Danseur du Nocturne

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She dances for him in his dreams.
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Xeyda
Xeyda
6 Followers

Every night for the past week, the same thing. Not that he was complaining; hell no was he complaining! For his entire adult life, Mike’s dreams had been pretty normal. He had a few nightmares and wet dreams, but not many. Only rarely was a dream worth remembering when he woke up, but this one eluded his memory in spite of how hard he attempted to recall it the next morning. He awoke feeling only that something indescribable had happened. Each night brought the dream closer to conclusion. He did not know it, but tonight would bring the culmination of the previous five evenings.

In this dream, Mike found himself drawn to the same dream-place over and over. It didn’t feel the same as a standard recurring dream, but the room he found himself at never changed, nor the Lady who danced for him. Where his dreaming brain came up with this location, or the woman, he couldn’t fathom given that he was a fairly unimaginative person. Until his first dream of her, the quiet, somber young man had never considered blue elven women to be attractive. Until that first dance, he had never even considered blue elves at all.

It was a Friday night, and Mike, fearless tax-accountant by day, had just finished washing up in preparation for bed. Clad in only the bottom half of his blue cotton pajamas, he made his way to bed, stopping to pat Max, his chocolate Labrador on the head as he passed the snoozing canine. Double-checking the alarm was in fact off, and not likely to wake him at six on a Saturday, he climbed into bed, carefully deposited his glasses on the bedside table, and snuggled down to sleep.

He knew nothing more until he was awoken by the sensation of delicate silk, coolly sliding down his bare chest. Sitting up with a start, the heretofore-unimagined woman gave forth a silver peal of laughter, seeming to glide across the bare stone floor, unshod feet making not a sound. At Mike’s mouth opening, about to speak, the exotically strange woman lifted one long finger to her slightly pouty bruise colored lips, bidding him to be silent. She gave a tiny dip and turn of her knees as she did, somehow seeming to look up at him through her soft black eyelashes.

The soft smolder in those lavender orbs quelled his voice more effectively than anything else in his life so far. Despite the fact that the confused man never pried his gaze from this most exquisite being before him, details of the room managed to trickle into his comprehension, noting now the marble floor, the onyx fireplace to his left and his own position, casually slouched in a high-backed, overstuffed leather chair. The dim glow from the burning fire somehow did not obliterate delicate colors, instead enhancing them almost magically.

The tantalizing woman spun slowly, putting her back to him, a move so understatedly graceful, it immediately snapped Mike’s attention away from the puzzling grey mists that seemed to swirl about, obscuring the rest of the place. She wore what appeared to be layers and layers of silk scarves of various hues wrapped about her tiny, curvy form, concealing and yet so thin and revealing. The mix of display and concealment was almost too perfect a blend; somehow managing to intoxicate without stupefying.

He was just about to clear his throat, once more with the intent of speaking, when the minute female delicately extended her left leg to the side, ankle and foot pointed just so. Keeping her back to the again hushed man, her right arm lifted, palm out, in slow mimicry to form an almost exact mirror of limbs. In spite of the gentleness of her arm’s raising, the motion dislodged a narrow band of oyster silk from around the upraised wrist, leaving it to dangle, an unfelt breeze setting it to the smallest fluttering motion.

The elf brought her middle finger sharply against her thumb, and mindless of the fact she wore no visible adornment on her fingers, a bright, tiny ping shivered into being, heralding the start of her arm’s serpentine sway. Small shifts of her dainty feet raised additional bell-ghosts, but Mike could see not a string of the shimmering chimes such a sweet music should have.

With a start, he realized that while the lithe figure had not moved, she now stood between himself and the blazing hearth. The flames trembled and seemed to dance with each soft jingling rain from her ever-moving body. For one dizzying moment, Mike understood that he, and the room he was in, moved around her because she wished it so. As soon as the thought was processed, he realized the sheer rightness of it, and was calm.

His orbit around this carefully posed star continued unbroken and unhurried, slowly granting him a view of the woman’s silk wrapped profile as she continued her dance. The lifted arm moved in balletic twirls, hardly involving more than her wrist and hand as she efficiently shed herself of the enveloping grey silk, revealing another layer just below, this one of the richest midnight blue. Perhaps it was his imagination, or the effect of dark cloth, but the blue scarf seemed narrower, covering less soft periwinkle skin as it wound its way along her frame.

The gentle motions of her right arm gradually grew more exaggerated; supple ripples that incorporated more of the slender limb until her entire arm was swaying. With the understated punctuation of more shivery jingling from her empty hands, her hips began to revolve in lazy, vertically canted clockwise circles, while her upper body remained almost perfectly motionless, and her feet still shuffled softly.

As soon as the last translucent bit of pearl silk had fallen, pooling at her feet, the sound of tiny bells vanished and the dancing woman froze, posed for one eternal heartbeat. By now, the fascinated man could just see her coldly beautiful features amongst the silken charcoal tresses that hung unbound past softly rounded shoulders. Somehow, the light from the fire caught out her eyes, setting them briefly aglow. Acting on an internal cue, the elven woman slowly extended her right leg; pointing its toes just as her other foot was still positioned.

