Thread: Isolda's Eyes (Constructive Comments Welcome)

Isoldas Eyes I wake from a dreamless sleep, my body covered in a cold sweat. As I become aware of my surroundings I find myself lying on the bed. There are dark crimson stains on the sheets. I know that they are from droplets of spilt blood from my wife Ann I get out of bed and walk to the small oak dresser. I open the drawer and slide my finger in the gap underneath it. I find the envelope and open it. I look at the picture it contains and re-read the letter. This is where it began. I had come across the letter by accident. Ann had just left for the day shed gone into town to get some new oil paints for her latest project. She was being unusually secretive about it, keeping the study door locked. She had denied me entry for two weeks now. I work as an accountant in a local branch of a building society the Nationwide to be precise. I had taken the morning off to de-weed the garden. It was getting near autumn and soon the weather would turn cold and wet, preventing me from comfortably doing any more work on it. I would have pushed for the whole day but there was an important meeting in the afternoon regarding the current financial crisis that was not just affecting us, but a lot of other banks and building societies in the U.K. Now I was due back at work in two hours and was trying to find my wifes engagement ring. She had broken the stone off it a month ago and I was going to take it to be fixed and surprise her with it when I came home from work. I knew she kept it in the drawer of the dresser next to her makeup. I opened the draw and as I did so a plain white envelope slid from under it and fell on the floor. The envelope had a distinctive scent about it. Sweet and slightly musky with a hint of lavender and something else that I could not quite describe, even to myself. It was definitely a feminine scent but unlike any perfume Ann had ever worn. In neat black letters on the side of the envelope was written simply Ann. No address. It must have been hand delivered at some point. I opened it and pulled out a short note written on plain white A3 paper- Dear Ann, I hope you enjoyed our rendezvous last night. I look forward to seeing you again on Friday. In the meantime I came across this picture and it reminded me of you. Hope you enjoy it. Yours eternally, Isolda. There was a photograph with the note. It was taken in a fairly bare room with stone floor and walls. In the room had been erected a wooden structure. It comprised of two beams of wood criss-crossing each other to form an X. A third beam was placed vertically through the centre of the X and the structure was held upright by means of a strong metal support. The main focus of the picture was a young girl of about eighteen. She was naked and bound to the X at the wrists and ankles with what appeared to be iron manacles. Her head was raised slightly and fixed in place by a rope around her neck which was tied to the vertical part of the beam. The rope looked tight enough to restrict movement without entirely strangling the girl. There was another woman in the picture. She was also naked except for a featureless white mask which she wore to obscure her features. She held a white handled knife against the girls stomach just above the navel. The knife had pierced the flesh on the girls pale body as a small amount blood tickled down to moisten her chestnut coloured pubic hair. The expression on the girls face was one of apparently genuine fear. I felt both disturbed and aroused by the image. The sender of the note, a woman apparently by the name of Isolda, had planned to meet my wife again on Friday. Today was Friday. I was both shocked by the fact that my wife would have kept something like this from me, disturbed by the fact that she was receiving such material as the photograph and obviously not offended by it, and troubled by the possibility that not only could she be cheating on me, but that she had been having an affair with another woman. Ann and I had been married for four years and in all that time she had never shown any interest in SM and had shown no sexual interest in women. I decided to take her ring to be mended anyway and talk to her about the letter when I returned home from work. I put the letter and photo back in the envelope, retrieved her ring, put the envelope back in its hiding place in the gap under the drawer and left for work. I leave the bedroom and walk to the study. I feel weak and incredibly thirsty. I enter the study where the picture still sits on its easel. I gaze into the eyes of the subject in the painting and contemplate the first time I saw them. It was a lavishly decorated room, with dark blue velvet curtains over large windows dominating one wall. A chair had been placed in the centre of the dark oak floor and this is where the subject posed. She was half-sitting half standing with her delicate back arched, supporting herself with smooth arms that rested on the back of the chair. She was naked except for a pair of long black stockings that hugged her smooth, white thighs like a second skin. Her arched body was the perfect embodiment of feminine beauty. It was smooth and unblemished, supple and soft, slim but not skeletal. Her breasts stood out from her chest, the dark red nipples erect with excitement. Her legs were parted showing a moistened, shaven sex. Her angelic face would have been the picture of purest innocence if it were not for the erotic nature of her pose, and the smouldering, soul-searching darkness of her eyes. They