The Stir of Echo
The Stir of Echo
https://amzn.to/2L2yTRW
Susan Gabriel
The Homecoming
“Sign and date here, and again, right there. These papers will transfer the title of the house into your name.” The attorney offered her a gleaming gold pen. Taking the instrument in her hand, she carefully signed her name on the highlighted areas. The counsel gathered the paperwork, confirming that her signature was affixed to all of the appropriate lines on the document. “Echo,” he peered over his tortoiseshell glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “That’s quite an unusual name. I was wondering if there was a story behind it.”
There was that same stupid question again. Echo twirled her carroty locks around her index finger, wishing she had a more interesting answer. The truth was Echo didn’t have a clue why she had been saddled with the strange moniker.
“No story, really,” Echo replied. “I suppose I should make one up and have it ready for every time someone asks me that very same question.”
Echo loved to watch people’s expression when she said that. The attorney’s confused visage told her that he wasn’t certain if he had been insulted or not.
“The truth is, my parents are old hippies, very ‘into’ planetary alignments and such. I consider myself lucky that they didn’t name me something like Spring Rain, or Karma.”
The attorney tilted his head to one side, glancing over his spectacles as if she were a piece of prime rib he was sizing up for dinner. “Well, it suits you, somehow.”
If you only knew the half of it buddy, Echo thought.
As long as she could recall, Echo had “heard” things; snippets of conversations, ramblings, rants, and whispers. They were echoes from another world, bouncing off of the fabric of time into her ears.
When Echo was a little girl, her Grandmother, a darling but exceedingly superstitious woman from the old country, urged her not to worry. Gran would tuck her in at night, whispering stories of mythological Celtic gods and the gifts they bestowed on mankind. But Echo knew that it was just a grandmotherly fairy tale designed to quell her fears.
Conventional medicine had provided no answers to her questions. Physically, she was sound as a dollar. In desperation, Echo had visited The Chicago Center for Paranormal Research. There it was confirmed. She was a Clairaudient.
The researcher explained that a clairaudient was a sensitive, gifted with the keen ability to perceive sounds or words from outside sources, such as spirits or other entities. A gift? It felt more like a damned curse.
The messages she received never seemed meant for her, and Echo didn’t know how she was supposed to act on them. They were an annoying form of psychic eavesdropping, like conversations overheard in a restaurant—interesting, perhaps, in a voyeuristic way, but soon forgotten.
The purpose of this so-called gift, if there was a purpose, eluded Echo. The researcher advised her that, with diligent training, she would be able to control the communication. Echo had no desire to control anything. She hated making decisions, and right now she hated her life. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she hoped one day the condition would just disappear.
When her parents insisted she take their house in the suburbs, Echo reasoned that she was doing her parents a favor by taking the property off of their hands while they raised their consciousness in far-flung corners of the earth. In fact, she was sure she was subconsciously trying to hide, hoping the voices wouldn’t follow her here.
The attorney dropped the keys to her parents’ old Victorian into her upturned palm. His fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist. A shiver vibrated through Echo like tiny ripples on a still lake.
“You’re dreamin’ girl, and you don’t even know that you’re asleep.”
“Excuse me,” Echo stammered, “Did you say something?”
“Congratulations. I said congratulations on the house.” The attorney leaned over his desktop towards Echo. “Are you alright? You just went a little pale.”
The damned voices again; actually, this particular damn voice. It had been haunting her for months.
The attorney stretched his hand across the desk, bringing it to rest on Echo’s forearm. “Would you like a drink? I think I have some bourbon stashed around here.”
Echo peered through his conservative spectacles into his gray eyes. The attorney’s gesture was friendly, almost fatherly. Echo’s intuition sensed that it held the promise of more. A vein in her neck pulsed against her throat.
It had been more than a year; sixteen months to be exact, since she had felt the touch of a man. It was not for lack of suitors, for there were many who pursued her. Her celibacy was self-induced.
Average men were bores. Few she met knew how to talk to a woman, much less seduce one. She found them to be unskilled and selfish in the bedroom; laying their full weight on top of her while they pumped away with a predictable rhythm. Sweaty hands roughly kneaded her breasts; sloppy, smothering kisses crushed her tender mouth. Some whimpered like wounded puppies when they climaxed. It wasn’t pretty.
Echo wished that one of them, just one, would read a book on the subject, or at least aspire to some form of sexual higher education, but they appeared entirely content, even boastful, of their present skill level. Echo sure as hell wasn’t; she wanted more.
Willful and lusty, she had not yet met the man who could handle her. She was born the only child of over-indulgent parents. Some might say that she was spoiled rotten.
Her expectations were high. Finding no man that could live up to them, Echo decided to bench her booty until the right man came along. No sex was better than disappointing sex, she concluded. Besides, she was no stranger to taking care of herself in that department. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it helped to keep the horny wolf from her door until she found a suitable mate.
Echo considered the attorney’s offer. He was handsome in a suburban sort of way. Neatly trimmed hair, cut into an acceptably short style. A paunch around his middle spoke of hurried meals from fast-food sacks.
Echo scanned the paper-strewn office. Stacks of legal briefs teetered precariously, like paper monuments. Framed diplomas and licenses crookedly lined the walls. Her eyes came to rest on top of a bookcase where plastic sci-fi action figures were arranged in battle.
Oh shit, I’m throwing this one back in the water, she concluded.
Echo withdrew her arm from her counsel’s touch, uncrossed her long, lean legs and rose from the chair. A single bead of perspiration crept from beneath her thick curls, slipped down her neck, and then disappeared like a phantom between her breasts.
“Jaysus lass, you are such a dreadful girl!”
That voice again; it seemed to be taunting her, pointing out her faults. In her gut, Echo knew that this voice was not a remnant of an overheard conversation, leaking through the veil of the otherworld; this particular voice was distinctly closer, and it was speaking directly to her.
“I really should be going now. I’d like to get over to the house before dark and get settled in. Thank you for all of your help on this matter.” Echo shook hands with the attorney before walking out into the unseasonably warm autumn evening.
The daylight hours were fading. Echo turned her face towards the last rays of the sinking sun and inhaled the dewy air deeply into her lungs. It bore the sweet smell of a new beginning.
***
Echo stood in front of her newly acquired Victorian painted lady. Her parents had purchased it only two years before. A stab of guilt cut through her belly. She had never found the time in her schedule to visit her parents here. Now they were off in some foreign land, doing wonderful, altruistic things for mankind, and she was still stuck trying to figure out her place in the world.
Echo was amused by the sweet serenity of the idyllic neighborhood. Leaves glowing with the blush of late September cruised to the pavement like fairy ships on a sea of air and lay scattered along the tree-lined street. Stately, well-kept Victorian homes soared three stories high into the darkening sky, their windows aglow in the twilight.
