A Samhainn Tale free porn video

The storm arrives without warning and lasts for a month. There are no weather forecasts to precede it, nor are there any records in the history books of a previous occurrence. It is simply there when yesterday it was not.

October 22nd

I awake with a cry, hauling myself gasping from the dream. For a fleeting second I can still feel the burning, fetid weight on top of me, the long claws pinning my flesh and the choking grasp of his hands at my throat. But then the sensation subsides, leaving me with nothing but the last throes of my orgasm and the faintest scent of cinnamon as a reminder.

In the distance I can hear the ocean. Huge, dark, waves rolling into shore and booming onto the frozen beach. The howling wind whipping the spray up and into the town, sea water and rain driving against the dark glass of my bedroom window.

I let out a long exhalation and flop back down on to the bed, trying to get my breathing back under control as Tom stirs beside me.

"Babe?" his voice thick with sleep.

"Yes," I reply, shakily, "Just a dream, go back to sleep"

"Mmm," he says, rolling on to his side, gently stoking my hair. "Another one?"

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, just a little freaked out. God!"

"That's every night for 3 weeks now."

"I know."

I can feel the sweat cooling on my body as I arch my back and stretch out, the sheet clammy beneath me. My skin still tingles from the power of my orgasm. Surely this isn't normal?

The dreams had come with the storm. Vivid black fantasies of monsters and creatures and witches and horrors but always with that same scent. Cinnamon on a cold winters night. But underneath the scent of something else. The merest hint of spice and beneath it something darker. Almost rotten.

"Probably just wedding nerves."

"Yes, probably" I reply "Go back to sleep. I'm going to go downstairs for some water"

"You sure?"

"I'll be fine."

"OK. Try not to be up too long."

~

I let out a shaky sigh as I straighten to look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Pale skin and dark eyes. Long brown hair in disarray. Cold water from the sink still running down my face.

Wedding nerves. My close friends and my mother had all said the same thing when I had confided in them. Just temporary. Marriage is a big deal. A life changing thing. You are at a time of transition in your life Anna and it's just messing with your subconscious That last one from my hippy friend Laura with her new age beliefs. Wedding nerves. Yeah.

I hope they are right but in my mind there is still a seed of doubt. I have never had dreams like these before. Never this...graphic, vivid. Never felt this disconnected and out of control. And then there is The Stranger. The part I haven't confessed to anyone.

~

The first time I saw him was the night of my first dream. I was in the bar on the crossroads in town, enjoying after work drinks with a couple of work colleagues on a Friday night. Just sharing office gossip and wedding plans. Laughing at Helens online dating stories.

But then something had happened to me. Nothing specific. Just a general feeling of unease. Unsettling. Like the feeling of being watched yet when you look up there is no one there. For some reason I just couldn't seem to shake it off even though I should have been relaxed.

The feeling had only grown stronger with the worsening weather. I can recall my colleagues asking me if I was OK as I grew more and more restless and jumpy as evening turned into night.

I had been talking to my friend Maggie who, at 37, is a little over ten years older than me. She was telling me about her own wedding experience when suddenly she had trailed off in mid sentence, her eyes fixed on something over my left shoulder.

I had turned to see what had distracted her so, and that was when I saw him for the first time. The Stranger.

He was on his own whereas almost everyone else was with partners or friends yet for some reason this was in no way unusual.

There was a magnetic quality about him though. Albeit at the same time I wouldn't have been able to put my finger on just what it was about him that was so striking. He didn't seem to engage in conversation with anyone, nor did he appear to make any attempt at flirtation despite the number of women I saw approach him. There was nothing flashy about him and yet he had a kind of dark brooding quality that just seemed to draw attention.

I couldn't seem to stop myself from looking across at him every chance I got. It wasn't just me either. I honestly don't think there was another woman in that room that wasn't aware of him.

I lost count of the number of women I saw stealing glances at him, even those there with their husbands and boyfriends. I found myself thinking about Tom, my own husband to be. Wishing Tom was there, holding my hand so that I wouldn't be able to look. Wouldn't be so constantly aware of his presence. Wouldn't know exactly where he was in the room and who he was talking to.

As the time grew closer to midnight I even considered approaching him but what would I say? In a little over a month I would be getting married. What reason could I possibly have to approach this stranger?

The decision was taken from me when he stood up. He paused for a moment, calmly surveying the room for one final time as though looking for someone. I don't know why but I found myself holding my breath as I watched him.

As he turned to leave, our eyes met and something happened to me. It was nothing more than a fleeting second of eye contact, the tiniest flicker of a smile touching his lips as he turned and stepped out into the storm.

~

Before I even had time to consider what I was doing I was out of my chair and halfway across the bar. Not even stopping for my coat and bag as I banged through the door, the driving rain and howl of the wind drowning out the questioning cries of my colleagues behind me.

