accustomed. But as the sweet woman pulled her knees inward to raise her buttocks, he fell helplessly within her... and did not withdraw.

"Noooo..." she immediately oozed, in what seemed like contorted terror. He concurred with her sentiment but did not adhere. Could not adhere.

He let himself slowly withdraw then re-insert three times before he surrendered. He was going to fuck her, this older woman, his own sister. And, in so doing, it would be done in accordance to their intimate and secret desires. Lashes flew, threats were made, vile hands devoured flesh, teeth and tongue found their mark. She released guttural moans unearthly. Twice did someone pound upon their door. Fingernails were broken. Jewels were ruined. High heels tangled in soft sheets. Candles roared and demons danced.

Brother bruised sister when crisis came.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The fog was no more as he lay atop her, his face against the flesh of her back, his hand still clutching her hair. She sniffed. She wept, silently.

"Untie me, please," she whimpered.

After having done so, he watched her collect her dress and pull the cups of bodice back over her breasts as she clumsily strode off to the bathroom without a word, knocking her purse onto the floor. She was disturbed.

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to collect her things as a futile goodwill gesture. Lipstick. Birth control pills. Tampons. Keys. Address book.

He could not resist. He opened the book to where his name should be found. And he found it. There was written his name and several crossed-out addresses, from LA to NYC to London. Then, at the bottom list read the following: "secret email address: saxificus@yahoo.com."

It was then that she returned from the bathroom as a wife and mother in a torn, black dress. He looked up at her.