Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Â(C) Copyright Rosslyn Gaunt 2006 All Rights Reserved.

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   Dreams and Loves Images (MF rape)

   It is a hazy summers evening and the cool winds drifting in from the sea
breathe upon the drying leaves to a sound like the rustling of the fabled
Jarnvid wood and its bright metallic sheen.  Across the sapphire waters the
pale sun sheds yellow tears, that spill among the clouds in a bright and
liquid symbol to mark the passing of another day.

   The gradually lengthening shadows reach toward the night, the first
faint sign of which is a single low star as pale as the sky is blue.  All
around stillness reigns.  Beneath, the green of the forest spills down to
merge with the yellow sands at the water -(TM)s edge, while behind, the
tree covered slopes rise up majestically to pierce the clouds cresting the
hill tops.  In the midst of this profusion the house, its trestled features
caressed by a patchwork quilt of light and shade, sits alone and apart,
inwardly contemplative of itself.

   Dusk, the time when day and night are held in perfect balance, lasts for
what to human eyes is but a moment -(TM)s peace.  All the world seems
subtly changed, transformed by delicate shades of mist and colour, as
Nature reasserts herself assuming an air of quiet reflective melancholy.

   For the shadowed sky turns purple, the stars burn a little more fierce
and the house on the hill adds its own lights to the transient reflections
in the sea.  Soon the scattered remnants of the day are gone and, in their
place the full-brimmed goddess of the night stretches out her ample arms to
cover all and weave a spell of darkness to lull tired minds from sight.

   *

   As time speeds apace the stars emerge in the fullness of their youth and
the night becomes complete as the lights in the house dim.  Across the
distant waters the clouds gather for what seems an age creating a brooding
sense of mystery in front of the world upon the shore.

   Thoughts taking shape from our minds lightly inhabit a place on the edge
of our knowing as, deep among the trees, the house lies bathed in shadow,
an indistinct web that flickers and passes with the motion of the wind in
the branches above.  It is old and moss grows on the damp stone walls and
ivy clings above the windows; and we watch in the glass as an reflected
image of the moon rises up from the sea, spilling a silvery light across
the water, to give an added dimension to the night.

   Inside the house the shadows soften in her room as the moon comes and
peeps above the window sill while she sleeps, pure and simple with
moonbeams in her hair.  Her hair, which lies upon the pillow, black
threaded with silver, in disarray adorns her face.  Her lips part as she
lightly breathes and her skin glows at the touch of the moon as it follows
the gentle curves of her body above the sheet that covers her hips.  For a
brief moment she lies enshrined on the bed, her face serene and childlike.
Then there is a movement at the edge of our vision and a shadow crosses the
light to plunge her into darkness and to night.

   Entering the room, he stands silently beside the bed and looks down at
her.  Reaching out he pulls the covering away from her body and she lies
open beneath his gaze, a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips, as if in
response to some elusive dream or passing happy memory.  In the moonlight
we see him to be no more than a boy with a hesitant desire in his eyes as
he slips the straps of her nightdress from her shoulders and slides the
fine material down, laying bare the softness of her skin.

   Her breasts, pale and firm, rise with the regular motion of her
breathing as he stands naked, transfixed by the silver crucifix that lies
in the valley between.  For a moment this halts him, then he gently
unclasps it from behind her neck and lifts it away with an emotion almost
akin to reverence.  Cautiously his fingers caress her breast and the nipple
responds, as in the recesses of her mind she turns to meet his touch.

   Seeing her movement, a look of determination comes over his face, and
using the knife in his other hand he slits her night-dress apart and lays
it open at her side.  The deft touch of the moon still warms her skin,
exposing her mercilessly to his eyes and enhancing beauty where perhaps it
would have been better for her to have had none.

   He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between her legs, and her perfume
envelopes him with a sweet and heady fragrance almost overpowering in her
femininity, as their bodies touch, living and clash.  With childlike
innocence she sighs and makes way beneath him waking a little as she
sensuously opens her legs wider to bring them up around his waist.

   As he enters her she holds him close, his hand resting on her thigh, her
dark hair gleaming in the moonlight.  Together they begin to move as one
and she, her mind still intent on following her dream, responds submissive
to his touch, casting herself wide as their passions rise.

   With a pleasure that is born of rich pain, she lifts up on a sea of joy,
giving herself completely and uncaring.  Her body glistens in the moonlight
and her eyes open as her back arcs and she cries out as she presses near,
swept away to such heights that when she falls back to sensibility frail
weakness replaces passion and waking dreams.

   The surprise in her eyes turns to an undisguised fear and disgust as
drawing back she pushes him away with revulsion and slipping off the bed
beyond his reach runs towards the door.

   Her night-dress hangs like gossamer around her flashing legs and
swinging breasts as she bends to elude him in the darkened room.