I had looked all four ways at the crossroads but he was nowhere to be seen. Yet somehow I knew I must go down the hill, towards the beach. I had raced down, the wind wrapping around me like a blanket, the rain plastering my clothes flat to my body in seconds. I paused only to drag my high heels from my stockinged feet before plunging onto the cold wet sand and down, below the high water line.

My senses seemed to return a little then and a certain degree of calm descended upon me. I was aware of the waves, breaking far to my left but I knew they could not reach me in that liminal space between land and sea.

It was also when I caught that scent for the first time. A sweet cinnamon that seemed to draw me along the beach.

I felt no cold or fear despite being soaked to the skin and roaming a deserted beach at midnight. Nothing beyond a sense that what I was doing was completely right.

A number of times I thought I caught glimpses of a dark figure ahead of me, moving higher up the beach but I never caught up with him.

It was only when I crossed the debris at the high water line that the spell passed and I fell to my knees, shivering uncontrollably. Huge spasms wracking my body. I don't know how far I walked but I made it all the way up the hill and home so it must have been pretty far.

Thank god Tom was out with friends when I returned and I didn't have to explain what had happened. I can vaguely recall stripping my wet clothes off and crawling naked into my bed before falling into a fevered, dream filled sleep.

~

I have seen the stranger 5 or 6 times in waking hours since then, but still we have never spoken. Always across a room or on the other side of a road. Once at a train station. Thankfully I have not been possessed of the same desire to follow him but even if I did, I wonder whether it would even be possible to catch him? To speak to him?

Every night he is in my dreams though. And every night he has me. In ways that I never knew were possible. Sometimes he is alone and sometimes he is not. Sometimes there are other... things. But he is always there. Watching.

The other things scare me. He scares me. What they do to me. What I let them do to me. But I don't want them to stop. Every night is a little more intense than the one before. A little more depraved. A little more real.

But now I can feel the lines blurring. What is real. What is a dream. And I'm scared that something bad is going to happen.

October 30th

The noise as it steps from the plinth is deafening. Splinters of marble litter the floor around its hooves as it takes a tentative step, it's blind head swivelling jerkily toward me.

I want to run. To turn on my heels and bolt for the doorway but for some reason I can't. Even taking a step backward is like wading through quicksand. It's a statue. How can it possibly be quicker than me? Yet somehow it is.

I know that I have to get away. That I still have a chance at the moment, before it sees me. Impossibly and with a sickening grinding it's head swivels on the stone neck. It's cold, smooth, sightless eyes seeking me.

It is tall, maybe 8 feet of white marble. I don't know what it is supposed to be but it isn't human, though it stands on two legs. A Satyr possibly? A Golem? It has hooves anyway. And a single thick spike on top of it's head.

I can't run. Can't do anything but wait. Frozen in place with fear.

It is grotesque. All the more so as it takes a faltering step toward me. The movement jerky and unnatural. Then another. All the while that awful grinding sound.

I make a whimpering noise. The sound coming deep from my throat. It's not a noise I think I have ever made before.

I try to take a step backwards but He is behind me, his hands on my shoulders. Holding me in place.

I fall to my knees before it as it draws closer, towering over me, watching in terrified fascination as the huge stone appendage between its legs swings slowly upright.

Even though I am trembling with fear, I know what they want from me. Know what is expected. The stone feels cold in my hand. Colder still in my mouth.

I whimper as a huge three fingered claw closes around my neck. Then it twists me around, slamming my head down so hard on the floor that I black out briefly.

When I come round I can feel a sticky trail of blood on my forehead. Can feel my hips being lifted high in one giant stone hand. The other still pinning me to the floor by the back of my neck. I know what's coming and instinctively I raise my hips to ease it's passage. I feel the ice cold marble pressing against me. Surely it's too big? But I am slippery, and open and wet. Ready.

There is a brief, awful moment when I wonder if it is too much but then something gives and it surges hugely up into me, making me cry out. So deep. So cold.

It shafts me slowly. Savouring the feeling of my warm body, stretched almost beyond toleration around its thick stone length.

It is pain. Solid wall to wall pain but beneath it, a tiny dark rivulet of pleasure. I gasp as the cold spreads down through my thighs and up into my belly. The pain lessens, slowly being replaced with a forbidden black joy.

The rhythm is incessant, brutal. I feel my orgasm beginning to build. It bellows behind me. The noise so loud it feels like the very ground beneath me is shaking and I scream as I start to come...

~

I jerk upright with a horrified cry, eyes wide, heart pounding. It takes me a second to realise where I am. It takes me a moment longer to realise I am not alone. That someone is kneeling at my feet. I gasp, a sudden surge of terror like a fist of ice in my chest before logic kicks in. Just Tom. Just my fiancé Not another monster. Not Him.

Except there is something wrong. He is naked at my feet, his cock standing up thick and erect.

"What are you doing?"

He doesn't reply. Instead he drags the duvet roughly from the bed, flinging it aside. The sudden rush of cold air making my nipples stand up.

"Tom? What...", I gasp, even as he grips the waistband of my knickers and yanks them roughly from my body, almost pulling my hips from the bed with the force of it.

