Ariadne's Dreams

Ariadne's life changed forever with one phone call.

One moment, she was in the kitchen preparing a meal, hoping to finish before her husband Stewart from out-of-state. The next, she was on her knees weeping after the woman on the phone informed her that Stewart had died in a plane crash. After the initial shock, the only thing she felt was rage—she told the woman that she was wrong, that she needed to check the flight registry again. The woman repeated the same news, and Ari threw the phone into the wall. It was a lie. There was no way her Stewie was dead. He wouldn't leave her to raise a son alone. He wouldn't be that cruel. God wouldn't be that cruel.

The second thing she felt was denial. She held out hope for weeks, hoping that some rescue squad would discover survivors. She Googled "Airplane crash survivors" to see the odds of such a miracle. It was unlikely, but hope was there. She didn't care how infinitesimal—it was there. Even if the odds were a trillion to one, she just knew that her baby would be that one.

But then the weeks passed and no survivors were found. Stewie never came home. Reality began to sink in.

She was alone, and Barry was all that she had to remember her husband by.

The media came around, hounding for questions, but she never gave them anything. She threatened to sue if they kept harassing. Eventually, they stopped and the world quickly brushed aside the death of the kindest, sweetest man that had ever walked upon it. The river of time flowed around such an insignificant tragedy like a pebble, unfettered. The crash became old news. Family and friends stopped calling to give condolences. Within months there was hardly anything left to even suggest Stewart Garrett had ever existed.

Nothing except his son, Barry.

Barry, was only seven, but he understood what death meant. When Ariadne told him the truth, he knew that meant he'd never see his father again. There wasn't even a body to bury; Ariadne found herself scrounging through the house for anything that belonged to her late husband, picking his hairbrush clean for every strand she could find. She had it placed inside a glass at the side of her bed, so that she could always keep a piece of her dead love at her side.

Some of the other victims' families pooled together to sue the airline for wrongful death, and they asked for Ariadne's support. She at first refused, but all it took was for someone to say "Don't you want to see Barry receive justice?" for her to eventually agree. Eventually, the airline agreed to settle, and Ariadne received a 2.3 million dollar check. Ironically, the money had the opposite affect than she had had intended. Without Barry around to spend it with her, it seemed devoid of any meaning.

And as always, life moved on.

The first year was difficult, but each one after became less of a challenge. Ariadne never used the money; between Barry's life insurance and her home décor business, she had more than enough to support herself and one child with plenty of breathing room, especially since she wasn't one for extravagant purchases. She decided that one day, when he was older, Barry would be the one to decide what to do with the lawsuit money. As it was, it only reminded her of what she had lost.

Over time, Barry grew into a fine young man. Rebellious to a fault, but kind-hearted. He was stubborn and rarely listened when his mother told him to do something, but he was wise enough to avoid anything unsavory. She never had to worry about him running with the wrong crowd or becoming wrapped up in something abhorrent; when he was fifteen, he stunned her when he voluntarily confessed that he'd tried some pot at school, but that he didn't like it. She had always told him not to use drugs, but she was at least happy that he was smart enough to realize a bad decision after he had made it. She didn't want to lose the only thing she had left to drugs or crime, and she made him swear never to use them again. He assured her that he had already made up his mind on that.

For the most part, things were good. Ariadne's next tragedy was the day she saw her son off to college. Despite her protests, he took a plane—the mechanical butcher she had never forgiven for taking her Stewart away from her, but Barry insisted that it was statistically safer than driving and that taking a bus meant he'd have to wait nearly an entire day before he got to Fresno. She pestered him about it for five weeks straight, but when he insisted that he was going to fly, she relented on the condition that he call her the second he stepped off the plane safely.

She consumed almost a bottle of vodka and smoked an entire pack-and-a-half of cigarettes before she finally got that call.

And then, there she was, in that huge home all alone. She stood there, looking at the wide space, never having noticed before just how depressing it truly was. She turned on the TV, hoping to lose herself in the idiot box, but nothing could take her mind off of her loneliness. She worked at home, had very few friends in the area, and hadn't been on a single date since her husband had passed. She supposed that if she were a smarter person, she would have seen this coming, but "shouldas" and "wouldas" were worth about as much as gold on the moon.

