Greetings, Gentle Reader.
This is the tale of Lenore and Annabel Lee, who had the misfortune to encounter the diabolical Jack Scratch. Like most Jack Scratch stories, it's tricky to separate truth from exaggeration. Often, as we sit reading tales in the warm comfort of our cautious lives, we choose not to believe the more horrific implications of those stories. Let me assure you, dear reader, that the chilling substance of this story is all too disturbingly true. So, settle in. Pour yourself a warm beverage. Position your blanket over your shoulders or knees. And then — should you dare — read on.
Early morning, the day before Halloween in Chicago, a blood red sun glared between the leaden horizon of Lake Michigan and an endless shelf of looming clouds. Elevated above the city in her exclusive condo, Lenore was as isolated as a goddess on Olympus. Before going to her wildly successful law practice, she started every day with yoga. She preferred to pose and stretch in the nude, feeling liberated, powerful, unstoppable. Since she faced the biggest case of her career, she needed help to feel as dynamic as possible. She stripped off her black camisole and stepped out of her black panties.
Her long, dark hair hung thickly to her large, shapely breasts. She had long, lithe legs below narrow hips. Her waist was narrower still, and more than one lover had encircled her waist with his hands. She kept her pubic hair trimmed short to encourage random, wayward tonguing, and kept her lips moist to suggest wantonness.
She stretched her angular arms as she stepped into the expanse of her living room. The room had a wall of windows overlooking the lake, and a wall of windows showcasing the north view of Chicago. No other condos were built as high, so she had privacy from all eyes, except the occasional news/weather helicopter.
With Edgar asleep, she thought she was alone -- until she entered her living room. There she found two surprises.
First, Lenore found six erotic scarecrows positioned lewdly in her living room. The scarecrows had sexual parts made of pumpkins, small gourds and elongated squash. One surprised, busty farm girl had two hefty pumpkins splitting open her checkered blouse. Another scarecrow farm hand with a long gourd penis humped a milk maid bent over a hay bale, exposing the two pale pumpkins globes that poked from the back of her lowered overalls.
"Edgar!" Lenore thought. "It's too early for this nonsense."
Second, she noticed a large black bird, perched on the wet railing of the balcony outside, staring with blood red eyes.
"Damned ineffective scarecrows," she muttered.
The magnificent raven ogled Lenore from its perch on the railing. She had never seen a raven in Chicago, nor any other creature studying her so calmly in the blustery October winds. Instead of facing out toward Lake Michigan, the raven followed her as she opened the slats covering the north bank of windows. Like the Lake view, the northern view was unobstructed.
At least until her curious ebony-feathered admirer arrived.
The raven cocked his head to get a better look at her pale nude body.
"Go ahead and gawk, you bastard."
The early morning sun suffused the condo with a carnelian glow and turning Lenore a rosy, peachy hue. She arched, sticking out her peach ass, feeling the pull in her lower back. Some ex-lovers thought her ass was too small, but most men found each buttock to be a proper handful. When she danced in skin-tight jeans, she could swing her tiny butt back and forth until every man's tongue was aching to lick her. Now, she leaned forward to grasp her toes. Her hair fell forward to drape her feet.
Tap-tap-tap.
The raven tapped to get her attention, rapping at her sliding door. With his long, narrow beak, the magnificent bird motioned for her to lift her arms. Lenore placed them above her head. Her body looked deliciously vulnerable as she slinked forward toward the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. The raven hunched its wings, and cawed plaintively.
"Go ahead and gawk, you bastard."
Her pale image leaned toward the glass. Her hair fell softly past her shoulder to the top of her breasts, and by raising her arms she could feel the tips of her hair tickling her areolae. They stiffened, extending to within millimeters of the glass, and she exhaled slowly, sensually.
She felt the raven's eyes on her, studying her shoulders, hips, and thighs. It stared at the small dark patch covering her pussy. The raven grinned, though she knew better. Ravens' beaks were too heavy to smile. The thought of arousing a pure force of nature appealed to her erotic playfulness. She spread her legs so her pussy was more exposed, keeping her arms raised and her breasts high. A smile played on her own lips as she turned around to give a view of her too-small, too-tight buttocks. She touched her toes again, exposing her bottom.
Despite the stormproof windows, she heard the bird sing out its strangled cry. She recognized the anguished moan of sexual frustration. She had been responsible for more than her share of men's sexual disappointment. It was a necessary element of her feminine power.
She faced the window again, forearms leaning on the glass, her tits nearly grazing the glass, her legs spread apart, feeling warm and wet between her legs.
An unexpected arm snaked around her waist from behind.
Suddenly she felt a poking,
As of someone gently stroking,
Poking at her tight behind...
Only this and nothing more.
"Oh, my God! I want you right now!" Edgar groaned.
If Edgar didn't sleep so late, he could enjoy this vision every morning he stayed over. But Edgar was not an early bird. If anything, he was a slow and steady tortoise who scores in the end. The rapping, tapping had awakened his curiosity, and eventually his sleep-addled brain.
Lenore held her pose. How long he had been watching she could only guess from the desperation in his voice. She turned her head sideways, looked up at him with her deep violet eyes, through her long dark lashes.
"More!" he said.
"Never!" Lenore struggled in his grasp.
"More," he insisted.
"Never!"
"More!"
What, Dear Reader, did the raven glean from this exchange? We may never know.
The magnificent bird, its blood red eyes burning, fell from the railing, down until it was cradled by a supporting updraft. The sun, which had recently flamed behind the bird, disappeared behind the shelf of clouds. In its place, a news/weather helicopter hovered. Its pilot had a camera pointed at Lenore's condo. She recognized its pilot Jerry, who gave her a grateful thumbs-up. She flipped him the bird. Jerry piloted the copter toward another jammed intersection.
With the sun blocked, the apartment turned a sepulchral gray. Lenore's skin turned pale and tiny goosebumps dotted her soft flesh.