"Don't. You're going to tear them."

He yanks again, finally managing to drag them down to my knees before twisting me roughly over onto my front.

Then his weight is on my back, one hand guiding his hard cock and I gasp as he thrusts hard into me.

I know that I should be outraged but instead I find myself lifting my hips in an effort to take him deeper. Wanting to spread my legs wider but confined by the underwear still caught around my knees.

There is no tenderness to it. No skill. Just hard, relentless sex. Almost the polar opposite of how Tom normally treats me.

But to my shame I like it. I am still hot and excited from the dream and in no time at all I am at the brink of orgasm again. We come at the same time. Him grunting into my neck. Me moaning into the pillow.

Nothing is said. No words spoken. Eventually he rolls off of me and onto his side. His breathing slowly becoming deep and rhythmic. Only when I am sure he is asleep do I tiptoe to the bathroom.

I begin to sob as I sink slowly to the floor. My back against the cold wood of the door. Shoulders shaking. What is happening to me? That wasn't Tom. Kind, generous, loving Tom who is always such a gentlemen. Always treats me with nothing but respect. He would never treat me like that. And yet he had. I can still feel the tell tale wetness between my legs. The tightness in my nipples. What is happening to us?

~

October 31st

I am awoken early by the shower. Tom getting ready for work. For a moment it is just a normal day and I am warm and cosy and content. But then the events of the night begin to seep into my consciousness like a dark cloud.

I don't know how to feel. In fact, when I think about it, I don't even really understand how it happened. Did it happen? Or was it just an extension of my dream? I endeavour to ask Tom when he comes back but I am too tired and by the time he returns I am asleep.

Thankfully there are no more dreams but I am awoken by someone banging on my front door. Pounding on it so hard that it rattles in its frame. I am briefly paralysed by fear, stranded as I am in that place between sleep and waking. But then common sense takes over and I roll out of bed.

"Hang on, I'm coming" I cry, frantically dragging clothes on. Pulling my jeans up over my bare rump. My torn knickers discarded on the floor.

By the time I arrive downstairs there is no one there and I am out of breath. I fling the door wide anyway, peering both ways up and down the street. Nothing. Just the wind and a few scraggly looking pigeons that survey me with disinterest.

I close the door again, only then noticing the plain white envelope on the floor.

"Miss Anna Walsh".

I pick it up and pad barefoot to the kitchen. Pour myself coffee. The paper is good quality and when I bring it to my nose and sniff there is the faintest hint of cinnamon and I know it is from Him.

Carefully, I open the envelope. Tipping the contents onto the old oak of the kitchen table. There is a letter and a plain black card inside. Perhaps an invitation of some sort?

The letter is handwritten rather than typed. The writing looping and ornate.

"My dear Miss Walsh,

It is strange to be writing this letter when it feels that I already know you so well. Already know what it is that you desire. What it is that you dream of. What it is that you feel.

Lost. Confused. Seeking answers.

I long to meet you person. To help you. To give you what you need. The answers to your questions. The end to the dreams.

I will help you but you must not inform another living soul. My invitation is for you and you alone and I do not extend it lightly.

Yours,

T.T."

I pick up the black card and turn it over in my hand. At first glance it appears to be blank but as I tilt it into the light I can just make out some letters. Black embossed writing on black card. There is not much. Only three words and four numbers: "All Hallows. Allan. 14:54."

I ponder the words as I draw my legs up beneath me. What does it mean? How do I decipher it? Perhaps tellingly, the one thing I don't consider, not even for the briefest second, is whether or not I will go.

~

My sense of adventure piqued, I turn on my laptop and begin tracking down the meaning of the card. It takes under 10 minutes. All Hallows -- Halloween, which is today. Allan 14:54 can only mean Allan train station. A quick internet search reveals that it is about 4 hours away on a partially abandoned line. Only one of it's four platforms still in use. Only one train a day which, coincidentally, stops there today at exactly 14:54!

I look at the clock, already calculating timings. If I leave now, I might just have time to make it to the station. Might. But it has to be right now. I pause briefly, my only moment of indecision. It feels momentous somehow. Permanent.

But then I am moving. Scooping things into a bag. Toiletries, clothing, phone, purse. I throw a hooded top over my sleeping T shirt. Pull on socks and boots. No time to shower. Throw some underwear into the bag. Still bare beneath the tight denim of my jeans but no time.

I fleetingly consider leaving in a note for Tom but then remember the warning and quickly abandon the idea. I can always call him later.

When I leave the house, the weather seems worse than ever. Barely anyone on the streets or outside and by the time I arrive at the train station and pay for my ticket I am soaking wet and cold.

I board the train with 10 minutes still to spare. There are a few other people in the carriage but not many. No one that catches my eye at any rate.

It is only as I turn to look out of the window as the train pulls away that I see him. The Stranger. A couple of platforms over, watching me. Even the sight of him causes my breath to catch in my throat. A sudden quickening of my pulse.