“Well, this is just like a sappy Thomas Kincade painting,” Echo mused aloud.
A gust of wind whistled through the treetops, raining yet more dying leaves onto the bricks.
“It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed”
Damn that voice! Would she ever be alone? No matter what she did or where she went, she never had the luxury of privacy.
Okay, whoever you are, please give it a rest. W.E.C.H.O. is signing off for the day, she warned.
The illumination of the street lamp shimmered over the intricate stained glass window on the front door. As Echo turned the lock, a voice with a vague familiarity declared, “Let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
The voice was not in her ear as it usually was, but came from directly behind her. It had the same distinctive softened vowels and haunting musical lilt as the voice that had attached itself to her in recent days.
Echo whirled around in the direction of the sound. In the shadowy light of the rising crescent moon, she discerned the figure of a man with inky-black hair strolling up the walkway towards her. He was perhaps six foot two in height with broad shoulders that tapered down in a ‘V’ to a pair of slender hips.
Advancing towards her, he extended his right hand in a cordial gesture. Echo rummaged in her purse for pepper spray.
“Please forgive me, I must have startled you.” He stepped into the porch light. “My name is Flynn.”
His voice was uncannily similar to the one haunting her. But that was impossible; unless this was a dead man standing on her porch, and he most decidedly did not appear to be a corpse. He was practically the most beautiful specimen of the male species Echo had ever seen.
Indigo eyes peered out from behind thick lashes that were black as a witch’s cauldron. A lock of raven hair dangled with careless abandon above his knitted brow. Echo restrained the compulsion to reach out and smooth it back into place with her fingers.
His smile, which tilted to one side, was warm and inviting. It caused Echo to think of rainy afternoons and the things that happen under the covers on those afternoons. A tingling, heavy feeling crept into her pelvis.
“Come on” he said, “I don’t bite.” He thrust his hand nearer, beseeching her to grasp it.
“Well, girl, are you going to let your neighbor stand here all night with his arm out like he’s tryin’ to hail a taxi, or are you going to give it a polite shake?”
A neighbor, ah ha, he was a neighbor. Living in the city had made her jumpy. She felt a flush of embarrassment spread across her freckled cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed the blossoming redness of her fair skin.
Echo grasped his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. I’m Echo Sullivan.” A sense of being protected and secure washed over her as his hand enclosed hers. A fleeting image of his hands exploring her body passed through her brain. Somebody’s horny, she thought.
“Echo? Isn’t that a fine name, and aren’t you a lovely lass!” he exclaimed. Pointing towards an expansive, turreted dwelling to his left he explained, “I live in the house four doors down and I was taking a stroll on this glorious evening when I spied you, and thought, now that is a lovely lass! So tell me, what is a lovely girl named Echo Sullivan doing in my neighborhood?”
She hadn’t been called lass since her grandmother passed away. Was he for real? She just had to ask, “Are you Irish, by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Was it my accent that gave me away or am I smelling of Guinness again?”
He definitely did not smell of Guinness. He smelled like beefcake in a wrapper.
Echo laughed, “No, it was your accent.” A bit flustered, she had forgotten the original question. “I’m sorry, what was your first question?”
Echo examined his left hand—no wedding ring. Hmmm, single man, Hollywood good looks, lives in a Victorian…probably gay.
“The neighborhood…you…here,” Flynn reminded her.
“Oh, well, my parents own…er, I mean owned… this house. They moved out of the country and needed me to take over the mortgage. I needed a change of scenery, and well, here I am, living in post-card U.S.A.”
Flynn surveyed the neighborhood. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I never thought of it. It is quite picturesque. I haven’t been here that long myself, I just moved in a few months ago.”
He had the gift of gab, she had to give him that. Oddly enough, his rambling wasn’t bothering her at all. She liked the sound of his voice; in fact, she liked it very much. He was easy on the eyes too, so that made it even more tolerable.
“I had hoped that someone would be movin’ in soon. An empty house is not good for property values.” He leaned forward whispering. “Drives ‘em down, you know. People think the neighborhood might be filled with undesirables when they see a house standing empty for months. You’re not one of those undesirable characters, are you?”
Was that a mischievous twinkle glittering in his sapphire blue pools of lust? The glint in his eye made Echo want to look away. It was as if he knew her secrets—as if she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or in this case, the nookie jar.
“You appear completely desirable to me,” he concluded.
The boldness of his compliment sent up a flirt alert for Echo. Okay, maybe he wasn’t gay. She was pretty certain he was coming onto her, and she didn’t mind.
“Yes, I mean, no… I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Anyway, I’m just a loner, freelance journalist looking for some peace and quiet. I sort of need to refocus my life, you know; figure out what works and what doesn’t work anymore.”
She glanced up at the imposing house. “I thought this might be the place to start.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. This neighborhood is mostly populated with double income families. They leave for work at the dawn of day and don’t return home till sunset. Then it’s off to soccer practice, or band practice, or the PTA. All very boring, and full of scheduled activities for the family-minded. I assure you, if it’s privacy that you’re lookin’ for, then this is your destiny. It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed.”
The perfect place to go unnoticed? She had heard those words spoken just minutes before! Suddenly, feeling very uncomfortable, Echo realized that Flynn still held her hand in his. Awkwardly withdrawing from his grasp, she excused herself. “I should be getting inside and settled in.”
“Of course, of course. Nice meeting you, Echo Sullivan. I hope you find your first night in your new home an enjoyable one.” Flynn winked at her as if signaling that he knew something she didn’t. He waved a casual goodbye over his shoulder as he departed.
Echo assessed him as he walked down the sidewalk, her critical gaze summing up his physique. He was a physically powerful man, perhaps in his late thirties. His dark hair, which he wore slicked back from his forehead, ended in small twists of curls that lightly skimmed the top of his starched, folded collar. He had an exceptionally nice caboose.
His confident stride oozed sensuality. It was almost feline. Echo would not have been surprised to see him spring lithely over a wall, or slink beneath a fence.
Tango dancers in Argentina carried themselves the same way. She recalled gliding across the floor of a Buenos Aires milonga, the tango beat pounding out the rhythm, in the arms of an Argentinian dancer—strong, sure and demanding, leading the dance, asking a question with his body, and she answering him with hers.
Echo’s skin prickled with lust.
“If that was the Welcome Wagon, I’m ready to hop on board,” she muttered. She kept watch until her fascinating new neighbor was enveloped by the lurking shadows.
Bound and determined
Echo stepped into the foyer. Her eyes followed the wide oak staircase that wound its way to the second story as she maneuvered her way around the few boxes that held her personal items, stubbing her toe on the corner of one of the boxes.
“Uggg,” Echo grunted, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep into her muscles. “I’ll deal with unpacking tomorrow.”
