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The lord of the coven glided into the dungeon, pulled his cape around body so as not to reveal his manly, oiled bare chest and tight black leather crotchless pants too soon and surveyed the dimly lit chamber. He’d been pursuing DOMINEA down from the battlements in a spiral of uncounted rooms resonating with a cacophony of chatterly sound until he knew she could go no further, could not elude him. She was here. He knew it. DOMINEA was fairly blinking at him across the black expanse of his window into the magical world of witches and warlocks, trolls and goblins. Ah, there she was. He would swoop down upon her, throw open his silken cape and capture and cajole and pin her to the cold, clammy stone wall with all fourteen inches of his throbbing manhood and enter and possess her with his honey-toned words.
WRLK4U: Art thou there, love? You have found me. Come thee to me.
“Ah, Fuck! Not that one.” Cliff pushed the mouse away in disgust and sank down into the split leather of his landlord’s castaway swivel chair. This crazy bitch had been following him through the chat forums of the WitchesNWarlocks Net site for the better part of two months. He done all he could to shake her, and yet she relentlessly stalked him.
He looked at the screen, and the DOMINEA alt flipped out. “Ah, fuck a duck,” he exclaimed once more. He’d had her and then lost her and all because of that crazy spritewhatever bitch.
WRLK4U: Good, we be alone now. Take me to paradise. Make me flow with your honeyed words. I open my legs to thee.
Cliff struck at the keyboard; each keystroke a bludgeoning blow.
Geta life, girlie. Take a hike. Get fucked. Get stuffed.
Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me. Stuff me, my love. Take me to paradise.
Cliff snorted in exasperation. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t tried to shake this groupie. But then that wasn’t true, he reasoned. He hadn’t called her bluff. Net junkies like this usually headed for the exit as soon as life got real and raw. He swallowed hard and decided to go for it.
Can’t do you right here. We’d have to meet face to face.
The longest of pauses, and Cliff could almost feel his stalker gulping for air across cyber space. There, that should do it, he thought, after a long pause with no response.
Excuse me? What was that? R U serious?
“Shit, tougher than I thought,” Cliff muttered. Well, he still thought this was his best chance to shake her.
If you want the warlock, you will have the warlock. If your profile is true, you live where you can get to the Club 83 Halloween night. Meet me there or stop playing these games and get off my back.
The SWEETSPRITE moniker blinked off and Cliff’s macho persona was alone in the dungeon room.
“Thought so, bitch,” Cliff said. He couldn’t help the sneer. Now to swing through the other rooms to see if he could find DOMINEA again. That one gave the best cyber head on the site.
He had barely entered the throne room and started to take note of all of the crossed conversations in there escort kartal running from true medieval game sillies to sex talkers, when the SWEETSPRITE handle blinked on.
“Oh, fuck, still on my tail.”
WRLK4U: How will I know you?
“Shit, shit, shit.” Cliff grabbed at the keyboard and flipped out the first thing that came into his head.
Dress like an enchantress, with your boobies pointing. Then stand by the punch bowl and ask every goblin who slides up to you if he wants to cope a feel. Geez.
There, that will set her back on her haunches, he thought. Serves her right, the bitch.
K. It’s a date.
Cliff just sat there, his jaw dragging on his chest. Gawd, do you believe some of these Net groupies? he thought. Wait until his brother Craig heard about this.
Craig did, indeed, think this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and he knew Cliff would live off this joke among their circle of buddies for some time to come. But Craig liked to one up his older brother. And so, Craig decided to extend the mileage that could be gotten off the joke and be able to add to it and do Cliff one better in the telling.
* * *
Back, however, to SWEETSPRITE, aka Sadie Glatz, a check-out girl in Gleason’s Market by evening shift and fantasy bewitching vixen in the wee hours of the morning at WitchesNWarlocks.
If Sadie hadn’t melted over the last couple of weeks in watching WRLK4U corner other female personas in the chat rooms and seduce the panties off them and enticed them to do the most unspeakable sex acts in the chambers of the sites, she would not have been so bold as to pursue him herself. His honeyed words as he slowly stripped his partner’s cyber clothes and inhibitions from them and masterfully stroked them with that fourteen-inch magical sword of his were what she pined for in her lonely nights alone in her studio apartment above Jack’s Garage. She flowed every time she saw that avatar of him, which surely faithfully reflected his beautiful, muscled body. And she was painfully aware, having occasionally had the courage to look into a mirror she passed in forlorn hope she would appear presentable in some light, that he would not even give her a glance of welcome in the flesh.
But a half-empty bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz on this given night had loosened her reasoning. And this had been the first time he had signaled that he noticed her at all. And he had said he wanted to meet her in person. All she wanted from him was for him to wordfuck her over cyberspace on these nights where she dragged home from a shift of sore legs and sullen customers, those ugly, sarcastic people who looked right through her at the checkout stand, those people who were no better than she was or they wouldn’t be shopping in Gleason’s in the first place. And now maybe he’d do that.
Maybe if he liked what he saw in the flesh. Maybe then he’d come to her on these lonely nights in the chat room and stroke her and make her flow with his attentions and possessing words of love. In the flesh. Sadie rose from the computer table maltepe escort and walked into the bathroom, where she had to lean to the left because of the pitch of the ceiling in her attic apartment just to look in the cracked mirror over the stained porcelain basin. But one look there and she backed away and sank onto the daybed, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed quietly. What was she going to do?
