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I see Analise in the midst of the dancers. No Tasia or Peach. But my fairy sprite dances well. With any other woman I call my lover, I might be angry over the way she throws her body around so promiscuously; I might be jealous as hell of the attentions these women give her, but not Analise. I feel so little emotion toward her, except the thrill of dominating her. The host of women who dance around her writhing form can’t help but touch her in familiar ways. She loves this, and would no doubt make love to them all if the mood struck her right. Perhaps that’s exactly what she’s planning tonight.
On impulse, I move among the dancers, pressing my way into the center, where Analise is swaying to the carnal beat of drums. I dance with her, imitating her gyrations. Her face lights up when she sees me, but no differently than it does with any other woman. She’s totally non-discriminating in her affections.
I press my hand to her bottom to find the dildo still lodged there.
“Too bad,” I whisper to her, “I was hoping for the chance to do vile things to your rear end.”
She smiles happily. “But you can do whatever you want,” she tells me in a sweet hushed voice. We do a pleasant rumba of sorts, though I’m not adept at complicated dance steps. We both laugh when I almost trip. What I really prefer is something lewd, hips against hips, groin against cunt, thighs against thighs.
Still, for all its lascivious appeal, I don’t really want Analise now, not after Peach’s aura lingers with me. I expect Analise in bed tonight, though I’m not sure I really want her there. Maybe she’ll find some other woman to be with for her midnight romp.
Becoming restless dancing with her, I back away with an apologetic nod to her inviting eyes.
“You won’t stay with us?” she asks, as she extends her hand to keep me dancing there.
“No, not tonight,” I tell her.
That’s all it takes to send her on her way. She wiggles off against another female form, looking like she’s drunk, though I know she’s not. She moves from woman to woman giving up her fragrant body like an offering. I wonder if I should envy her fresh innocence.
Strolling around the gardens for awhile, I find myself reluctant to go inside. The night air is a joy to breathe, and the music is really pleasing. If I had Peach at my side this would be perfect.
As I finally enter the cool of the house, a chill races through me as if there’s something crawling up my back. An even greater chill makes me tremble when Analise suddenly appears. Coming from behind me, she grabs my arm and spins me around, and I jerk back anxiously. She’s sweating and out of breath, and almost looks as if she’s had to hurry to my side to deliver some important message.
“I’m sorry,” she says lightly, noticing my panicked face.
“Is something wrong? I thought you wanted to dance?” I ask her.
She sighs heavily, looking almost as if she’s going to drift away. “No. Not anymore, not after you left,” she says in a singsong voice. “Maybe I’ll go back later.”
“I’m a little tired, Analise; I thought I’d go to bed early. It will be kind of nice just to listen to the music from my room.”
“Ah! That would be nice, but I was thinking…” She pauses, suddenly looking at me with a childishly coy expression on her face.
“What?” I find my interest slightly piqued.
“There’s something I’d like to show you, I thought this might be a good time, with everyone outside.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m probably not supposed to be doing this, but I have the feeling that you’ll really like it.”
She takes me by the hand, ushering me to a door in the hallway. With a furtive glance in two directions, she opens the door and pulls me down a narrow flight of steps into the cellar. On one end of the dark basement, it looks as if there might be a wine cellar. There’s an old door with a rounded top that someone of average height would have to duck under to enter. This is an interesting curiosity. The other end of the cellar is cast in such dark shadows that I can hardly see beyond my own hand.
The cool in the basement gives me another chill. The dampness of the place reminds me of Midwestern basements in summer, except that this bears the salt scent of the ocean.
The tiny light of a single hanging bulb sheds no light on the black emptiness in front of me; there are just spooky uninviting shadows. This reminds me of my childhood. The old stone church I attended had a dark, dank basement with a gloomy corridor that gave me the creeps to walk down. I’d feel as if a ghost was staring down my back, but when I’d turn around, there would be nothing—nothing but chilly cobwebs laughing at my fears.
I feel that horrible burning in my back now, unable to resist the desire to turn around; I find nothing there and a laughing Analise when I turn back.
“You’re a silly one,” she says. She fishes along the stone wall, finding matches in a tiny niche, then she lights a torch that illuminates the room beyond the shadows, and places the burning wand carefully in a holder on the wall.
“This was an old chapel,” she says, leading me into a stone room. “It was carved out of the granite walls nearly a century ago. The house was built above it by Anastasia’s grandmother. She had an appreciation for the macabre, don’t you think?”
There’s a stone table at one end of the small cramped room, built into an alcove like an altar.
I feel something really odd around me. It’s as if that mysterious burning sensation permeates me; it’s not just at my back anymore. “This was a pagan chapel,” I tell her.
“How’d you guess?” she asks.