were large and dark, full of life. Ann had never painted people before. She was a wildlife painter and had the unusual ability to capture the real spirit or essence of a creature on canvas. This painting was no exception. The subjects eyes drew you in, swallowed you whole. There was hint of dark mystery about them, promises of forbidden pleasures. I felt stripped bare before them, emasculated and reduced to the level of a worm in the presence of an angel. I had been about to ask Ann about Isolda when she had dragged me in here to see her work. All I could bring myself to say was Who is She? Her name is Isolda, Ann said confirming my suspicions. Youre going to meet her tonight. I tear myself away from the painting and stagger into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and climb in, letting the hot water wash away the smell of sex and blood from my naked body. I soap myself, my hands working over my erection as I think about the painting, and my thoughts turn once more to last night. So how did you meet her?, I gasped. Ann was applying soap with a sponge to my erection, whilst I used a similar sponge over her back and thighs. Hot water drenched us both from the shower head above. Two weeks ago on Wednesday, Ann Replied. She was at that art exhibition - The one where I was selling my paintings. She bought that painting of the fox that I did last month. Ann removed the sponge from my crotch and leaned back against the shower cubicle. I began to gently sponge her neck before rubbing soap over her breasts. We got talking, about art, morality, and politics. She was very entertaining. Then the subject of sex came up, she continued. The look in Ann's eyes as she remembered meeting Isolda was unusually lucid. It was the kind of look that she reserved for me just before sex. 'And she persuaded you to agree to a threesome? I asked. I moved the sponge down between her breasts and began sponging the tops of her legs. Yes, replied Ann. She frowned. Are you sure, you're O.K. with this, Jason? In reality I wasn't sure at all. You're not having second thoughts yourself, are you? I asked. Ann parted her legs slightly as I sponged between her thighs. No, it's just that I'm not sure if I'm ready to share her ... ... You ... with someone else. Look, if either of us feels uncomfortable tonight, then we stop it there and then, agreed? Agreed, I replied. Ann's little slip of the tongue disturbed me. I began to doubt my wife's fidelity, as well as her sexuality. The logical part of my mind wanted to quiz her further, find out more about this Isolda and suggest that tonight may not be a good idea. In fact, I reasoned that it would be better to forbid Ann from seeing Isolda. However, the painting in the study had transfixed me. Those eyes, Isolda's eyes, although only an echo of reality on canvas, had a hauntingly beautiful quality about them. Reason, at least for tonight, would take a back seat to desire and curiosity. I finish my shower, towelling myself dry. I dont bother getting dressed. The thirst is now almost unbearable. I make my way down stairs, glancing at the front door before moving toward the kitchen. She applied the lipstick with care, painting her lips a rich crimson. Ever the perfectionist she. The mirror perfectly reflected her supple body, dressed in a white lace bra, panties, and nylon hold-ups. She caught a glimpse of me looking at her in the mirror and her reflection smiled at me. She put the lipstick down on the table. The doorbell rang. That'll be her, she said, go and answer the door while I select a dress. I dutifully did as I was told. She stood motionless in the doorway, staring at me with those dark, mesmerising eyes. She was wearing a strapless black dress, exposing her marble shoulders. Playing with a lock of pure white hair, she cocked her head and smiled. Nervously I invited her in. She entered the hallway with slow graceful movements. As she walked I noticed that her dress had a slit down the right side and each step exposed a slender leg wrapped in a black silk stocking. I couldn't help but stare at the exposed upper thigh - a tantalising contrast to the black lace beneath it. She walked right up to me. Still staring intently at me, she offered me a black gloved hand. Mr Willow? So pleased to meet you. I'm Isolda. I hardly remembered the conversation. Although my responses were coherent my eyes were transfixed on Isolda's lips as they moved. Her voice was calm, soothing, and dreamy. At one point she uncrossed her legs briefly and just for a second I caught a glimpse of the whiteness of her inner thighs above her black lace stockings, and her exposed sex between them. The act may well have been a deliberate attempt to briefly reveal that she wasn't wearing any knickers, but the movement was so swift and natural that I couldn't be sure. My reverie was interrupted when Ann walked in. She was wearing the white evening dress that I had bought her for Valentines Day last year. Leaving one shoulder bare, it clung to the other by a blood red clasp. It was made of a silken material which hugged her shapely figure up to just below her waist and then had slits down each side that allowed it to flow more freely about her legs and also to expose them as she walked. Isolda rose off her seat, took Ann's hand, and kissed it tenderly. Ann sat across the sofa on which I was sat and placed her legs over my lap. The conversation seemed to centre around my marriage to Ann. Isolda gave very little away about herself except for her name, yet Ann and I told her everything, every