He smiles at me and I feel a sudden rush of heat between my legs. The feeling amplified by the seam of my jeans biting between my crossed legs as I lean forward, watching him fade away.

~

It takes almost exactly 4 hours to get to Allan station. I take the time to dry out and try to snooze for a while. When finally we arrive I am the only person to alight and the rest of the platform is deserted.

As I stand alone in the rain, watching the train pull away I fleetingly wonder whether I am right or whether I have misinterpreted the message. There is nothing here. Nothing but gray and wind and rain and a feeling of a place that time has passed on by and left crumbling. Something from an earlier age. Darkness comes quickly. Settling like a blanket over the bleak surrounds of the station.

Once the last of the daylight has faded I hear it. Distant at first. A chuffing noise. A train, but slightly off somehow. Different. Surely it can't be a train? I know that there are no more due today. I checked. Yet still the noise gets louder. It is only when it rounds the bend and pulls slowly in to the station that it becomes apparent.

It is a steam train. A huge, black steam train that has stopped two platforms across from me, running on one of the abandoned lines. I hover for a second and then I am off, legs pumping. Racing for the bridge that will take me over to the correct platform.

When finally I get there, out of breath and panting, there is a door already open. Only the one. There is no sign of another living soul but I step through the door regardless. I have come this far and there is absolutely no way that I am going to spend the night on my own, on Halloween, at a deserted spooky train station. Screw that!

~

The carriage is devoid of life but it is warm. Plush. All red velvet and mirrors and brass. Like something straight out of a Victorian novel. In lieu of any further instructions I sit down, and, with a blast of its whistle, the train slowly pulls away from the station.

Despite my nervousness there is something magical about it. The smell of the coal maybe? The steam? Or maybe just the beauty of the old train and I fleetingly wonder how these amazing feats of engineering ever gave way to the monstrosities of today?

I try to look out of the window but a thick fog has descended. I get only the occasional glimpse of dark, deserted countryside. Once, high up, a glimpse of a huge steel bridge spanning a deep, rocky gorge. There is nothing looks familiar and I realise have no idea where we are or in which direction we are travelling.

~

Finally the train begins to slow, gradually drawing to a standstill. My door clicks and swings open, seemingly of it's own accord and I step out onto another deserted, wind swept platform. I should be afraid. I could be anywhere. There could be anyone watching me but for some reason I feel no fear.

There is only one way to go; a single, narrow, scrub filled path that I follow out of the station and onto a narrow track that winds snake like up the hill. It seems lighter here. More like dusk than night but when I go to check my watch I realise I have left it behind.

At the top of the track is what appears to be a man made cave, cut straight out of the rock of the hillside. There is no other way to go. No other path I can take. So, steeling myself, I step into the darkness.

Thankfully it doesn't last long and when I emerge, the view before me takes my breath away. The track continues upward, a few small outbuildings and then in the distance, the biggest, blackest, most foreboding castle I have ever seen! As though it has been lifted straight from a fairytale.

~

As I walk on I realise that what I had taken for an outbuilding is in fact an Inn. The door swings open as I draw near and a woman steps out to greet me. She is older than me. Kind faced and matronly with strong arms. The stereotypical image of a fairytale innkeepers wife.

"You must be Miss Walsh. I've been expecting you."

"Yes," I reply.

"Good. If you would care to follow me, I will show you to your room."

I follow her through a solid looking wooden door and into the bar area. There is an open fire in the grate, surrounded by a number of empty, old oak tables. There is only one other patron, an old man, who nods to me in greeting as we pass.

She shows me up some stairs and into a small, comfortable looking room, dominated by a huge, dark, four poster bed. At the foot of the bed is a large, empty brass bath.

I turn to ask where I am, what I am supposed to do now, but I am too late and she is already bustling her way back down the narrow staircase.

The bed is enormous. Enough room for four let alone one. I clamber on to it, only intending to relax for a moment, but all of a sudden I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me and before I know it my eyes flutter closed as drowsiness creeps over me.

~

I am in a hall of some sort. Everywhere I look are lights. There are many, many others there. Most are in Halloween costumes but my eye is drawn to a single figure.

She is unquestionably the most exotic woman I have ever seen. She is perched in a huge, throne like chair, a drink in her hand. In conversation with what appears to be someone dressed as a dwarf.

Her features are almost oriental. Glossy black hair and high cheek bones with slanted feline eyes. Unlike the other revellers she wears no costume or mask or jewellery. Even her feet are bare. The only thing she has on is a black catsuit, so tight that it could have been painted on to her.

Her body is incredible. Her figure petite yet well muscled. Like a gymnast, or professional athlete. High, full breasts on an otherwise boyish frame.

There is something odd about her mannerisms though. They are slightly off, jerky. Something almost reptilian about her movements. Yet for all that she is easily the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

She turns to look at me, her eyes locking on mine, tongue flickering briefly across her lips.

I recoil in shock. Her tongue is black and long. Forked like that of a lizard. I see her smirk at my reaction before she turns her attention back to the dwarf and my vision fades.