Boards creaked beneath her feet as she padded along the hallways inspecting the darkened rooms. The house was eerily quiet; too quiet for Echo’s liking.
I’m going to have to get a cat, she thought. The silence around here is deafening.
Despite six months of vacancy, the household appeared as if the previous owner had just stepped out on an errand. Linens, toiletries, pantry items, everything had been left in perfect order.
The kitchen was spacious and bright, much more pleasant than her one bedroom walk-up in the city. She located the necessary items to brew a cup of tea. A cup of tea in a Victorian cup. How quaint, she chuckled.
In her wildest dreams Echo had never thought she would be living in the ‘burbs, and drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but life is a funny thing, she admitted. Giving a little hop, she sat on the counter and raised the cup to her lips. Breathing deeply, she filled her nostrils with the soothing scent of chamomile. She wearily rested the back of her head against the white painted cupboard. Echo allowed her mind to drift; unpacking, changing the utilities to her name, opening a bank account, registering her car, her new neighbor, Flynn. An unconscious grin appeared on her face. Thinking of her hot new neighbor seemed more preferable right now than the other mundane tasks demanding her attention.
She needed to assess him awhile and consider whether or not he was going to be playing the starring role in her next fantasy Jill-off session. She recalled his wry smile and the twinkle in his eye, and the way it caused a guilty, feverish feeling to rush over her. She especially liked the way he said her name, not pronouncing it with a harsh “eh” sound, but drawing it out softly… “Aayko”. That could come in handy in a fantasy. He oozed the confidence of a guy who had a big cock and knew how to use it. I wonder if he has a big cock? Hmmm, I’d bet my next paycheck that he does.
Had he been flirting with her or was he just the overly friendly sort? Either way, he’d made a lasting and lust-inspiring impression. Echo recognized a warmth crawling around inside of her that had nothing to do with the chamomile tea.
She started to feel a little neglected. It had been …well, it had been a long time since she’d been laid. Echo squeezed her legs together and wondered what Flynn was like between the sheets.
The wind picked up outside. Barren, skeletal tree branches scratched against the kitchen window like ghostly fingers clawing at the glass. Startled, Echo awoke from her reverie. Placing her empty cup into the sink, she slid off of the countertop and landed with a soft plop on the linoleum floor. The temperature of the room had dropped to a chilly degree. She shivered and chattered her teeth before extinguishing the light.
Briskly rubbing the cold from her arms, she climbed the wide wooden staircase that led to the second story. When she swung open the bathroom door an ancient radiator hissed angrily in the corner. A cavernous claw foot bathtub beckoned.
“Sweet!” she exclaimed. “Let’s see if the folks left some candles stashed around here.”
Finding a box of candles in the vanity, she turned them over.
“Well, peace, love and understanding,” she laughed, “Patchouli!”
Echo lit them, placing them one by one around the room. The earthy aroma wafted in the air. She turned on the tap, testing the water with her fingers. As the bathtub filled with hot water, vapor enveloped the bottom half of the room in a dense fog.
She undressed before the full-length mirror, critiquing herself. She was vain, but had good reason to be. Her ginger hair cascaded in natural waves that tickled the base of her bare shoulder blades.
I could use a trim, she criticized, twisting her body to view the back of her hair. Her legs, lean and toned from years of Yoga practice, stretched up from the floor, and traveled to her firm, rounded bottom. Echo placed her hands on her flat stomach. She blinked at her reflection. The twin pink buds of her C cup breasts stared enticingly back at her.
If nobody loves ya, guess ya gotta love yourself.
Echo lightly circled the palms of her hands over her erect nipples, pausing to tease each with a fingertip.
“I can give you what you don’t yet know that you need.”
There it was again. The voice, muffled but discernable, rudely interrupting her fantasy.
Really, mused Echo. Unless you can deliver that delicious neighbor of mine into my bed, I seriously doubt that you can give me what I need right now. I’d like a few moments of privacy, so beat it, will ya?
Testing the bathwater with her toes, Echo determined it to be to her liking; not too hot to be uncomfortable, but just temperate enough that she would have to gingerly ease her body into the bathtub.
After acclimating herself to the steamy water, Echo reclined against the cool porcelain. It was time to choreograph her fantasy.
The candles flickered in the moonlit room. Echo squirted viscous drops of perfumed gel, watching them sink into the holes of a yellow sea sponge. Her hands, slick with the syrupy mixture, stroked the sponge leisurely along the length of her neck. Above the waterline, her breasts bobbed buoyantly in the chilly air. Echo massaged the fragrant gel onto her breasts, drifting into a carefully orchestrated fantasy scenario starring her new neighbor, Flynn.
She visualized him standing over her, leering at her in a most lecherous way, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sweet six-pack. In her mind’s eye, he watched her bathe, telling her what to do and how to do it…and she did each thing he commanded.
“Oh, lovely lass,” she imagined him saying, “That’s it, touch yourself. Work the soap over your breasts until they glisten.”
Echo deposited the sponge into the water and rubbed the slippery gel onto her aching tits with her fingers, kneading them tightly against her chest. Her breasts were magnificent, heavy, round and ultra responsive to touch.
“Very nice,” her fantasy Flynn encouraged. “Now show me how you excite those mouthwatering nipples.”
Echo rolled her buds between her wet fingers, squeezing and tugging the tightening nubs until they rose from her breasts like firm, pink gumdrops. Echo’s hips writhed beneath the water, her buttocks tightening and tilting her pelvis upward in supplication.
This wasn’t going to take long. Echo knew her body like a well-read roadmap. She knew the time-saving short cuts as well as the more leisurely scenic routes.
She settled deeper into her vision.
“Hmmm, are you stirring yet? Do you recognize that aching in your pussy?” Flynn prodded. “Search below the water, Echo, to the soft down between your thighs where it’s warm and luscious.”
Echo glided her hand down her stomach and crawled her fingers over her dewy mound until her fingers encountered the lubricious fluids of her arousal. She envisioned Flynn kneeling near her, his breath tickling her ear as he watched her pleasure herself. His sonorous voice urged her onward.
“Spread your legs. I want a peek at your sweet pussy.”
Echo draped her legs widely over each side of the bathtub. Warm, soothing waves of water lapped enticingly at her cunt. In her mind’s eye, she conjured the image of Flynn’s cock springing to life as she opened her legs for him.
Echo’s breath came faster now. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep inhalation of the scented air. She squeezed her eyes tight, her fingers encouraging the blossoming sensations of orgasm. When she traced small circles around her clit, it swelled with delight beneath her touch.
She swiped her folds with her fingertip, picking up more lubrication and swirled the slick juice over her throbbing button until her pussy ached with emptiness. She wished she had unpacked her favorite eight-inch toy, but no matter.
