(extract from Walking Shadows, erotic collection)
We get so many of you Kittens and Toms sending in the sexiest stories so decided instead of keeping them all to ourselves we’d create a place to put them all. Kicking things off we have this amazing piece from Harsha. It’s her first-ever erotic story, which blows our mind because it’s so good!
I arrive at a large building. I can’t focus. Early evening half-light. An uninviting building. It looks like a 1970s community centre, disused, underfunded and poorly maintained. I consider leaving but the red candles flickering in the entrance beckon me in. Five or six of them sit waving their fiery fingers on a small nest of tables just inside the wire-reinforced glass door; twenty or more curl down a magnolia corridor, radiating like romantic magnets. I can hear music. Muffled and easy. Smooth ambient tones…Massive Attack maybe…People pass either side of me in both directions. No one acknowledges me. No one even looks at me. I notice there are little pools of oil burning in copper dishes alongside the candles, but they give no aroma. I walk on. Slowly. Aware I am casually dressed and everyone else seems to be in evening wear and Viennese masks, like a scene from Eyes Wide Shut.
I stop a couple of metres away from the door at the end of the corridor. Someone moves past me, brushing my right shoulder as they go. A woman. Petite and wearing a Moulin Rouge style purple corset which further pulls in her tiny waist. She pushes open the door.
“Welcome, Lucy,” she says, the warmest glow emanating from her dark, dark eyes.
She steps into the next room and holds open the door. I’m terrified but there’s no going back. An invisible string pulls me. My feet move without my will. Like a puppet. I’m walking again. The tiny woman disappears into the labyrinth which lies ahead. A man in a rather elaborate outfit takes her place holding the door open. He’s wearing a long, blue-grey, lightly-chequered, double-breasted jacket with an electric blue silk lining complete with satin black shirt and pointed grey shoes. I recognise him. His eyes are ice-blue and burn with a fire that sparks my soul.
“So glad you came,” he says, “and so brave to come alone, although, as we both know, you will be very well looked after.”
I didn’t know this. Did I? And if so, how did I? He spoke as though we’d met many times, like we were well-acquainted with each other, but the source of his familiarity evades me. I can’t place him.
Gently. Ever so gently. He takes my limp hand from my side and raises it to his wide, curling lips, kisses my knuckles, strokes the kiss away with his thumb, then tilts his head, takes my face in his other hand and presses his lips delicately to mine. The warm, soft pleasure of his mouth is so intense and beautiful I feel momentarily tearful. His lips are hot and full and delicious.
“Would you like to change into something less comfortable?” he enquires.
Confused, I mouth nothing at all. He smiles and keeps hold of my hand. His smile doesn’t falter. I like him. I feel good with him. He is still smiling. He is smiling and I have no idea how I got here or why I came but the words want and we will find keep whispering in my ear…want and we will find…want and we will find. The words drift on air. I want to speak but my tongue feels anaesthetised. The warmth from his hand eases into my flesh; it spreads from my palm, creating a glow throughout my whole body. As I totter along behind him in my jeans, T-shirt and plimsols, I slip deeper and deeper into his aura. I have never met a man who said so much by speaking so little. But I’ve met too many who said so little while speaking so much. I feel myself falling in love with him and try to shake myself from his spell. His hand moves to my forearm and grips it tightly.
“Don’t fight me,” he says in the most clean, honest, crisp tone. “Don’t fight us.”
Looking over his shoulder, he raises both brows in unison, grins a deliberately fake grin and gestures along the corridor with a nod of his head. I attempt to follow his gaze, but he’s taller than me and his masculinity is solid and strong. I jump slightly as a door to my right opens and a pair of women step out. They smile at me and say, “Hi.” Such genuine smiles. I search their faces for signs of danger or untrustworthiness but all I find is open friendliness and a twinkle in their eyes. With coy, awe-inspired expressions, they look towards my host. I don’t feel his presence any more.
“Isabel,” they say with a nod.
My host is gone. In his place is a woman whose expression could leave an imprint on the soul for life. She returns the nod of the two women and they continue on their way. For a few seconds she just stands there, staring forwards with an enigmatic smile. Then she looks down at me and winks before saying,
“Where are we going?” I manage to squeak.
“Wherever your heart takes us.”
What the fuck.