~

I don't know what happens but when my senses return the location has changed again and I am at the end of a long, narrow room. Mirrors line the walls from floor to ceiling. He is there. Watching me. In front of him, the same woman from the hall.

I stand facing the mirror. Watching their reflections behind me. Slowly she begins to pad toward me, the slightest sway to her hips. Again, my breath catches in my throat at her beauty.

She doesn't speak at all and I watch her draw closer and closer in the mirror until she is standing directly behind me. Up close her eyes are black. It takes me a second to realise that she has no iris, just huge, inky pupils. The effect is creepy. Unnerving.

I jump a little as she reaches up and eases the brown curtain of my hair aside, bearing the porcelain white flesh of my neck. Her nails are long. Talon like. She sees me looking and smiles, her teeth small and white and pointed.

I continue to observe her as she reaches forward, her forefinger going to the nape of my neck. My breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Slowly she draws it all the way down the length of my body and down and my dress and underwear are pared from me, parting as if she had used a knife. Falling to pool at my feet.

I stiffen as her hand slides around my ribcage and up to my breast. Remembering the way the talon had sliced my clothing. But the touch of her finger on my nipple is gentle and I shudder in surprised pleasure as it becomes erect.

I have never felt an attraction to another woman before and the feeling is alien, unsettling. She watches my eyes in the mirror as though sensing my indecision. I know that she wants me and despite my nervousness I am curious enough to let her continue.

I allow her to ease me forward, bracing my hands against the cool glass. My eyes still on her in the mirror as she drops to her knees behind me.

She hesitates, allowing me to dwell for a moment before her hands go to my bottom and spread me a little. I arch my back to give her better access, anticipating her intention. Willing her to continue.

The touch of her mouth, when it comes, is not what what I expect. Higher. Unfamiliar. Probing. My eyes widen with shock.

"Oh...that way. No one has...I've never..," I stutter.

There is the briefest moment of slick, viscous pressure between my buttocks as her tongue licks slowly across my anus, the unfamiliar sensation making me gasp.

There is something undeniably erotic and taboo about it. We have not spoken a word. Have not even kissed, yet I can feel the heat of her breath back there against me. Her mouth right up against that forbidden place and I squirm a little. Knowing what is coming.

She does it slowly. Almost leisurely. Pushing her tongue impossibly far into me and then back out before repeating the process. I am shocked at how good it feels.

My reflection in the mirror is staggeringly erotic. I barely even recognise it as being me. My nipples jut out, hard and erect, my entire front flushed with arousal from neck to belly. I can see her in the mirror too, kneeling between my wide spread legs.

My hips rock slowly back and forth in time with the movement of her tongue. Each time it goes into me it is deeper than the time before, soon every inward motion driving me up onto the balls of my feet.

Her hands come up to squeeze my breasts, tugging sharply down on my nipples, elongating them as I whimper with pleasure, pressing myself back onto her mouth. Her nails drag down my rib cage, making me shiver, her fingers finally coming to rest between my legs. As she strokes me I notice that her skin has just the slightest roughness, the friction thrilling me almost beyond toleration.

I can feel that long black tongue churning around high up inside my belly somewhere. Can even see the movement in the mirror. I let out a long groan. Completely lost in the waves of pleasure that are beginning to wash over me.

I wonder fleetingly if she is going to kill me. I am positive she could if she chose to. Is this how I am going to die? Her claws piercing my flesh. That hideous black tongue pushing all the way up through me?

Either way I am going to come. Can feel it building in every muscle in my body.

However, this time it is different. They do not give me my release. Instead I hear only the faint strains of her melodic laughter as I wake on my front in the strange bed, still at the brink of orgasm.

I know I should be appalled. Should run from this place. Back to Tom. Anywhere. Instead my hand goes down between my legs and finds my clit. I moan out loud. So close, but not quite the same. Why did I have to wake up?

I reach back with my free hand easing first one finger, then another into my body. Trying to replicate the feeling of her tongue. Touching myself there. It tips me over and I come but my orgasm is weak, empty by comparison and I moan in frustration, quickly frigging myself to another orgasm, then another. Still not satisfied.

The only thing that stops me carrying on is a sharp rap at the door.

~

When I open it there is nothing but a note and a costume on a hanger. It is a simple, black silk dress and a silver mask. There are also shoes. Delicate black high heeled sandles.

The note is simple: "The Festivities will commence at midnight. Now bathe, dress."

I turn toward the bath, noting how it is now filled with hot, steaming water. How? When? My skin feels sweaty and clammy from my recent exertions and I remember that I didn't have a chance to shower this morning. I quickly I strip off my remaining clothes and step into the hot water, luxuriating in it's warmth.

After bathing I look again at the outfit that is laid out before me. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I set about trying it on.

Whoever has picked out these clothes for me has impeccable taste. They fit perfectly. The thin silk of the dress hugs my petite figure, covering me but leaving little to the imagination. There is no underwear with the costume so I surmise that I am not intended to wear any.

