Title: Enchantress: 04 Falling
Author: Daydreamer
Written: January 26, 2004
Rating: NC-17
Category: V PWP
Keywords: Sk/O
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes! Please!

Disclaimer: Skinner is owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. He is wonderfully brought to life by Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material they can profit from.

Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den,
http://www.reocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/

Summary: Skinner has yet another experience with a mysterious woman.


Falling... falling... falling ...

He was falling deep into a sea of nothingness, feeling that strange sensation of weightlessness that falling endlessly engendered, yet still aware of the softness of bed against his back.

Falling... falling... falling ...

Faster and faster, the gentle feeling of floating was turning into the sickening feel of gravity and acceleration and he could feel his vision begin to blacken and his consciousness shutting down.

Falling... falling... falling...

Soft mattress beneath his back. Satin sheets caressing him. Fading away as the ground beckoned him and he continued to fall and fall and fall.

Time stopped and there was that surreal *shift* that left him disoriented and slightly nauseated, and then the falling stopped.

Suddenly.

With a distinct 'thud.'

Onto something hard.

Hard, and wet and filthy.

He opened his eyes, but before they could focus he was hit full-on by the pungent smell of the air. He was sitting, back against a wall, between two trash cans in a pool of rainwater -- or at least he fervently hoped that was what it was. The wall behind him had a slither of mold growing on it as a result of the dark, damp conditions of the narrow alley way in which it ended. The air was wet with a putrid taste which came from the alley's lack of ventilation. At the end of the alley he could just make out a green line of fuzz suspended about 8 feet in the air. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, idly wondering how he came to be clothed, he removed his glasses and put them on, then looked again at the end of the alley.

The green fuzz was obscured this time by a tall, elegant figure, slowly walking towards him. She came closer and he could see her long red hair glistening in the neon light. He wiped a line of sweat off the top of his lip, and shaded his eyes from the glare of the light.

"Here," she said with an outstretched hand.

He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. Overcome by vertigo, he bent low, hands on his knees, head hanging down and panted for control. When he lifted his head, she was gone.

He looked at the green fuzz again, resolved this time into a bright neon light in which the word 'GIRLS' was illuminated. The strange glow of the sign lured him in and he slowly began to move, unaware of the squelch of shoes as he trudged along on the wet concrete. He didn't bother to check the road as everywhere sounded deserted.

He walked into the club without paying -- the doorman was too busy watching the internal security cameras to notice one more customer slipping by. Inside was warm and dry. The music was loud but he didn't seem to hear it. There were only a few people scattered among the tables. For some reason he didn't even notice the gyrating bodies of the semi-naked girls which paraded the stage not ten feet from where he stood. He was focused on one thing, and one thing only, finding the woman.

He waited, knowing she would come again, knowing she had called him here. Confused, disoriented, dazed, he nonetheless waited patiently and eventually he was rewarded with a hand on his shoulder. He turned, looking into deep green eyes, then accepted the hand she held extended and allowed her to lead him out.


There was a fire in the fireplace, smoke billowing out the chimney. Toasty warm inside. Dry. A quilt thrown on the hardwood floor. He followed her in, no word spoken yet, then stood, passive, waiting. Lost in some unreal reality, suspended belief in his disbelief. Blue, red, and purple flames danced in the fireplace.

The lights flickered on and off and then went out completely. She lit candles, then wordlessly led him to the bathroom, pointing to a robe that hung on a hook behind the door. He drew a deep breath, smelled the alley stink that clung to his clothes, and sniffed in distaste. A quick shower and he smelled of the spicy soap that was in the dish. He donned the terry cloth bathrobe and moved, hesitantly, back to the living room.

What was he doing here?

She'd made coffee, one of those international things that Sharon used to like but could never remember the name of. He liked it too, but would never admit it. It had a rich, full taste that lingered on the palate. Wordlessly, she invited him to share the quilt, to join her before the fire. He sat down awkwardly, legs sprawled out in front of him, bathrobe opening up slightly. As with so many things, it was a bit too small for him.

She finished her coffee, then rose, staring down at him speculatively. His legs were sprawled before him, muscular and strong, and he kept one hand on the edge of the robe, struggling for control.

She pulled off her shirt, standing before him clad only in jeans and a bra. He could see the flush from the fire where her skin had grown warm.

He was warm too, now, but it wasn't the fire. Beneath the too-small robe, he stirred in anticipation.

She removed the jeans and he stared at white cotton panties and a lace-edged satin bra.

He watched her hungrily, a bulge rising under the bathrobe. Before long, it had become like a tent. It was embarrassing and didn't know what to do. He tries to move, to shift and cover himself, but that was unsuccessful. She moves toward him, lithe and sensual and he groaned as he was suddenly revealed, his erection poking out below the robe's sash. The woman knelt and reached for him.

The lights were out. The candles were in place. The mood was set and the woman seemed ready and willing. And still, he was unsure of how to proceed. There were too many questions. Who was she? Where was this? How did he get here? What has happened?

Her hand stroked him -- a long, slow, sensuous movement, and he abandoned his questions, placing a hand on the back of her shoulder, pulling her gently toward him. He found no resistance as she leaned into him, placing her lips on his. The kiss was deep, her tongue running along his lip as he broke the embrace.