She pushed two fingers of her left hand inside of the dewy folds causing a small, breathless “Oh” to escape from her throat. Savoring the sensation of partial fullness, her strong vaginal muscles tightened around the probing fingers as she worked them deeply into her pussy
In her vision, Flynn stood up and eased his swollen prick into her mouth. It tasted so good. It was huge, too…monstrous. He rocked it in and out of her lips. She matched the imagined rhythm of his thrusting with her fingers. Her legs shuddered and gripped the porcelain, raising her hips. Close, she was so close to orgasmic release. A little more pressure on her craving clit and she would be there.
“Stop! You wicked little vixen, stop that right now! You don’t come until I tell you to!”
A draft whistled through the leaky wooden window, extinguishing the candles and leaving Echo in darkness.
Echo opened her eyes, returning to reality. What the hell? That wasn’t supposed to be in my fantasy!
She pouted in the blackness, the only illumination coming from the glow of the waning moon. She mumbled irritably, “God, I’m pathetic! I can’t even Jill-off without being disappointed.”
Echo hurled the sea sponge across the bathtub. It split the water’s surface, sending foamy droplets splashing onto her face. The spell was broken. Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she pulled her legs inside of the bathtub in defeat.
Later, in the unsettling quiet of her bedroom, she drifted into a restless sleep.
In a deep state of dreaming, she wandered over an unfamiliar land. Drought-cracked earth stretched for miles in every direction. The barren landscape was dotted with the blackened corpses of long-dead trees. As she walked, the crunch and snap of the parched ground crackled in the still air.
With each step, the earth beneath her bare feet crumbled and broke away, falling soundlessly into a dark abyss. Scrambling to stay one step ahead of the crumbling earth, Echo frantically searched the lifeless horizon for a safe haven. Far in the distance, she spotted an immense rock formation, rising from the arid ground like an ancient monument. It stood red against the white-hot sky, its surface jagged and steep as if hewn by some great sword. Its time-worn face seemed solid and secure, strangely out of place in this fragile environment.
Blood pounded in her veins, as she raced with break-neck speed towards the protection of the rock formation, raining clods of pulverized earth into the colorless void.
She didn’t dare stop or look back, only pressing onward until breathlessly she flung herself onto the cool, hard surface of the rock base. Clinging to the stone, she looked backward. The path she had run was now a bottomless crevasse that split the earth in two. No matter what lay ahead, she could not go back the same way that she came. Echo pulled herself up to a jagged ledge, the flint-like rock lacerating the tender pads of her fingers. Perhaps if she could get to the top, she might be able to view the land from all angles and find a way out of this horrid place. With resolve and determination, she climbed to the next ledge, and the next.
The sun burned hotly against her fair skin as she searched for footholds on the steep surface. As she ascended, patches of deep green moss sprung up, cooling the soles of her feet. A dense cloud obscured the top of the formation. From here, Echo could feel its misty dampness on her face.
She must be close now. The promise spurred her onward and she found the strength to pull herself onto a smooth outcrop, where she rested for a moment, quenching her parched flesh in the cool vapor of the cloud.
Her eyes searched the endless sky for signs of life…a bird, an insect, anything that would tell her that she was not alone. But the sky only mirrored the emptiness of the landscape below.
Echo examined her hands and knees, scraped and bleeding from her climb, and wondered how she had come to such a forsaken place. If only someone would come along and tell her what to do…which direction to go. But there was only one direction left—up. Echo stood on the ledge, tilted her head skyward and stretched once again, her fingers grasping for a sturdy hold. Finding one that she felt would support her weight, she propelled her body upward, passing through the cloud line, where she found herself standing on the apex of the mountainous boulder.
She sighed with deep relief and satisfaction at having made it to the top. Walking to the opposite edge of the rock, she surveyed the landscape below. Stretched out as far as her eyes could see was a mad scene of utter chaos. There was no order to anything. Abstract structures, with walkways and wings constructed in a willy-nilly fashion, teetered and collapsed beneath their own weight. People wandered aimlessly in every direction. Everyone and everything was acting of its own accord. No one was in control.
Echo shouted out directions and commands to the swarming mass, but her words frustratingly faded into the atmosphere unheeded. She called out for help to no avail. She remained unseen and unheard—solitary and lost.
Far away, across the clouds, the faint call of her name reached her ears. Echo peered in the direction of the sound and noticed a road winding through the sky which hadn’t been there before. There was a signpost on the side of the road marked with bizarre symbols. Scratched into the sign was a single word. Tir-na-nog.
“Are you going there?” queried a small voice.
The wispy figure of a woman floated above the rock’s surface. Long tresses of white blond hair billowed around the soft features of her pale face. She wore a diaphanous gown of emerald green, which whipped around her in the wind, although Echo could feel no wind at all.
“I …I don’t know. I don’t know which way to go. I think I’m lost.” Echo confessed.
“Well, I have found that if you are lost, it often helps to just wait for someone to direct you.”
“How about you…you’re here right now.” Echo petitioned.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it is best if you just wait for someone else.”
“What if no one else ever shows up? What if I never get out of this godforsaken place? What if I die here all alone?”
The lady in green laughed, “If, if, if…so many ifs. Balls, said the Queen, if I had ‘em I’d be King.”
“What in the hell does that mean?”
The green lady clucked her tongue. “Silly girl, it means that sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, surrender and trust that the universe holds you safely in the palm of its hand.”
Leaving Echo with that enigmatic statement, the ethereal lady floated into the distance.
Before she could think on what she had been told, the rock gave way, sending her plummeting into darkness. Deeper and deeper she tumbled into the colorless abyss. She tried to cry out, but no sound emitted from her mouth. Hurtling downward, her descent jerked to an abrupt halt and she found herself suspended in mid-air, face down, her arms and legs splayed apart, held in suspension by iron shackles that encircled her wrists and ankles. She realized that she was nude.
She wanted to go back to the safety of the rock, but it had vanished. Weeping in panic, she thrashed about, wailing at the top of her lungs for help. Her cries bounced back to her across the black horizon. The more vigorously she struggled, the tighter the shackles bit into her flesh. She tried to relax and reason what her next move should be. When she relaxed, she discovered a peacefulness had come over her spirit. At that moment, she realized that the shackles were not elements of punishment; they were instruments for her safety. If they were to vanish, she would plunge headlong into the chasm.
As she willed the terror from her body, submitting to the security of the chains that bound her, a roar, like the sound of a passing train, arose from the depths. A mighty, sultry wind buffeted her naked body. It swirled and moaned, wrapping her skin in sensual sensations. The cyclone licked at her buttocks and fluttered between her legs. It caressed her breasts and tickled her thighs. Her panic subsided as she succumbed to the sensual wind. She hung in the atmosphere, suspended by the restraints, as the zephyr delighted and explored her secret, sensitive places. It was as if a multitude of tempestuous tongues teased and pleasured her flesh until she surrendered to orgasmic release.
https://amzn.to/2L2yTRW
Susan Gabriel
The Homecoming
“Sign and date here, and again, right there. These papers will transfer the title of the house into your name.” The attorney offered her a gleaming gold pen. Taking the instrument in her hand, she carefully signed her name on the highlighted areas. The counsel gathered the paperwork, confirming that her signature was affixed to all of the appropriate lines on the document. “Echo,” he peered over his tortoiseshell glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “That’s quite an unusual name. I was wondering if there was a story behind it.”