The heels really are very high but they make me look taller than my normal 5'5". My legs look long and shapely. The height of the heels forcing me to pull my shoulders back, improving my posture and jutting my breasts out so that they look fuller than their normal B Cup.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I am still hugely and obviously turned on. Chest flushed. The shape of my nipples clearly visible beneath the dress. I feel a frisson of excitement at the prospect of going out like this in public.

Thank god for the mask. The only thing that may preserve my dignity. At least no one will know who I am and I can hide my face.

I try not to think about Him. What he will say. Those dark, knowing eyes. Whatever happens, I must maintain my composure. I am only here to find out what is happening to me. How I can stop it. I am not here for Him. Above all, I must not let him touch me. Or kiss me. Or fuck me...

~

My bright red lipstick is the only addition I make to the ensemble. I pause to pout in the mirror one final time before descending the stairs and striding through the door. Determined this time to get some answers.

The woman behind the bar looks up as I enter. Pouring something into a glass and placing it before me.

"Here, my dear. Drink this. It will help to calm your nerves."

"Thank you," I respond, taking the proffered drink. "My nerves are fine though. I was hoping you could tell me where I am? What I am supposed to do next?"

She only looks blankly back at me. I re-state my question but still she doesn't respond other than to smile benignly at me.

"She can't," rasps the old man from his spot across the bar where he is nursing a pint of deep, red ale, "That isn't the way of things here."

"Where is here? Where are we?"

"Here?" he says, with a rueful chuckle. "This is an in between place."

"An in between place?"

"Yes. Samhainn. The night that the "veil" between the seen and the unseen is at its thinnest."

"Sow-een?"

"Or All Hallows Eve, Hallow e'en."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It is the night that they are able to cross between. Him, and the rest of his ilk. It is also the time that people such as you can cross the other way.

"Such as me?"

"The lost. The confused. Those that are in that liminal space. Neither one thing or another. Ripe for him. Like you. I can see how ripe you are for him. Can almost smell you," he chuckles.

I flush at his words.

"I don't know what you mean. I am only here because I want to be. I'm not 'ripe' for anyone!"

He lets out another lewd chuckle at my indignation.

"No? Do you really think you can resist him if he wants you? Really think that he wont have every hole of you and still have you begging for more?"

"That's disgusting" I stutter, turning my back on him.

"Maybe," he says "But you are in a great deal of danger. Open your eyes little girl, before it is too late."

"Oh shut up. I'm not listening to another word of this nonsense" I hiss, downing my drink and storming out through the door. Flustered by the bizarre conversation.

~

The walk to the castle passes as though I am dreaming. One minute I am stepping out of the Inn, the next I am there. Standing before a huge pair of wooden doors. A single attendant waiting for me.

It is only then that I realise that I am completely dry even though the rain is driving down so hard that I can barely hear anything else. But then there is the sound of bells ringing for midnight and the thought is forgotten as the doors swing wide and I step over the threshold and into a wonder.

~

November 1st

The room is enormous. Spectacular. Every last surface shimmers with light from a thousand lanterns. The air itself is cool and crisp and perfect. Permeated with scents and sounds to entice and enchant.

And the costumes! I have never seen anything like it. Everywhere are goblins and witches and giants and all manner of incredible creatures. It is like a fairytale. As though they are not costumes at all. My own attire feels shabby by comparison.

At least I am not alone though. There are almost as many people with masks as there are in costume.

Someone presses a drink into my hand as I enter. Despite its size, the room feels intimate. The guests are few enough that they remain individual people rather than a vast crowd. Everywhere there are smiles and the sounds of laughter.

Then there is the music. Beautiful and bewitching, like nothing I have ever heard. The sounds blending perfectly. By turns euphonious, rhythmic, melancholy. There is dancing too.

I lose track of the number of partners and remember none. But all move with a rare grace and flow and I struggle to keep up. Whirling me around. A hand on my hip. A gentle caress on my neck. A hand high on my bare thigh. Never has dancing been so sensual, so carnal. Almost like foreplay. I dance until my head is spinning.

When finally I excuse myself I am flushed with arousal. My nipples standing up hard and erect beneath my dress once more.

Somehow there is always a drink in my hand. A delicious, pungent, spiced wine that coats my palate. Thick and sweet on my tongue.

Then I see him. He is standing talking to a woman. Deep in conversation. I experience a moment of deja vu before I realise that I know her. When that realisation comes I gasp and take an involuntary step back. She is the woman from my dream.

It is at this exact moment that both of them look up. I feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights under their combined gaze. The woman lets out a knowing smirk as her eyes meet mine and I find myself blushing furiously, still remembering what she was doing when last I saw her.

She turns and whispers something to Him before taking a sip of her drink. To my considerable relief I note that when she licks her lips her tongue is pink and normal rather than black and lizard like. But then he smiles and moves toward me and the rest of the room is forgotten.