She decided to get some sleep, hoping to feel better in the morning. If not, she would go shopping to get her mind off such terrible depression. Being cooped up all day would never lead to anything good.

As she passed into her room, she gazed at the king-size bed—the same one she and Stewie had shared for eight years. The same one in which they'd consummated their marriage. The same one in which they eventually conceived Barry.

Memories of that night flooded her. She recalled back to the moment; she had been standing in this very spot, wearing nothing but a thin robe when Stewie had moved behind her. She felt his hands slide across her velvet hips, eventually reaching her tummy, where he held them. She felt his warmth at her back, his breath titillating her neck. She placed her slender hands atop his and moaned softly as he kissed her neck. Her eyes closed as she became lost in the bliss, surrendering completely as she felt the growth between his legs harden.

He tenderly rubbed his hands across her belly and whispered, in that sweet and rugged voice. "That's where he'll be . . . our child." He knew what that did to her. Her body shivered with ecstasy and wetness poured from between her legs.

Slowly and deliberately, he peeled the velvet away from her shoulders, revealing her peachy skin like the flesh of succulent fruit. He placed his lips there, coating the flesh revealed with a coat of his sweet saliva. She felt heat where his tongue trailed, and then rapid coolness when it disappeared. It only added to her excitement, only heightened her anticipation. At this point, she thoroughly belonged to him, and she left her body for him to use however he saw fit.

In the present, Ariadne was so lost to the reminiscence that her hands were moving along her body unconscious of her own will. She stood a foot from her bed, touching herself through blouse, feeling every inch of her skin as though guided by another force. Her body was responding in kind, treating the arousal no differently than if she were being touched by another's fingers, played like a fine instrument.

In her memories, Stewie had pulled the top of her robe down to her waist, leaving her upper body nude, heated only by his warmth at her back. She glanced into the glass wall at the other side of the room, turned into a mirror by the darkness outside the home. She drunk in her own naked form, turned on by the vision of her sleek feminine physique being touched everywhere by the sturdy hands emerging from behind her. She looked into her own eyes, studying the ecstasy they conveyed, the lust they could barely contain. The woman in the glass was slowly transforming into a brazen slut, ready to be turned into a pure animal, existent only to be fucked.

In the present, her hands recreated the image by pulling the blouse over her shoulders, throwing it contemptuously to the floor, and then letting the unhooked bra fall brazenly at her feet. Hungrily and savagely, she mauled her own breasts, squeezing them tightly letting the flesh roll through her tightening fingers. She clasped them hard, pointing her nipples toward her own mouth as her tongue reached out to greet them. The tip explored her areolae, wetting them with strings of salivation. All the while, her eyes never left the woman in the glass; the slut who had ceded all control over her body.

Stewie unfastened the knot in her robe at the same time that her own hands slid the belt end out of the buckle. The robe in the past felt to the floor at the same time that a tight pair of jeans peeled away in the present. Stewart grasped her and spun her to face him, where her hands immediately jumped around his neck, pulling his lips to hers as her tongue desperately explored his mouth.

Her fingers desperately fell to the buttons on his shirt, and she fidgeted with one or two before raw instinct took over and forced her to just tear the rest of them open. She buried her face in his sculpted, hairy chest, tracing the lines of his pecs with her lips. She was only barely aware of the work her hands were doing below. By the time she became conscious of it, his pants were already around his ankles, and she was stroking his thick, hardened cock through his boxers. All the while, his hands had fallen to her ass, squeezing and gripping every inch of supple flesh they could hold. She only moaned and ground her loins against his, anxious for them to meet.

With one mighty shove, he pushed her on the bed and loomed over her like a predator. He kicked both his boxers and pants to the side as trivialities, his eyes focused on her and only her. She crawled backward, obstensibly to escape the encroaching beast, but, in reality to invite him onto her bed. Into her nest. Where she would soon be seeded.