There was that same stupid question again. Echo twirled her carroty locks around her index finger, wishing she had a more interesting answer. The truth was Echo didn’t have a clue why she had been saddled with the strange moniker.
“No story, really,” Echo replied. “I suppose I should make one up and have it ready for every time someone asks me that very same question.”
Echo loved to watch people’s expression when she said that. The attorney’s confused visage told her that he wasn’t certain if he had been insulted or not.
“The truth is, my parents are old hippies, very ‘into’ planetary alignments and such. I consider myself lucky that they didn’t name me something like Spring Rain, or Karma.”
The attorney tilted his head to one side, glancing over his spectacles as if she were a piece of prime rib he was sizing up for dinner. “Well, it suits you, somehow.”
If you only knew the half of it buddy, Echo thought.
As long as she could recall, Echo had “heard” things; snippets of conversations, ramblings, rants, and whispers. They were echoes from another world, bouncing off of the fabric of time into her ears.
When Echo was a little girl, her Grandmother, a darling but exceedingly superstitious woman from the old country, urged her not to worry. Gran would tuck her in at night, whispering stories of mythological Celtic gods and the gifts they bestowed on mankind. But Echo knew that it was just a grandmotherly fairy tale designed to quell her fears.
Conventional medicine had provided no answers to her questions. Physically, she was sound as a dollar. In desperation, Echo had visited The Chicago Center for Paranormal Research. There it was confirmed. She was a Clairaudient.
The researcher explained that a clairaudient was a sensitive, gifted with the keen ability to perceive sounds or words from outside sources, such as spirits or other entities. A gift? It felt more like a damned curse.
The messages she received never seemed meant for her, and Echo didn’t know how she was supposed to act on them. They were an annoying form of psychic eavesdropping, like conversations overheard in a restaurant—interesting, perhaps, in a voyeuristic way, but soon forgotten.
The purpose of this so-called gift, if there was a purpose, eluded Echo. The researcher advised her that, with diligent training, she would be able to control the communication. Echo had no desire to control anything. She hated making decisions, and right now she hated her life. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she hoped one day the condition would just disappear.
When her parents insisted she take their house in the suburbs, Echo reasoned that she was doing her parents a favor by taking the property off of their hands while they raised their consciousness in far-flung corners of the earth. In fact, she was sure she was subconsciously trying to hide, hoping the voices wouldn’t follow her here.
The attorney dropped the keys to her parents’ old Victorian into her upturned palm. His fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist. A shiver vibrated through Echo like tiny ripples on a still lake.
“You’re dreamin’ girl, and you don’t even know that you’re asleep.”
“Excuse me,” Echo stammered, “Did you say something?”
“Congratulations. I said congratulations on the house.” The attorney leaned over his desktop towards Echo. “Are you alright? You just went a little pale.”
The damned voices again; actually, this particular damn voice. It had been haunting her for months.
The attorney stretched his hand across the desk, bringing it to rest on Echo’s forearm. “Would you like a drink? I think I have some bourbon stashed around here.”
Echo peered through his conservative spectacles into his gray eyes. The attorney’s gesture was friendly, almost fatherly. Echo’s intuition sensed that it held the promise of more. A vein in her neck pulsed against her throat.
It had been more than a year; sixteen months to be exact, since she had felt the touch of a man. It was not for lack of suitors, for there were many who pursued her. Her celibacy was self-induced.
Average men were bores. Few she met knew how to talk to a woman, much less seduce one. She found them to be unskilled and selfish in the bedroom; laying their full weight on top of her while they pumped away with a predictable rhythm. Sweaty hands roughly kneaded her breasts; sloppy, smothering kisses crushed her tender mouth. Some whimpered like wounded puppies when they climaxed. It wasn’t pretty.
Echo wished that one of them, just one, would read a book on the subject, or at least aspire to some form of sexual higher education, but they appeared entirely content, even boastful, of their present skill level. Echo sure as hell wasn’t; she wanted more.
Willful and lusty, she had not yet met the man who could handle her. She was born the only child of over-indulgent parents. Some might say that she was spoiled rotten.
Her expectations were high. Finding no man that could live up to them, Echo decided to bench her booty until the right man came along. No sex was better than disappointing sex, she concluded. Besides, she was no stranger to taking care of herself in that department. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it helped to keep the horny wolf from her door until she found a suitable mate.
Echo considered the attorney’s offer. He was handsome in a suburban sort of way. Neatly trimmed hair, cut into an acceptably short style. A paunch around his middle spoke of hurried meals from fast-food sacks.
Echo scanned the paper-strewn office. Stacks of legal briefs teetered precariously, like paper monuments. Framed diplomas and licenses crookedly lined the walls. Her eyes came to rest on top of a bookcase where plastic sci-fi action figures were arranged in battle.
Oh shit, I’m throwing this one back in the water, she concluded.
Echo withdrew her arm from her counsel’s touch, uncrossed her long, lean legs and rose from the chair. A single bead of perspiration crept from beneath her thick curls, slipped down her neck, and then disappeared like a phantom between her breasts.
“Jaysus lass, you are such a dreadful girl!”
That voice again; it seemed to be taunting her, pointing out her faults. In her gut, Echo knew that this voice was not a remnant of an overheard conversation, leaking through the veil of the otherworld; this particular voice was distinctly closer, and it was speaking directly to her.
“I really should be going now. I’d like to get over to the house before dark and get settled in. Thank you for all of your help on this matter.” Echo shook hands with the attorney before walking out into the unseasonably warm autumn evening.
The daylight hours were fading. Echo turned her face towards the last rays of the sinking sun and inhaled the dewy air deeply into her lungs. It bore the sweet smell of a new beginning.
***
Echo stood in front of her newly acquired Victorian painted lady. Her parents had purchased it only two years before. A stab of guilt cut through her belly. She had never found the time in her schedule to visit her parents here. Now they were off in some foreign land, doing wonderful, altruistic things for mankind, and she was still stuck trying to figure out her place in the world.
Echo was amused by the sweet serenity of the idyllic neighborhood. Leaves glowing with the blush of late September cruised to the pavement like fairy ships on a sea of air and lay scattered along the tree-lined street. Stately, well-kept Victorian homes soared three stories high into the darkening sky, their windows aglow in the twilight.
“Well, this is just like a sappy Thomas Kincade painting,” Echo mused aloud.