* * *
They had pulled out all of the stops for Halloween decor at Club 83, and it was so murky in the main room from eerie lighting and the periodic whooshing of the dry-ice fog machine overladen with cigarette smoke that the Vixen standing by the punch bowl had been felt by more than just goblins by midnight. She couldn’t make out in the gloom what half of their costumes were meant to be before she had made her hopeful offer and they’d come close enough to see that her lovely breasts were barely contained in the tight, low-hanging bodice of her purple velvet gown.
But then, at last, there was a goblin, his head masked by a goulish rubber horror face, who quite obviously knew what the invitation to cope a feel meant and who warmed the Vixen up in quick time by covering a lot of crevices and protrusions with those big goblin hands of his at once. The thought racing through the Vixen’s mind was just how many hands a goblin was supposed to have.
And he was an expert at getting to the center of the foreplay and knowing just what to do when he got there. The Vixen was more than willing and already lost to him, when the goblin suggested that they move away from the punch bowl and to somewhere more private in the deeper shadows to consummate their meeting.
They found a small room, more like a closet, with a convenient quilt-covered table in it. Here, after the goblin had pushed away his mask and pulled down the Vixen’s bodice and feasted on her breasts, the goblin could turn her with her breasts squeezed into the quilt and him closely encasing her body from behind.
The Vixen hadn’t seen the goblin’s real face as the masked slipped away to the floor, but she was looking down into its ugly, sneering countenance, with those slits for eyes, as the goblin continued to work her breasts with one cupping palm turned up between the table top and her heaving chest, while the other hand gathered up the hem of her velvet gown and rustled around underneath. Once beyond this barrier, his hand quickly glided its way up her calf and thigh and found her jewel of a center and rubbed and pressed and prodded and entered her there with exploring fingers, preparing her for the grand entrance.
It wasn’t long until probing fingers were replaced with a throbbing filling that would make any goblin proud, and the Vixen was writhing and moaning and opening to a complete, fully satisfying possession that made her lurch and flow and gasp in repeated orgasmic waves of pleasure.
At last, fully spent himself, the goblin turned the Vixen’s head with a gentle touch to her cheek, and the achingly handsome man and the startlingly beautiful woman kissed tenderly.
“Thou art lovely,” he pendik escort bayan whispered.
“And thou as well,” she murmured back to him.
“I must confess, though,” he said in a hesitant tone. “I am not the man you expected. I am his brother, Craig.”
“And what If I had not been the woman who was expected either?” Sadie’s pretty friend Hazel asked, her tone a mixture of challenge and playfulness
“I can find any woman presentable in shadows such as these for the purposes of sex,” Craig said in a low, husky voice. “It mattered not what you looked like.”
“Oh really, and that’s why I don’t disappoint?” Hazel countered, a flash of irritation leaping into the eyes poised very close to Craig’s.
“No, no, You are beauty itself; you are so much more than I expected or that I hoped for,” Craig quickly said. “If fact, my cock is begging for another session, if you don’t mind, kind lady.”
“Well, then, let me see if you know any more interesting positions,” Hazel said with a brazen chuckle, as she turned facing him, hiked her knees on his hips, and arched her chest back, making an offering of her firm, shimmering breasts to his worshipping lips.
* * *
As soon as Cliff got over the shock of what Craig had added to his little Halloween tryst joke when he’d told it to the guys at the pool hall, he rushed as quickly as he could home and to his computer and logged into WitchesNWarlock.
“She must be here,” he muttered to himself as he raced through the rooms. “She’s always here at night.” In each room, he registered in and posted his plaintive message.
SWEETSPRITE: Where are U? Meet me in the darkest dungeon. Must have you. Now.
He posted this in every chamber forum and then raced to the darkest dungeon, the area that the chat room regulars set off, by unspoken agreement, for the wildest and hottest one-on-ones. He waited and he waited and he waited. He was so excited that he was stroking himself. If she didn’t show up soon, he’d finish without her tonight. Craig’s description of his encounter with her at Club 83 had been so vivid and hot that Cliff was beside himself with lust for her.
The screen blinked and there it was: SWEETSPRITE.
Oh God, you came. Come to me. Open to me now.
And then the response was appearing.
YR brother’s addy. Can you give me your brother’s addy, please.
A long pause as Cliff fought with his confusion.
What? Repeat please. I want you. Now. We begin.
UR brother, Craig, I think. I want his e-mail.
Cliff fought for his composure as his confusion cleared. He hadn’t believed what Craig had said about them clicking. He’s assumed Craig was making it up, that he’d just made sure she had appeared. He only half believed that Craig had gone to Club 83 at all, actually. But Craig’s storytelling had been so vivid that it had turned him on to the SWEETSPRITE persona and he could have cyber sex with that persona now while imaging Craig’s tale. He didn’t give a flying fuck if Craig’s story was true or not. It had made him horny, and in this world of make-believe that was all that mattered.
But she knew Craig’s name. She knew Craig had gone to Club 83 in his stead And she wanted Craig. Oh, God! He’d blown it.
You do know Craig’s addy, don’t you?
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