Easily balancing her slight weight in the unusual, yet evocative pose, she lifted her left arm precisely as her other had raised, again pausing for the smallest moment before touching finger to thumb. Still leisurely circling the performer, Mike watched as the midnight silk began to tumble from her frame in slow motion, just as the grey had. This time, the departing scarf revealed a strip of snow-white cloth lovingly clinging to her undulating body, seeming brighter against her dusky blue skin.

Breathless, some part of Mike’s brain recognized that the dancer’s languid movements were done in the opposite direction to spill the indigo sash from the slate colored one. Her hips swiveled counter-clockwise with excruciating slowness, and the bells shimmered quietly at her feet until the band of white floated at last to the marble floor. Again she froze, as motionless as a statue, seeming to hang in time until the voyeur’s heart seemed about to burst from anticipation.

Beginning her next move as suddenly as her previous ones had ended, the woman’s arms slid back down to lay against her side, neutrally held against her unmoving ribs. Relaxing her feet’s pose as well, her knees buckled, sending the woman into a collapse towards the ground so abrupt, the man started to spring from the chair in a misguided attempt to catch her. Finding himself unable to move, his heart thudded painfully to see her spring up once more, having managed to turn her body around while rising from her crouch. She now faced him fully; the incandescent blaze of her lavender eyes leaving Mike without breath. Leaving the helpless man to drown in her gaze, she began to dance again.

Again, her body whirled and swayed to the sound of tiny bells, no longer a single extended limb at a time, but her entire being at once, creating a fluttering dervish of colored silk and soft cobalt skin and softer black hair that seemed to defy time and gravity. The dancer moved with a deliberate disregard for how things should be, creating her own rules with each move. Her audience’s chest constricted as he watched, gripped in the female’s raw energy as she spun. White silk gave way to rich purple and then velvety green, the translucent material flying away as if wings from her, hanging mid-air when it should have fallen, until all that remained was a narrow strip that matched her hair.

It was when the woman’s motion halted again that the coal-black covering slid down her azure body, caressing her skin like a lover’s touch, and now she stood, stilled once more with her back arched and her pelvis tilted just a touch. The remaining scarf was the color of blood in the snow on a moonless night. It was all the passion and desire of her dance given color, but no bells sang as she resumed the gentle pendulation of earlier. She silently began to sway and ripple sensuously.

Her arms sinuously crossed, lifted above her head to form an X; her belly moved in slow waves as her feet moved yet in the tiny non-steps that were really no more than a shifting of her weight. When her knees again dipped and then rose up immediately, that last, teasing slip of silk began to fall, unraveling from her softly weaving arms to bare the dancer’s hidden flesh from view. As it uncoiled languorously like a ribbon, perfection was revealed to Mike’s disbelieving eyes.

The silk fell from the turgid, dark nipples peaked upon lush breasts. It tumbled slowly away from her generous hips, slithering down the firm rounded curves of her backside. It fluttered down as she spun one more time to face her watcher, dropping away from a smooth, hairless mound and lapped down her dusky calves to collect, with the others, upon the marble floor.

Feeling her gaze boring into him, the breathless man found the reserves within himself to look into those eyes, a brilliant, cold, blazing silver now. All thought was banished as he stared, drowning in that chilly inferno of need. Her touch was white-hot fire as she stroked his cheek, having approached seemingly without moving. He could smell her, the sweet spice of her skin, some unknown blossom giving up its spirit from her hair, and underlying, the bite of cold frost.

Climbing into the chair with him, Mike suddenly realized his nudity, and his readiness for her. Wordless still, she lowered her body atop his; engulfing his flesh in a heat so searing it froze him from the inside. The pain-pleasure intensified when the woman began to dance again, using only her hips to move in slow spirals along his length. His arms moved as if to surround this mysterious beauty, and yet he hesitated, afraid to touch and have her vanish into smoke. He decided to chance it, and discovered he was utterly immobilized by unseen pressure, and this was somehow right too.

Soon enough, he approached and claimed his peak, so intent on the surge of his essence into the woman riding him, he did not immediately notice the sting of her Kiss against his arced throat. As her body continued to move, milking him, Mike felt her mouth, her lips press warmly against his skin, and the peculiar feel of himself being drawn into her from two sources. Without a second thought, he gave himself over to the succubus, his very soul wordlessly begging for more.

Mike Brannen didn’t, in fact, wake up at six that Saturday morning. After listening to Max howl endlessly for several hours, a neighbor called the police. The coroner was at a loss to pin down any cause of death, or to explain the smile of euphoric bliss on the deceased’s face. The dog was adopted by Mike’s sister in the country.

Xeyda
Xeyda
6 Followers
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