In reality, Ariadne was lain upon her bed, desperately touching every inch of her body that her hands could find. She was hot, so very hot, and the sweat only made it the job much easier for her fingers. Lightning sizzled on every nerve she touched, keeping her locked in passion's grip, incapable of escaping until it had its fill. Invitingly, her legs slowly began to spread.

On the next memory, her fingers finally explored the intricacies of her womanhood. The left index and middle held the folds of her pussy open while the right rubbed vigorously against her exposed clit. In recollection, Stewie's tongue was doing the task, but both past and present Ariadne enjoyed the orgasmic wave that swept through her body. In the past, her hands felt through her husband's hair, but in the present, they were busy with their task, doing an admirable job of recreating the thrill she had felt that day.

When she cried out during her second orgasm, Stewart recognized what it meant. His head rose from between her legs, and his toned and chiseled body rose like an Adonis as he moved to mount her. Her hands invited him, pulling him closer, acknowledging that she was his to tame. She felt the tip of his shaft at her entrance, and her pussy quivered with anticipation. Her left hand gripped it tight, guiding it perfectly to her slit. She looked into his eyes, pleadingly, and finally, his hips inched forward.

As the head sank into her opening, her entire body convulsed. Her hands fell to the side and gripped the sheets tight. Her eyes closed shut tight and her knees bent. She panted hard as he sank further, pushing deeper and deeper into her most sacred territory. Every inch thrilled her and only left her starved for more. The walls of her pussy tried gripping the side of his cock and pulling it further, treading more of it inside.

Finally, he was to the hilt, leaving her pussy completely and utterly stuffed. In reality, two of her fingers were doing the best they could to authenticate the memory, though her lust was more than capable of compensating.

In the past, he fucked her. In the present, she fucked herself . . . steadily and deliberately, her pussy accepted the rigorous workout eagerly. Its muscles stretched in every direction, her juices lubricating its walls. Mentally,she was completely lost now—with her eyes still shut, only a few rudimentary senses remained. She could feel her hips thrusting hard against the mattress with every penetration. She could smell the sex that misted through the bedroom, only intensifying the beast within them. She could taste her lover's tongue as he leaned forward to kiss her. She could hear the savage grunts of her mate as he rigorously pounded into her, along with the smack-smack of his flesh against hers.

How long this lasted, she could not say. Enough time passed for her legs to be moved from around his waist to atop his shoulders, to against her chest, and locked back around his waist again. Her eyes sprang open when she heard his breath quicken, when his grunts became more urgent.

"Do it," she demanded breathlessly. She locked her legs around him, preventing any escape. "Look into my eyes as you breed me. Let us gaze into each other as we make our baby."

He complied, all too eagerly and excitement filled Ariadne as her lover—her husband—looked into her soul, moments away from seeding her with their first child. The first of many.

Finally, he grunted and she cried "Yes!". She felt his cock spasm inside her as jets of hot, molten lust poured out and flooded her domain. Her hands pulled on his ass, pushing him as deep inside as was physically possible. She thrust her hips up to greet his, letting her pussy muscles work to take as much baby-making milk as they possibly could. Her womb was starved for it. Until tonight, it had been so empty, but not anymore.

After tonight, everything would be right.

In the present, Ariadne opened her eyes coming to reality for the first time since she stepped into her bedroom. She gasped for breath, finding her body surprisingly exhausted and thoroughly naked. She sprang upward, trying to make sense of the events which led to this moment. She glanced to the side and saw her clothing thrown on the floor. She looked across the bed and found it in total shambles, with a deep dark puddle set right between her legs. Her skin felt remarkably sensitive, and her pussy intensely sore. Yet, she felt better than she had in years. Better than she had any time since . . . that day.

The only thing she remembered was the pleasure. The intense euphoria that came from being well and thoroughly fucked. It had been so long that she had almost forgotten it existed.

She pulled her knees tightly against her naked chest and glanced at the woman in the mirror, the wrecked mess covered in sweat and disheveled hair. She stared at the one who had fucked her and reawakened the slut within. She greeted the woman with a coy smile, and the woman returned one back.

"You'll do," she whispered, resting her head against her knees. For now."

To Be Continued . . .