little detail. My usually shy wife was oddly forthcoming when talk turned to sex and foreplay. We both seemed oddly unabashed about telling this stranger about our desires, and what Ann and I got up to during sex. Eventually the three of us left the living room and climbed the stairs. My hunger now becomes a burning NEED as I frantically search the kitchen draws. Finding the key I rush to the trap door at the back of the room and fumble with the lock. I thrust the trapdoor open and climb down the steps, switching on the cellar light as I do so. She moved slowly, sensuously across the room. Moonlight reflecting sparks of fire off her white hair. Ann was enraptured by Isolda's movements. I watched as Ann's eyes followed her every move. Then Isolda called my name. I returned my attention to her as she spiralled around the edge of the bed. She removed the straps from her long black dress and let it drop to the floor, gracefully stepping out of the silken material. Her perfect porcelain body swayed as she unhooked her bra, freeing her round, firm breasts. She continued to sway as she ran black gloved hands over her breasts - cupping them, kneading them. Then she moved lower, to where the tops of her black lace stockings and suspender belt met her navel. The stockings were tied to the belt by a purple silk ribbon. Her hands slid downward as she briefly caressed her moist, shaven sex. I watched in awe as she walked slowly towards Ann, who reached out to her with trembling hands. Dressed only in black silk gloves and black stockings, lace-topped with a suspender belt, she gently cupped my wife's face in her hands before planting a slow and sensual kiss on her lips. I sat mesmerised by the performance. Continuing to kiss Ann, Isolda unfastened the clasp on her dress and pulled it down. As Ann lay back on the bed, she kicked off her shoes and shook her legs to discard the dress that was now around her ankles, whilst all the while her bed partner used her tongue to caress her neck. Ann wore no bra. Her large breasts lay flat against her chest, the nipples hardening with anticipation. Straddling my wife, Isolda slid her body like a snake along the bed, rubbing her breasts against the fabric of my wife's knickers, then against her breasts so that nipple touched nipple. Finally, she came to rest with her legs over Ann's midriff and propped herself up on her hands as Ann began to gently suck on Isolda's crimson nipples. Isolda stayed in that position for a few minutes, apparently enjoying the sensation of having her nipples sucked, before turning her body around. Lifting herself slightly she beckoned me to the bed. Seeming to know instinctively what this woman wanted, I slowly slid my hands up the white holdups that caressed Ann's legs, gabbing her lace panties and pulling them off. Discarded, they fell underneath the bed. Finding the space between her thighs, I gently let my fingers explore the wetness within. As I continued to massage the inside of my wife's sex, Isolda kneeled over Ann's mouth and my wife began to explore the strange beauty's opening with her tongue. I was both fascinated and deeply aroused by the display. My fingers exploring the inside of my wife's sex, Isolda with her eyes closed as Ann, emitting soft sighs from deep within her throat, continued to lick Isolda, moisture dripping onto her face as she did so. Presently, Isolda opened her eyes and fixed me with a stare that was both incredibly erotic and disturbing at the same time. She grasped me by the shoulders and pulled me away from my wife and up to face her. Closing her mouth over mine, her tongue flicked over my own. Then she pushed me away from her. I stood there, watching, unable to move as Isolda lifted herself off my wife and turned around again, to place her mouth over Ann's in a long, drawn out kiss. Isolda's body once again pressed itself against Ann's. She lifted her lips from Ann and began nuzzling Ann's neck. My wife uttered soft, exquisite moans as she lay there under Isolda, the rising and falling of her chest being her only movement. Isolda lifted her head from my wife's neck and took each hardened nipple in her mouth, her teeth gently biting them whilst her tongue left a trail of saliva over her areoles. Isolda now traced her tongue between Ann's breasts and down her stomach to play with her navel. As she did so, her gloved hands caressed Ann's slender legs, still dressed in white nylon holdups. A strange compulsion took me and I began to undress as I continued to watch the display, eager to join in but also transfixed by the performance before me. Isolda ran her tongue up the inside of your my wife's left thigh, brushing against the dark curls of her pubic hair before tracing a line down her right thigh. Ann's breathing became heavy, laboured, and I watched with fascination the rising and falling of her breasts, topped with nipples hard as stone. When Isolda finally plunged her tongue into Ann's moist, hungry pussy, Ann's breathing increased to a panting and that panting became a cry of intense pleasure as the tongue lapped against her already sensitive labia. The tongue probed deeper and Ann's hands clutched the mattress as her body began to shake. She pressed her head backwards into her pillow and gave out another cry of pleasure, her body shaking with wave after wave of orgasm. Then her cries of pleasure became a scream... I seemed to know what was happening. I could almost feel Ann's panic and terror, but the reasoning part of my mind was shackled, restrained by an unseen force. Blood