A gust of wind whistled through the treetops, raining yet more dying leaves onto the bricks.
“It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed”
Damn that voice! Would she ever be alone? No matter what she did or where she went, she never had the luxury of privacy.
Okay, whoever you are, please give it a rest. W.E.C.H.O. is signing off for the day, she warned.
The illumination of the street lamp shimmered over the intricate stained glass window on the front door. As Echo turned the lock, a voice with a vague familiarity declared, “Let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
The voice was not in her ear as it usually was, but came from directly behind her. It had the same distinctive softened vowels and haunting musical lilt as the voice that had attached itself to her in recent days.
Echo whirled around in the direction of the sound. In the shadowy light of the rising crescent moon, she discerned the figure of a man with inky-black hair strolling up the walkway towards her. He was perhaps six foot two in height with broad shoulders that tapered down in a ‘V’ to a pair of slender hips.
Advancing towards her, he extended his right hand in a cordial gesture. Echo rummaged in her purse for pepper spray.
“Please forgive me, I must have startled you.” He stepped into the porch light. “My name is Flynn.”
His voice was uncannily similar to the one haunting her. But that was impossible; unless this was a dead man standing on her porch, and he most decidedly did not appear to be a corpse. He was practically the most beautiful specimen of the male species Echo had ever seen.
Indigo eyes peered out from behind thick lashes that were black as a witch’s cauldron. A lock of raven hair dangled with careless abandon above his knitted brow. Echo restrained the compulsion to reach out and smooth it back into place with her fingers.
His smile, which tilted to one side, was warm and inviting. It caused Echo to think of rainy afternoons and the things that happen under the covers on those afternoons. A tingling, heavy feeling crept into her pelvis.
“Come on” he said, “I don’t bite.” He thrust his hand nearer, beseeching her to grasp it.
“Well, girl, are you going to let your neighbor stand here all night with his arm out like he’s tryin’ to hail a taxi, or are you going to give it a polite shake?”
A neighbor, ah ha, he was a neighbor. Living in the city had made her jumpy. She felt a flush of embarrassment spread across her freckled cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed the blossoming redness of her fair skin.
Echo grasped his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. I’m Echo Sullivan.” A sense of being protected and secure washed over her as his hand enclosed hers. A fleeting image of his hands exploring her body passed through her brain. Somebody’s horny, she thought.
“Echo? Isn’t that a fine name, and aren’t you a lovely lass!” he exclaimed. Pointing towards an expansive, turreted dwelling to his left he explained, “I live in the house four doors down and I was taking a stroll on this glorious evening when I spied you, and thought, now that is a lovely lass! So tell me, what is a lovely girl named Echo Sullivan doing in my neighborhood?”
She hadn’t been called lass since her grandmother passed away. Was he for real? She just had to ask, “Are you Irish, by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Was it my accent that gave me away or am I smelling of Guinness again?”
He definitely did not smell of Guinness. He smelled like beefcake in a wrapper.
Echo laughed, “No, it was your accent.” A bit flustered, she had forgotten the original question. “I’m sorry, what was your first question?”
Echo examined his left hand—no wedding ring. Hmmm, single man, Hollywood good looks, lives in a Victorian…probably gay.
“The neighborhood…you…here,” Flynn reminded her.
“Oh, well, my parents own…er, I mean owned… this house. They moved out of the country and needed me to take over the mortgage. I needed a change of scenery, and well, here I am, living in post-card U.S.A.”
Flynn surveyed the neighborhood. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I never thought of it. It is quite picturesque. I haven’t been here that long myself, I just moved in a few months ago.”
He had the gift of gab, she had to give him that. Oddly enough, his rambling wasn’t bothering her at all. She liked the sound of his voice; in fact, she liked it very much. He was easy on the eyes too, so that made it even more tolerable.
“I had hoped that someone would be movin’ in soon. An empty house is not good for property values.” He leaned forward whispering. “Drives ‘em down, you know. People think the neighborhood might be filled with undesirables when they see a house standing empty for months. You’re not one of those undesirable characters, are you?”
Was that a mischievous twinkle glittering in his sapphire blue pools of lust? The glint in his eye made Echo want to look away. It was as if he knew her secrets—as if she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or in this case, the nookie jar.
“You appear completely desirable to me,” he concluded.
The boldness of his compliment sent up a flirt alert for Echo. Okay, maybe he wasn’t gay. She was pretty certain he was coming onto her, and she didn’t mind.
“Yes, I mean, no… I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Anyway, I’m just a loner, freelance journalist looking for some peace and quiet. I sort of need to refocus my life, you know; figure out what works and what doesn’t work anymore.”
She glanced up at the imposing house. “I thought this might be the place to start.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. This neighborhood is mostly populated with double income families. They leave for work at the dawn of day and don’t return home till sunset. Then it’s off to soccer practice, or band practice, or the PTA. All very boring, and full of scheduled activities for the family-minded. I assure you, if it’s privacy that you’re lookin’ for, then this is your destiny. It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed.”
The perfect place to go unnoticed? She had heard those words spoken just minutes before! Suddenly, feeling very uncomfortable, Echo realized that Flynn still held her hand in his. Awkwardly withdrawing from his grasp, she excused herself. “I should be getting inside and settled in.”
“Of course, of course. Nice meeting you, Echo Sullivan. I hope you find your first night in your new home an enjoyable one.” Flynn winked at her as if signaling that he knew something she didn’t. He waved a casual goodbye over his shoulder as he departed.
Echo assessed him as he walked down the sidewalk, her critical gaze summing up his physique. He was a physically powerful man, perhaps in his late thirties. His dark hair, which he wore slicked back from his forehead, ended in small twists of curls that lightly skimmed the top of his starched, folded collar. He had an exceptionally nice caboose.
His confident stride oozed sensuality. It was almost feline. Echo would not have been surprised to see him spring lithely over a wall, or slink beneath a fence.
Tango dancers in Argentina carried themselves the same way. She recalled gliding across the floor of a Buenos Aires milonga, the tango beat pounding out the rhythm, in the arms of an Argentinian dancer—strong, sure and demanding, leading the dance, asking a question with his body, and she answering him with hers.
Echo’s skin prickled with lust.
“If that was the Welcome Wagon, I’m ready to hop on board,” she muttered. She kept watch until her fascinating new neighbor was enveloped by the lurking shadows.
Bound and determined
Echo stepped into the foyer. Her eyes followed the wide oak staircase that wound its way to the second story as she maneuvered her way around the few boxes that held her personal items, stubbing her toe on the corner of one of the boxes.
“Uggg,” Echo grunted, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep into her muscles. “I’ll deal with unpacking tomorrow.”
Boards creaked beneath her feet as she padded along the hallways inspecting the darkened rooms. The house was eerily quiet; too quiet for Echo’s liking.
