26-05-2019, 09:29 AM
The Mark of Danteshwari - Pt. 03
I feel my face burn with shame and with anger. Naija leaned in so close, I can feel her warm breath. "Is your marriage dead, Christine Matthews?"
I feel tears running down my face, leaving searing tracks on my skin. "Yes," I whisper. "It's been dead for a long time." I begin to cry and am surprised to feel the arms of the old woman close around me. Her arms are strong and she pulls me against her and lets me cry myself out.
When I am done, she looks down at me, her eyes blazing with a holy light. She turns to Ramita and nods. "She has the Mark of Danteshwari. The holy mother has decreed it."
"What does that mean," I ask, still sniffling. "What do these dreams mean? Are they going to stop? How can we all be sharing the same fucking dream?" I stop suddenly. I am shouting and I did not mean to curse in front of this old woman.
Naija smiles and pats my cheek. "Stop asking questions. Simply accept what is to come. In a fortnight, all answers that you seek will be yours. There is a...rite that must be observed and that you must participate in. Once it is completed, your dreams will end. At dusk the first night of the full moon, Ramita will come for you and you will have your answers."
The old woman turns and hobbles towards the door. "Walk me home, Ramita. I am old and tired and there is so much to do." I try and say more, but she turns and puts an old gnarled finger to her lips. "Shhhhh, Christine. Be patient. For now, it must suffice for you to know that you are not insane." She gives me a big, mostly toothless smile and says, "Have joy, daughter. You are blessed of Danteshwari. It is a most wondrous thing!"
BEHOLD -- YOU ARE THE CHOSEN OF DANTESHWARI. EMBRACE THE BLESSINGS AND THE REBIRTH SHE OFFERS YOU NOW. OPEN YOUR HEART AND NOW LOVE FOR ALL ETERNITY. ACCEPT THE SACRED GIFTS OF LOVE AND FAMILY AND BE AS ONE. YOU ARE THE BLESSED OF DANTESHWARI!
My need is so great it hurts as I hear those words. There is carnality now in the voice. Each syllable ratchets up my desire as I writhe on my back, the strands of material that make up my robe, parting to reveal my feverish, aching, needing sex. My dream lover approaches. He is naked, his cock swollen and long. His beautifully sculpted body is entrancing. I need him. I cannot move except to spread my legs wide and fling my pelvis upwards, offering myself, begging for relief in body language.
My dream lover climbs between my legs, his head still shrouded -- first in mist and then in shadow. My blood engorged nerves can sense his cock almost touching my wet, hot flesh. My labia can almost clasp him. I ache to draw him inside me. He is almost there, sooo close. I look up. I can see his eyes -- they are a reflection of my own blue eyes. I know that there is less than the length of a hair's distance between his hard cock and my wet pussy. Its time -- it's finally time...
And I am upright and awake, tangled in my sheets, sobbing and whimpering, "Nooo! I need it," as my fingers are buried deep in my pussy. I have practically my whole right hand fucking my burning cunt as I try and seek relief. I arch my back as I make myself cum, knowing that it isn't enough -- that I need more -- I need the cock of my dream lover. I sob aloud as my orgasm washes over me. The relief I seek isn't there, even though I am overwhelmed with pleasure.
The only thing I am glad about is that Joseph isn't here. He has journeyed far, to New Delhi for a missionary conference. He left three days ago and will not be back for at least a week. I have masturbated at every free moment since he left, aching for the release that will not come. I am glad he is gone. I have begged him for sex many times since Naija talked to me and he has spurned me at every turn. Now with him away, I can't humiliate myself again by begging for his love.
"Mother? Are you okay?" Jeff is at the door. "I heard you cry out. Did you have another bad dream?" He opens it a little, and I pull the sheets around my nakedness. I cannot see him in the darkness. There is the rumble of thunder in the distance. We have had storms for two days.
I find my voice and rasp hoarsely, "Yes, another bad dream, Jeff. I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed, son."
"I was dreaming too, Mother." There is a long pause. "Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?"
"You're sweet, honey, but no. I'm alright now. Go back to bed, darling."
"Yes, Mother," my son replies and I hear footsteps as he retreats. Then there is a flash of lighting and for a second, I can see my son's silhouette against the wall. I gasp. I see the shadow of his cock, hard and long and extending from the shadow of his body silhouetted against the wall. I know my son tends to sleep naked in hot weather, but I had no idea he had been at my door naked and hard.
Again for the countless time, my images of my dream lover become mixed up with images of my eighteen year old son. I know I'm going mad, despite what Ramita and Naija say. I cling to one hope. It's been a fortnight since I spoke to Naija. Tonight this must all end. I know that things cannot continue as they are. If the dreams do not end, I know I must leave. Return home to America and have myself committed.
I cannot continue this existence. I will leave my son and find some way to cleanse my mind of this mad, erotic desire. Find a way to erase that beautiful, hard cock from my mind. Even as I speak, again I discover my fingers have ventured forth on their own and are buried in my pussy, again attempting to scratch an itch I cannot seem to reach.