~

Up close he is even more beautiful. He is tall. Slim hipped and broad shouldered. Even the way he moves sends a tight rush of arousal straight through me. Graceful, like a dancer. He smiles knowingly as he takes my hand, his eyes on mine the entire time as he raises it to his lips.

"Miss Walsh. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance in person. Please, come. You must have many questions."

"Yes" I stammer in response. Allowing him to lead me by the hand away from the party, through an archway, down another corridor that opens out into another room.

I belatedly realise that he has led me to a bedroom. All red silk, cinnamon and candles.

"What's happening to me? Where are we?" I ask as he steps closer. His hand reaching out, peeling the mask from my eyes, tilting my chin up toward him.

"Shh. All in good time," he says, leaning in, planting a light kiss on my mouth. Then another.

"No. Stop," I stutter. A hand on his chest. It feels hot against my palm. The muscles hard beneath his shirt.

"You don't want it?" he says, walking me back across the room until I feel the bed against the backs of my legs.

"No. I... you promised me answers..." my voice doesn't even sound convincing to me.

"Which you will get..."

He steps closer. His body pressing against me. I have nowhere to go other than on to the bed. He really does have the most beautiful eyes. Brown. Or blue. Maybe grey? Then he kisses me again and I am lost. I kiss him back hungrily.

I can't help but moan into his mouth with desire. My skin is burning hot. Tingling. The slightest touch from his fingertips on my neck, the brush of his lips against my ear sends hot little pulses of excitement straight to my groin.

When finally he eases me back, onto the bed, the only sound I make is a very soft, very acquiescent moan. He lifts my dress. Pushes my legs back and apart. I let him.

"What are you going to do to me?" I whisper.

"I think you know," he replies, dipping down. The slow swirl of his tongue across my clit making me cry out before he raises his head again.

"I want you to tell me."

He smiles, amused.

"First I'm going to have you here," he says, his fingertips tracing over my mouth and then down, over my collarbone. Slowly dragging down the length of my body.

"Then here..," as they reach my sex, dipping briefly into me. I spread my legs wider as his fingers continue their downward journey.

"Then finally, here," smearing my moisture over the tight star of my anus. Circling.

I can only groan in response. His slightest touch has me burning up and by the time he straightens up to remove his clothes I am almost panting with lust.

His body is flawless. Smooth sculpted muscle. I draw a sharp intake of breath as his cock swings upright. Hard, erect and perfect. He is big too. Considerably bigger than any of my previous lovers and I fleetingly wonder whether he is too large?

It is only a momentary thought though as he moves in between my legs. There is no fumbling. No need to guide him with my hand. He finds me with ease and slides in, deep.

I come immediately. No build up, just instant orgasm ripping straight through me. Stretched so wide that I can barely clamp down on him but it doesn't matter.

He leans forward and sucks my hard nipples up into his mouth. One and then the other. I buck my hips up at him almost uncontrollably as he fucks me with unequalled skill. Occasionally leaning in to kiss me. Occasionally pulling out to feed his wet prick into my willing mouth or to change my position.

But never does he let my excitement drop. He is an artist. A magician. The way he plays my body, slowly ratcheting up my excitement. I beg, I moan, sometimes I scream yet still it goes on.

As promised, there is nothing that he doesn't do to me. His tongue explores every inch of my body. Every crevice. I have never been with anyone with such skill. Such an ability to turn me on. He only has to touch me and I am in heat.

I lose track of the number of times I orgasm. I come as he sucks on my nipples. Come as he licks me. Come over and over on his cock. I even come when he buggers me. On my knees and then again on my back, his cock buried deep in my rump as I scream my pleasure. My orgasms are long, intense, almost painful. They leave me gasping for breath, my whole body shaking.

All the time he talks. Sometimes in English, sometimes French or what sounds like Latin. Sometimes in a strange, guttural language that I don't understand. I talk too. Begging. Promising. So many other words I can't remember.

Still he goes on. His stamina is impossible. I am exhausted. Barely able to think and when finally he takes his pleasure, finishing in my mouth I can barely even stand. The last thing I recall as I lapse into u*********sness is the soft, chanting rhythm of his voice.

~

When I awake it is daylight and things feel...different. It is as though the fog that has been over me for the last month has dissipated a little. I rub my eyes and stretch out. Slowly taking in my surroundings.

I am still in his bed and he is still there, watching me. I jump slightly. Surely he wasn't there a second ago? There seems something different about him today too. A different cast to his mouth perhaps? Or maybe just my imagination.

"Oh god. What time is it? I need to go home"

He just laughs.

"No really. I didn't even tell me fiancé I would be out."

"That doesn't matter now" he says, looming over me. "You cannot leave."

"What do you mean?"

He smiles, cruelly.

"You made a pact. You are bound to me."

"I don't think so. I'm not 'bound' to anyone but my fiancé"

He laughs again. The sound unpleasant. Cruel. Mocking.

"Leave then."

"Fine."