I’m going to have to get a cat, she thought. The silence around here is deafening.
Despite six months of vacancy, the household appeared as if the previous owner had just stepped out on an errand. Linens, toiletries, pantry items, everything had been left in perfect order.
The kitchen was spacious and bright, much more pleasant than her one bedroom walk-up in the city. She located the necessary items to brew a cup of tea. A cup of tea in a Victorian cup. How quaint, she chuckled.
In her wildest dreams Echo had never thought she would be living in the ‘burbs, and drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but life is a funny thing, she admitted. Giving a little hop, she sat on the counter and raised the cup to her lips. Breathing deeply, she filled her nostrils with the soothing scent of chamomile. She wearily rested the back of her head against the white painted cupboard. Echo allowed her mind to drift; unpacking, changing the utilities to her name, opening a bank account, registering her car, her new neighbor, Flynn. An unconscious grin appeared on her face. Thinking of her hot new neighbor seemed more preferable right now than the other mundane tasks demanding her attention.
She needed to assess him awhile and consider whether or not he was going to be playing the starring role in her next fantasy Jill-off session. She recalled his wry smile and the twinkle in his eye, and the way it caused a guilty, feverish feeling to rush over her. She especially liked the way he said her name, not pronouncing it with a harsh “eh” sound, but drawing it out softly… “Aayko”. That could come in handy in a fantasy. He oozed the confidence of a guy who had a big cock and knew how to use it. I wonder if he has a big cock? Hmmm, I’d bet my next paycheck that he does.
Had he been flirting with her or was he just the overly friendly sort? Either way, he’d made a lasting and lust-inspiring impression. Echo recognized a warmth crawling around inside of her that had nothing to do with the chamomile tea.
She started to feel a little neglected. It had been …well, it had been a long time since she’d been laid. Echo squeezed her legs together and wondered what Flynn was like between the sheets.
The wind picked up outside. Barren, skeletal tree branches scratched against the kitchen window like ghostly fingers clawing at the glass. Startled, Echo awoke from her reverie. Placing her empty cup into the sink, she slid off of the countertop and landed with a soft plop on the linoleum floor. The temperature of the room had dropped to a chilly degree. She shivered and chattered her teeth before extinguishing the light.
Briskly rubbing the cold from her arms, she climbed the wide wooden staircase that led to the second story. When she swung open the bathroom door an ancient radiator hissed angrily in the corner. A cavernous claw foot bathtub beckoned.
“Sweet!” she exclaimed. “Let’s see if the folks left some candles stashed around here.”
Finding a box of candles in the vanity, she turned them over.
“Well, peace, love and understanding,” she laughed, “Patchouli!”
Echo lit them, placing them one by one around the room. The earthy aroma wafted in the air. She turned on the tap, testing the water with her fingers. As the bathtub filled with hot water, vapor enveloped the bottom half of the room in a dense fog.
She undressed before the full-length mirror, critiquing herself. She was vain, but had good reason to be. Her ginger hair cascaded in natural waves that tickled the base of her bare shoulder blades.
I could use a trim, she criticized, twisting her body to view the back of her hair. Her legs, lean and toned from years of Yoga practice, stretched up from the floor, and traveled to her firm, rounded bottom. Echo placed her hands on her flat stomach. She blinked at her reflection. The twin pink buds of her C cup breasts stared enticingly back at her.
If nobody loves ya, guess ya gotta love yourself.
Echo lightly circled the palms of her hands over her erect nipples, pausing to tease each with a fingertip.
“I can give you what you don’t yet know that you need.”
There it was again. The voice, muffled but discernable, rudely interrupting her fantasy.
Really, mused Echo. Unless you can deliver that delicious neighbor of mine into my bed, I seriously doubt that you can give me what I need right now. I’d like a few moments of privacy, so beat it, will ya?
Testing the bathwater with her toes, Echo determined it to be to her liking; not too hot to be uncomfortable, but just temperate enough that she would have to gingerly ease her body into the bathtub.
After acclimating herself to the steamy water, Echo reclined against the cool porcelain. It was time to choreograph her fantasy.
The candles flickered in the moonlit room. Echo squirted viscous drops of perfumed gel, watching them sink into the holes of a yellow sea sponge. Her hands, slick with the syrupy mixture, stroked the sponge leisurely along the length of her neck. Above the waterline, her breasts bobbed buoyantly in the chilly air. Echo massaged the fragrant gel onto her breasts, drifting into a carefully orchestrated fantasy scenario starring her new neighbor, Flynn.
She visualized him standing over her, leering at her in a most lecherous way, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sweet six-pack. In her mind’s eye, he watched her bathe, telling her what to do and how to do it…and she did each thing he commanded.
“Oh, lovely lass,” she imagined him saying, “That’s it, touch yourself. Work the soap over your breasts until they glisten.”
Echo deposited the sponge into the water and rubbed the slippery gel onto her aching tits with her fingers, kneading them tightly against her chest. Her breasts were magnificent, heavy, round and ultra responsive to touch.
“Very nice,” her fantasy Flynn encouraged. “Now show me how you excite those mouthwatering nipples.”
Echo rolled her buds between her wet fingers, squeezing and tugging the tightening nubs until they rose from her breasts like firm, pink gumdrops. Echo’s hips writhed beneath the water, her buttocks tightening and tilting her pelvis upward in supplication.
This wasn’t going to take long. Echo knew her body like a well-read roadmap. She knew the time-saving short cuts as well as the more leisurely scenic routes.
She settled deeper into her vision.
“Hmmm, are you stirring yet? Do you recognize that aching in your pussy?” Flynn prodded. “Search below the water, Echo, to the soft down between your thighs where it’s warm and luscious.”
Echo glided her hand down her stomach and crawled her fingers over her dewy mound until her fingers encountered the lubricious fluids of her arousal. She envisioned Flynn kneeling near her, his breath tickling her ear as he watched her pleasure herself. His sonorous voice urged her onward.
“Spread your legs. I want a peek at your sweet pussy.”
Echo draped her legs widely over each side of the bathtub. Warm, soothing waves of water lapped enticingly at her cunt. In her mind’s eye, she conjured the image of Flynn’s cock springing to life as she opened her legs for him.
Echo’s breath came faster now. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep inhalation of the scented air. She squeezed her eyes tight, her fingers encouraging the blossoming sensations of orgasm. When she traced small circles around her clit, it swelled with delight beneath her touch.
She swiped her folds with her fingertip, picking up more lubrication and swirled the slick juice over her throbbing button until her pussy ached with emptiness. She wished she had unpacked her favorite eight-inch toy, but no matter.
