Dream Lover by Kristina Wright (ed) Page B

chandelier. The music was quieter now, floating around us like an enchantment. Everything else was silent, even the city outside. We seemed to be suspended in another place, removed from reality.
    “Peter wants you here,” said Merrick. “Here in your cunt. Do you want him?”
    I nodded, unsure of what I meant.
    “And I want you in your ass,” he said. “Do you trust me? Trust both of us?”
    “I don’t know what I’m dealing with.”
    “Do you care?” he asked.
    “Not much,” I said.
    “Get on the floor,” he said gently. “Take off your panties then get on the floor. Show me your ass. Tell me your name.”
    In a daze, I stepped out of my underwear, struggling for my name. I knew I wasn’t Dora Niehoff. I was someone else. But that was the first name that came to me: Dora Niehoff, the woman who’d jumped from her window on hearing that her lover had drowned.
    “I’m Rachel,” I said. “Rachel Niehoff. No, that’s wrong.” I kneeled on all fours, raising my skirt to bare my butt. I heard Merrick undressing. I fought to concentrate on who I was. “I’m Rachel Walters,” I said. “I think I’m Rachel Walters.”
    Merrick kneeled behind me and plunged his fingers into my wetness. “That’s good,” he said. “You’re losing it. And now I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t know at all, won’t know who you are anymore. Won’t even care.”
    I moaned loudly, wanting to be in that place where I was so lost to pleasure I was lost to myself. I thought about falling from the window again, falling into death and water and Peter. And I knew this time it would be okay because someone would catch me.

    Merrick slicked my juices backward and moistened my ass, his fingers nudging at my narrow entrance. Then I was groaning in shocked bliss as something or someone penetrated my cunt, filling me and opening me out. It wasn’t Merrick, it was Peter, the ghost of him or some manifestation of his spirit, and he was inside me and on me, fucking and licking and taking me to wild, new heights. I gasped and cried, the distinction between reality and impossibility growing hazier by the second.
    I felt Merrick’s cock slap against my ass and slide along the split of my cheeks. That was real, that was possible. Suddenly, I was so moist there and Merrick was trying to nudge his way in. Sparks of pain snagged at my opening. I didn’t think I could take him, I was already too full. Peter in my cunt was bigger than anything I’d ever known. Then I realized I could take Merrick because I was expanding around him, my circlet of muscles hugging the thick, slippery length of him as he rushed into my darkest, tightest hole.
    I held still, trying to absorb the immensity of sensation and how dense I felt at my core. I almost forgot to breathe. My body was packed to its maximum, and when Merrick started to thrust, Peter’s invisible touch surrounded my clit. Unseen lips pulsed on me, a touch like velvety water.
    Merrick tipped me back so I sat astride his thighs. He caressed my breasts as I rose and fell on his cock, chasing my peak while the other thing, Peter or whatever it was, swamped me with delirious luxury. Merrick’s groans mingled with my own, the eerie music still winding around us, then something changed for him. I heard it happen. A softer breath escaped him, a moan of incredulous pleasure. I caught the word, a barely audible whisper: “Dora.” And I understood she was on him and in him and around him just as Peter was with me.
    I rode harder, sinking deep, the nearness of my orgasm
bunching in my thighs. Tension fluttered, making me high and woozy, then Peter pushed me over the edge and I was plunging into ecstasy, falling long and fast. I felt as if all the world’s history was being dragged into a vortex within me, then all the pleasures in that history were scattering through my body in a billion fragments of bliss. For a moment I was Dora, hurtling past blurred windows, desperate to be with Peter.