I get up, still naked but angry enough not to care as I stalk toward the door. But when I get there, when I try and step out, I find I can't. It's almost like my body just won't obey me.

He laughs at my confusion.

"You made a promise."

"What? No. I can't... it was just words."

He chuckles.

"Silly girl. You are not on your world now. There is no such thing as 'just' words here. Words are everything. You must sense it."

I shake my head. It can't be. But somehow I feel it. Somehow I know he speaks the truth. I look up at his face, tears forming in my eyes. I retreat onto the bed. Wrap the covers around me to hide my nakedness.

"Yes. Now you begin to understand."

"I...You...you...tricked me!"

"Indeed. It is what I do. My nature if you will."

"Who are you?"

"I have many names. Loki. Coyote. Raven. Mercurius. Many others. The one I prefer is the Trickster. But my name is irrelevant. All that matters is that you, foolish girl, are mine."

"No."

"Yes."

"You don't have to do this. You could send me back. You have the power to send me back."

"I could," he concedes, "But why would I?"

"Please," I implore, looking up into his eyes. For a fleeting second I see... something else. Not him.

He only grins.

"Yes. Finally you begin to see through the illusion."

"What are you?"

"I have already told you. And this?" he shrugs, "is just a costume. To serve a purpose." his voice deepening, features changing.

I gasp, wriggling backward across the bed and away from him as his skin bulges outward. Thick churning ridges forming beneath it. I stare in horrified shock as his limbs shorten before my eyes. Head expanding. Thick, course black hair sprouts from his chest and chin and belly.

I gag as his skin splits. Bile rising in the back of my throat as he sheds it like a snake, tossing it aside.

What stands before me is grotesque. Monstrous. His features vaguely dwarf like. Thick, hairy chest and broad shoulders. Arms and legs shortened and gnarled with huge muscles. His head too large and grossly misshapen. I try not to look between his legs, naked as he is before me.

His face is leathery. Ancient. Cruel.

"This is my true form. Or at least the closest approximation of it I can take without driving you completely insane," he grins.

I am frozen. A deer caught in headlights. I fleetingly wonder at this statement. Surely I have already gone insane? None of this is possible yet I know, deep in my bones that it is. I let out a sob.

He laughs as he looks upon me.

"What, you find me repulsive? You preferred this?" he says, lifting the discarded skin beside him. Tossing it next to me on the bed. I gag, twitching away from it. The covers falling from my still naked body.

"Do not play the innocent girl. I still remember how you felt writhing beneath me. I will feel that again."

"Never," I hiss.

"Come now. Do you not want to return home? To see your family. Your fiancé?"

"I..."

"Do as I say. Strike a new bargain and when next the veil is at it's thinnest I will return you."

"What...what do you want from me?"

"Only what you have already been so willing to give for the past month."

I blush at his words. His grin is cruel. My eyes flicker down to the thick, vein wrapped penis hanging between his squat thighs. It is repulsive.

"That..."

"Not just that."

I follow his eyes even as he steps toward me, only now noting the marble statues that line the wall. The same as the one in my dream.

"The dreams..."

"Yes, just like in the dreams"

I recoil as he places a leathery palm on me.

"You remember the dreams?"

I remember. My body remembers.

"Will you accept the bargain?"

"I...you will return me?"

"Yes."

"Unharmed?"

"Yes."

I have no choice. There is nothing I can do. I don't want to give in to him yet what can I do? I cannot remain trapped here. Will not. So I whisper my acceptance.

His knowing smile sends a jolt of shame through me but I allow him to lay me back on the bed, watching in horrified fascination as his penis swings upright. Thick and glistening with pre cum, wickedly curved.

He shuffles in between my wide spread legs and I turn my face away. I will not look at him. Will not give him the pleasure. Will make no sound, display no reaction.

But when he eases into me it is impossible. Despite his changed appearance he has lost none of his skill. None of his artistry and I am undone. Betrayed by the reaction of my body to his touch.

It is not me that screams, and rants and moans. Not me that flops uselessly beneath him in multiple orgasm, each one stronger than the last. It is not me that squirts all over his hairy stomach and chest, moaning out my pleasure as it happens again and then again.

All the while the cold stone eyes of the statues watch us. Only when he has spent his pleasure inside me do they come. The statues, the woman, others.

~

30th April

Tomorrow I return. Beltaine When the veil is at its weakest. He will keep his bargain and I will go home. Back to my family, back to my fiancé if I still have one. The prospect terrifies me.

He has used me to satisfy his lust. Used me in ways that I would have thought unimaginable before and for nothing but his own perverted gratification. Yet I have come to crave his touch. Crave what he does to me, what they do to me. I don't know if I can cope without it?

When I made my bargain I was certain it was all I could do. The only choice I could make. The only option available to me. But now I am not so sure.

It is only now, as I realise that I must leave this place, leave him forever, that I realise what I have done. I don't want to leave. Don't want to go back. The irony is that it is all my own doing. My bargain, and only now do I truly appreciate the cruelty of his final trick..