She pushed two fingers of her left hand inside of the dewy folds causing a small, breathless “Oh” to escape from her throat. Savoring the sensation of partial fullness, her strong vaginal muscles tightened around the probing fingers as she worked them deeply into her pussy
In her vision, Flynn stood up and eased his swollen prick into her mouth. It tasted so good. It was huge, too…monstrous. He rocked it in and out of her lips. She matched the imagined rhythm of his thrusting with her fingers. Her legs shuddered and gripped the porcelain, raising her hips. Close, she was so close to orgasmic release. A little more pressure on her craving clit and she would be there.
“Stop! You wicked little vixen, stop that right now! You don’t come until I tell you to!”
A draft whistled through the leaky wooden window, extinguishing the candles and leaving Echo in darkness.
Echo opened her eyes, returning to reality. What the hell? That wasn’t supposed to be in my fantasy!
She pouted in the blackness, the only illumination coming from the glow of the waning moon. She mumbled irritably, “God, I’m pathetic! I can’t even Jill-off without being disappointed.”
Echo hurled the sea sponge across the bathtub. It split the water’s surface, sending foamy droplets splashing onto her face. The spell was broken. Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she pulled her legs inside of the bathtub in defeat.
Later, in the unsettling quiet of her bedroom, she drifted into a restless sleep.
In a deep state of dreaming, she wandered over an unfamiliar land. Drought-cracked earth stretched for miles in every direction. The barren landscape was dotted with the blackened corpses of long-dead trees. As she walked, the crunch and snap of the parched ground crackled in the still air.
With each step, the earth beneath her bare feet crumbled and broke away, falling soundlessly into a dark abyss. Scrambling to stay one step ahead of the crumbling earth, Echo frantically searched the lifeless horizon for a safe haven. Far in the distance, she spotted an immense rock formation, rising from the arid ground like an ancient monument. It stood red against the white-hot sky, its surface jagged and steep as if hewn by some great sword. Its time-worn face seemed solid and secure, strangely out of place in this fragile environment.
Blood pounded in her veins, as she raced with break-neck speed towards the protection of the rock formation, raining clods of pulverized earth into the colorless void.
She didn’t dare stop or look back, only pressing onward until breathlessly she flung herself onto the cool, hard surface of the rock base. Clinging to the stone, she looked backward. The path she had run was now a bottomless crevasse that split the earth in two. No matter what lay ahead, she could not go back the same way that she came. Echo pulled herself up to a jagged ledge, the flint-like rock lacerating the tender pads of her fingers. Perhaps if she could get to the top, she might be able to view the land from all angles and find a way out of this horrid place. With resolve and determination, she climbed to the next ledge, and the next.
The sun burned hotly against her fair skin as she searched for footholds on the steep surface. As she ascended, patches of deep green moss sprung up, cooling the soles of her feet. A dense cloud obscured the top of the formation. From here, Echo could feel its misty dampness on her face.
She must be close now. The promise spurred her onward and she found the strength to pull herself onto a smooth outcrop, where she rested for a moment, quenching her parched flesh in the cool vapor of the cloud.
Her eyes searched the endless sky for signs of life…a bird, an insect, anything that would tell her that she was not alone. But the sky only mirrored the emptiness of the landscape below.
Echo examined her hands and knees, scraped and bleeding from her climb, and wondered how she had come to such a forsaken place. If only someone would come along and tell her what to do…which direction to go. But there was only one direction left—up. Echo stood on the ledge, tilted her head skyward and stretched once again, her fingers grasping for a sturdy hold. Finding one that she felt would support her weight, she propelled her body upward, passing through the cloud line, where she found herself standing on the apex of the mountainous boulder.
She sighed with deep relief and satisfaction at having made it to the top. Walking to the opposite edge of the rock, she surveyed the landscape below. Stretched out as far as her eyes could see was a mad scene of utter chaos. There was no order to anything. Abstract structures, with walkways and wings constructed in a willy-nilly fashion, teetered and collapsed beneath their own weight. People wandered aimlessly in every direction. Everyone and everything was acting of its own accord. No one was in control.
Echo shouted out directions and commands to the swarming mass, but her words frustratingly faded into the atmosphere unheeded. She called out for help to no avail. She remained unseen and unheard—solitary and lost.
Far away, across the clouds, the faint call of her name reached her ears. Echo peered in the direction of the sound and noticed a road winding through the sky which hadn’t been there before. There was a signpost on the side of the road marked with bizarre symbols. Scratched into the sign was a single word. Tir-na-nog.
“Are you going there?” queried a small voice.
The wispy figure of a woman floated above the rock’s surface. Long tresses of white blond hair billowed around the soft features of her pale face. She wore a diaphanous gown of emerald green, which whipped around her in the wind, although Echo could feel no wind at all.
“I …I don’t know. I don’t know which way to go. I think I’m lost.” Echo confessed.
“Well, I have found that if you are lost, it often helps to just wait for someone to direct you.”
“How about you…you’re here right now.” Echo petitioned.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it is best if you just wait for someone else.”
“What if no one else ever shows up? What if I never get out of this godforsaken place? What if I die here all alone?”
The lady in green laughed, “If, if, if…so many ifs. Balls, said the Queen, if I had ‘em I’d be King.”
“What in the hell does that mean?”
The green lady clucked her tongue. “Silly girl, it means that sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, surrender and trust that the universe holds you safely in the palm of its hand.”
Leaving Echo with that enigmatic statement, the ethereal lady floated into the distance.
Before she could think on what she had been told, the rock gave way, sending her plummeting into darkness. Deeper and deeper she tumbled into the colorless abyss. She tried to cry out, but no sound emitted from her mouth. Hurtling downward, her descent jerked to an abrupt halt and she found herself suspended in mid-air, face down, her arms and legs splayed apart, held in suspension by iron shackles that encircled her wrists and ankles. She realized that she was nude.
She wanted to go back to the safety of the rock, but it had vanished. Weeping in panic, she thrashed about, wailing at the top of her lungs for help. Her cries bounced back to her across the black horizon. The more vigorously she struggled, the tighter the shackles bit into her flesh. She tried to relax and reason what her next move should be. When she relaxed, she discovered a peacefulness had come over her spirit. At that moment, she realized that the shackles were not elements of punishment; they were instruments for her safety. If they were to vanish, she would plunge headlong into the chasm.
As she willed the terror from her body, submitting to the security of the chains that bound her, a roar, like the sound of a passing train, arose from the depths. A mighty, sultry wind buffeted her naked body. It swirled and moaned, wrapping her skin in sensual sensations. The cyclone licked at her buttocks and fluttered between her legs. It caressed her breasts and tickled her thighs. Her panic subsided as she succumbed to the sensual wind. She hung in the atmosphere, suspended by the restraints, as the zephyr delighted and explored her secret, sensitive places. It was as if a multitude of tempestuous tongues teased and pleasured her flesh until she surrendered to orgasmic release.
No comments have been added yet.