pooled around the bed as it flowed between Ann's legs whilst Isolda continued to greedily lap at the wound. My wife was still screaming, but the sounds had become a pathetic mewling noise. Despite the horror of what I witnessed my erection was almost painfully hard. Isolda had taken possession of my mind and I was now like a puppet under her control. Eventually the mewling stopped. My wife continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, her breathing now steady, a trickle of blood dripping from her still open mouth. Isolda wiped the blood from her mouth. She kissed Ann on the mouth again, her tongue savouring the blood there. Now its your turn to watch, she told Ann, her voice seductive and musical. She lay my wife on her side to face me as I continued to stand naked in front of the bed, holding my erection, a mixture of fear and excitement on my face. Smiling, Isolda walked around behind me, spinning me around to face her, my back now to the bed and to my wife. Staring at Isolda's eyes I lay back onto the bed. My eyes diverted from my wife, who lay catatonic beside me, I stared at Isolda standing in front of me. A few drops of blood still stained her chin and I watched as a drop trickled down her neck and between her breasts. She smiled, reaching over to kiss me. Although I wanted to recoil, she had a firm grip on my mind and I couldn't avoid her mouth. As she kissed me, her tongue gently licking over my teeth, she saw the fear in my eyes and her body shivered with delight. She grabbed my erection with one of her black gloved hands. My eyes grew wide in fear as her mouth enclosed the swollen head. Fear gave way to pleasure as her tongue drew circles around the tip. I groaned, straining for self control. Almost as quickly as she started, Isolda removed her mouth from my cock. She knelt over me, dangling her breasts in my face. Then she leaned back and impaled herself on my erection, the saliva left by her licking adding lubrication to its entry into her shaven sex. Isoldas pale, slender body moved rhythmically up and down my length as her demonically beautiful face formed a visage of pure lust. Pure white hair cascading over her shoulders, lightly whipped my chest with each downward movement as her penetrating eyes pinned me, transfixed, to the bed. Isolda's smooth, unblemished skin began to tremble and beads of sweat appeared to run in rivulets between her perfectly rounded breasts. She lowered herself over me, pushing each one of her large crimson nipples into my waiting mouth. When she sat up again my eyes were drawn to her pierced navel displaying a curious black stone, and to her shaven sex, leaving a trail of moistness on my hardened erection as she slid up and down my length. Waves of intense pleasure surged through me, bringing me closer to release. I turned my head to stare at Ann, my wife, watching me with blank eyes, her mouth still open in that same silent scream. Only the gradual rising and falling of her chest told me she was still alive. Isolda increased her pace as she continued to slide up and down on my erection. Her body began to shudder as she orgasmed again and again. I tried as best I could to fight the excitement rising within me, but I failed. Eventually I succumbed, filling her with my seed, and giving out a low gasp as I did so. At the moment of my release she descended upon me. Her mouth opened impossibly large as she closed it around my own. I felt her tongue once more caress mine before plunging into my mouth. Inside me it elongated, snaking down into my throat. I tried to gag, but couldn't. She pinned me down as the tongue snaked down inside my neck. I continued to ejaculate into her as my body began to convulse. I felt something detach itself from her tongue. The thing slithered down my throat and I felt it attach itself to my upper alimentary canal, burrowing into my body, stretching itself out impossibly thin and seeping into my blood vessels. She climbed off me and as she did so I caught a glimpse of something long, black and slug like descending back into her mouth. I lay there exhausted as she stood over me, smiling. In slow motion I began to collect the clothes strewn about the room, returning them to the wardrobe. Ann, who had remained catatonic on the bed up until now, rose at Isolda's command. Her blood still soaked the bed, as it did her white holdups - now the only clothing she was still wearing. She also gathered up her dress, along with the bloodstained sheets. Holding them, she obediently followed Isolda out of the bedroom. As I neatly folded my own clothes and returned them to the wardrobe I could hear my wife and my tormentor walking down the stairs. I enter the cellar and Ann is there, wearing the same blank expression as she did last night. She sits on a high backed chair wearing nothing but her white nylon hold ups. Red stains still paint her white lace stockings and her smooth naked thighs. She senses my presence and she parts her legs, exposing a moist pussy that slowly drips blood. I kneel before her, place my head between her legs, and drink. It will be night soon. The sun will die and the white lady will shower the world with her silver light. She will return to me when the moon is high in the sky. I turn to my wifes naked body. It is nothing to me now, a dried up desiccated corpse. There is no Ann anymore, only Isolda. Soon we will be together and I will share in her eternal longing and loneliness, we shall live forever sharing in each others sorrow and living out an eternity of lust, and sex, and blood.