I feel my face burn with shame and with anger. Naija leaned in so close, I can feel her warm breath. "Is your marriage dead, Christine Matthews?"
I feel tears running down my face, leaving searing tracks on my skin. "Yes," I whisper. "It's been dead for a long time." I begin to cry and am surprised to feel the arms of the old woman close around me. Her arms are strong and she pulls me against her and lets me cry myself out.
When I am done, she looks down at me, her eyes blazing with a holy light. She turns to Ramita and nods. "She has the Mark of Danteshwari. The holy mother has decreed it."
"What does that mean," I ask, still sniffling. "What do these dreams mean? Are they going to stop? How can we all be sharing the same fucking dream?" I stop suddenly. I am shouting and I did not mean to curse in front of this old woman.
Naija smiles and pats my cheek. "Stop asking questions. Simply accept what is to come. In a fortnight, all answers that you seek will be yours. There is a...rite that must be observed and that you must participate in. Once it is completed, your dreams will end. At dusk the first night of the full moon, Ramita will come for you and you will have your answers."
The old woman turns and hobbles towards the door. "Walk me home, Ramita. I am old and tired and there is so much to do." I try and say more, but she turns and puts an old gnarled finger to her lips. "Shhhhh, Christine. Be patient. For now, it must suffice for you to know that you are not insane." She gives me a big, mostly toothless smile and says, "Have joy, daughter. You are blessed of Danteshwari. It is a most wondrous thing!"
BEHOLD -- YOU ARE THE CHOSEN OF DANTESHWARI. EMBRACE THE BLESSINGS AND THE REBIRTH SHE OFFERS YOU NOW. OPEN YOUR HEART AND NOW LOVE FOR ALL ETERNITY. ACCEPT THE SACRED GIFTS OF LOVE AND FAMILY AND BE AS ONE. YOU ARE THE BLESSED OF DANTESHWARI!
My need is so great it hurts as I hear those words. There is carnality now in the voice. Each syllable ratchets up my desire as I writhe on my back, the strands of material that make up my robe, parting to reveal my feverish, aching, needing sex. My dream lover approaches. He is naked, his cock swollen and long. His beautifully sculpted body is entrancing. I need him. I cannot move except to spread my legs wide and fling my pelvis upwards, offering myself, begging for relief in body language.
My dream lover climbs between my legs, his head still shrouded -- first in mist and then in shadow. My blood engorged nerves can sense his cock almost touching my wet, hot flesh. My labia can almost clasp him. I ache to draw him inside me. He is almost there, sooo close. I look up. I can see his eyes -- they are a reflection of my own blue eyes. I know that there is less than the length of a hair's distance between his hard cock and my wet pussy. Its time -- it's finally time...
And I am upright and awake, tangled in my sheets, sobbing and whimpering, "Nooo! I need it," as my fingers are buried deep in my pussy. I have practically my whole right hand fucking my burning cunt as I try and seek relief. I arch my back as I make myself cum, knowing that it isn't enough -- that I need more -- I need the cock of my dream lover. I sob aloud as my orgasm washes over me. The relief I seek isn't there, even though I am overwhelmed with pleasure.
The only thing I am glad about is that Joseph isn't here. He has journeyed far, to New Delhi for a missionary conference. He left three days ago and will not be back for at least a week. I have masturbated at every free moment since he left, aching for the release that will not come. I am glad he is gone. I have begged him for sex many times since Naija talked to me and he has spurned me at every turn. Now with him away, I can't humiliate myself again by begging for his love.
"Mother? Are you okay?" Jeff is at the door. "I heard you cry out. Did you have another bad dream?" He opens it a little, and I pull the sheets around my nakedness. I cannot see him in the darkness. There is the rumble of thunder in the distance. We have had storms for two days.
I find my voice and rasp hoarsely, "Yes, another bad dream, Jeff. I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed, son."
"I was dreaming too, Mother." There is a long pause. "Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?"
"You're sweet, honey, but no. I'm alright now. Go back to bed, darling."
"Yes, Mother," my son replies and I hear footsteps as he retreats. Then there is a flash of lighting and for a second, I can see my son's silhouette against the wall. I gasp. I see the shadow of his cock, hard and long and extending from the shadow of his body silhouetted against the wall. I know my son tends to sleep naked in hot weather, but I had no idea he had been at my door naked and hard.
Again for the countless time, my images of my dream lover become mixed up with images of my eighteen year old son. I know I'm going mad, despite what Ramita and Naija say. I cling to one hope. It's been a fortnight since I spoke to Naija. Tonight this must all end. I know that things cannot continue as they are. If the dreams do not end, I know I must leave. Return home to America and have myself committed.
I cannot continue this existence. I will leave my son and find some way to cleanse my mind of this mad, erotic desire. Find a way to erase that beautiful, hard cock from my mind. Even as I speak, again I discover my fingers have ventured forth on their own and are buried in my pussy, again attempting to scratch an itch I cannot seem to reach.
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