   As she opens the door starlight bursts in to mingle with the shafts of
the moon within.  Standing on the verge of the hushed night, outlined
against the sky, she looks briefly back to see him, almost as frightened of
her as she is of him, as he steps toward her to stop her from crying out
loud.

   More from repugnance at his touch than any fear of harm she turns and
runs down the pathway leading away from the house.  The soles of her feet
leave imprints in the crushed grass that slowly curl upward behind her
after she has passed.  Seen from a distance she looks even more beautiful
in her anguish than she did before, so although we grieve for her pain we
can only love her and desire her more.

   By the light of the stars she runs, like a silver nymph at play, down
towards the sea where the darkness lies most dense.  Swiftly she becomes as
one with the forest and the night hides all terror of the house and its
occupants.  Here, with the mingled scent of the sea around, she stops for a
moment and allows the matted shadows from above to cover her nakedness as
she stands and listens to the muted voices of the forest and the breakers
in the sea.

   A single tear forms and rolls liquid down the smooth curve of her cheek
to disappear into the depths below.  Her eyes close and then open again as
she walks through the clutching branches and wipes the tear away.  The cool
dew gathers on the leaves and spills onto her skin as she passes.

   Her sadness is hidden and her shame complete and her only hope of
salvation rests in the murmur of a rippling stream, the faint voice of
which can be distantly heard among the trees ahead.

   Here in the darkness at least her face cannot be seen.  Suddenly the
trees draw back and arch above her head to form a vaulting cavern at the
centre of which the pool lies inky black.  A clear running stream drops by
levels to mingle with the dark waters in a gentle melody and, to complete
the effect; the moon shines through the trees above to suffuse the scene
with a ghostly filtered light.

   Standing at the edge of the pool she casts the remains of her
night-dress aside and enters the dark waters with barely a sound.  The
water, like the night, is soft and pure and closes in to envelop and caress
her.  She pushes out to the centre and dives beneath its surface, coming up
several feet away with a flick of her head to clear the water from her
eyes. The splash sends black ripples across the still surface and her legs
rise up and she floats, moving forward slowly propelled by her arms.  Her
hair splays out and then behind in an elegant spiral about her head, while
from the bank bright eyes, small and furtive, watch warily before running
away into the darkness as she emerges from the water, which runs in
rivulets down her skin, like a classical Venus from the waves.

   Leaving her night-dress where it fell on the ground she makes her way
along the course of the stream to where it empties out onto the beach and
into the sea.  The tide, having reached its height, is already on the turn
and the sand is hard and cool beneath her feet.  On one side the palms
merge into the trees and on the other the moonlight shimmers across the
water giving life to her thoughts and evoking memories of happier times.

   In such a solitary spot she has no fear of being disturbed by the
presence of the other and yet in her mind she can see the footsteps in the
sand, now washed away, so clearly that her emotions tremble for expression
and a sad detachment casts a lily-white shroud across her thoughts.

   Brought forth from the mouth of the sea, and cast up on the shore during
a mighty storm, the tree lies, it's roots half buried in the sand, as if
awaiting her coming from before the beginning of time.  She sits beside it
and rests her head against its bark, rough against her cheek.  In the sky
above the stars look down with a kindly gaze, the moon continues to shed
tears across the water and the wind brushes softly through her hair.  But
as she turns her head all she can see are mocking eyes staring back at her
as it to remind her of hopes and dreams destined to be unfulfilled, and a
vengeful God and humanity his plaything.

   The sound of the breakers on the beach rouses her from her
introspection. With a sudden clarity she knows what she must do and rising
she walks down to the oceans edge.  With a surging roar the waves rush
forward across the rippled sand, almost up to where she stands, and after a
brief titanic struggle fall back, hissing and dancing to return again
undaunted.  She feels dwarfed by the power and size of the ocean and
observes, in a detached fashion, how each sweep of the waves restores the
sand to its original innocence destroying all imperfections in its path.

   The sea was warm and welcoming as she waded out into it.  It came up to
her waist and washed and cleansed her externally.  Leaning into its embrace
with powerful strokes she swam against the force of the breakers out toward
the welcoming moon.  She continued to swim for what seemed like hours,
though in reality only a few minutes passed, revelling in the caress of the
ocean and its pristine clarity.  We glance away to where the face of the
moon begins to grow pale resting its chin on the ocean -(TM)s curve and
when we look back again we can see her no more.

   *

   Time passes and, as if looking down from a great height, we observe her
body floating face down in the water surrounded by a fantastic myriad of
lights that constantly change and adjust as they circle her pale slim form.
It is as if in the midst of the night she has been transfigured and has
finally found the peace and acceptance that she so craved for in life.

   Meanwhile the world goes on and the stars continue to revolve in the
circling sky above as if to remind us that, though the individual parts may
die, the whole forever lives on.  We are but fragments of a greater unity
returning from whence we came when our time is done.