There was no stopping now. He pressed forward, and her hands came out and untied the sash on the bathrobe he was wearing. Her lips made contact with his neck and her hands wandered across the hairs on his belly, his chest. Wandering down, reaching lower. His hand came around her back to unhook the bra, then travelled around her, caressing velvet skin. Finally coming to the front of her body, he released her breasts from the cups that cradled them. His hand took over that job, lifting a breast as his thumb swept over the nipple, finding it erect and sensitive.

Her eyes were closed and a moan escaped her lips. It was the first sound she'd made all evening. His mouth traced a warm path beginning at her ear, slowly down her neck, at last over a breast and tenderly gripping the nipple. Her hands wandered lower, over his curly hairs, along the smooth hardness of him. Behind, below, she cupped him gently, kneading softly. She looked up, those startling green eyes piercing him, then leaned backwards, resting fully on the quilt.

He moved quietly, like a cat. Straddling her, her legs closed, held there by his knees. He had both hands on her breasts, his touch was hungry. She arched her hips upward and he could feel himself press against her pubis. He bent over her, sliding his tongue between her breasts, slowly moving down her body, his knees now on either side of her knees. He lifted one leg up, coaxing her legs open and kneeling between them.

His tongue continued its travels southward along warm flesh. He lowered his head and his tongue sought out her center.

This was madness! Where was he? What was happening? Questions flooded his mind, but his body had no doubts of what was occurring.

His tongue was busy now, and he could hear sounds. The woman moaned and whimpered uncontrollably. Her hips bucked and twisted below his lips. He played her like a fine instrument.

He could feel the contractions of her vulva against his tongue, and the blood racing through her veins pulsed between his lips. Her climax washed through her, drawing out her breath in gasps. She reached for him, still breathing hard, and he stood, pulling her with him. Still holding him, she turned and led him to the bed.


He was almost sleeping, lost in that not quite awake place. Curled up in bed, that warm and fuzzy feeling coursing through him. A contented sigh escaped from his mouth, he mumbled something even he didn't understand and rolled over on his back. Adrift in hypnagogia.

She was lying on her side, facing him. Her head snuggled into his shoulder, one arm reaching across him and resting on his chest. Cat-like green eyes studied him intently, then long fingers started to stroke his skin. She liked the way he felt. Her hand started to move along his body, softly, so as not to wake him from his sleep It moved across his chest lightly, over tiny nipples, back to the center and started to trail downward. She caressed the flat planes of his abdomen, feeling the muscles there, then moved slowly down to the belly button, circled it lightly, lingering there. Laying her palm flat over it, she stopped then circled again, her hand moving farther down. She stopped at the start of his groin, and smiled a smile of self-satisfaction and mischief.

Crawling underneath the covers, head first, she leaned over and took him in her mouth. He was not hard and she could engulf him without effort. She smiled again. This man was worth visiting.

Her tongue licked up the length of him and stopped to circle the head. She could feel him pulse in her mouth. She moved her tongue to circle under the head, enjoying the change of texture from the smoothness of the tip to the wrinkles below it. She moved again, placing her lips over the ridge and sucking gently. Her smile became gentle as her tongue flicked the tender skin.

She took all of him in, down to the base. Her hand moved down and reached out to cup him again, rolling the weight of his sack gently. She tightened her lips, pulling, and he began to grow hard. Her tongue slid up and down softly, applying pressure as the rest of her mouth started to suck a little less softly, feeling him grow even bigger.


He woke.

Her head was moving up slowly and down slowly as his grew to fill her mouth. He relished the feel of warmth and wetness, the soft press of lips against his sensitive skin. She applied more pressure. Her lips were pressed as hard against him as possible. Her tongue curved around him in a perfect fit, moving steadily up and down you. He gasped as her teeth scraped gently against his now complete hardness. Her head moved faster and faster. He heard another moan and was surprised to realize he was making the sound. He reached down and ran his fingers through her hair, then moaned again.

Warm. Wet. Tight.

She drew away and he almost cried. But then she was back, taking him in her mouth once more, stopping to circle the tip, and then drawing him in.

Once down ... twice down ...

He stiffened a little more, felt himself grow even harder. She reached down and cupped him again firmly, and he could feel his scrotum tighten and draw up, moving in her hand. He gripped the top of her head tightly, hating himself for his need, his urgency. His eyes were closed and his mouth was drawn up tightly, and he could feel himself pressing forward, reaching, reaching ...

And then he was there, but he was falling ... falling ... falling ...

He was falling deep into a sea of nothingness, feeling that strange sensation of weightlessness that falling endlessly engendered, yet still aware of the softness of bed against his back.

Falling... falling... falling ...

Faster and faster, the gentle feeling of floating was turning into the sickening feel of gravity and acceleration and he could feel his vision begin to blacken and his consciousness shutting down.

Falling... falling... falling...

Soft mattress beneath his back. Satin sheets caressing him. Fading away as the ground beckoned him and he continued to fall and fall and fall.

Time stopped and there was that surreal *shift* that left him disoriented and slightly nauseated, and then the falling stopped.

He sighed with pleasure, and reached down to pull her up next to him, to cradle her in his arms.

But the bed was empty.

He was alone.

He sat up, disoriented and confused, and looked around his room. It must have been a dream. He shook his head, then looked down at himself.

Though he had clearly spent himself, there was no sign of ejaculate anywhere. And the space in the bed beside him was still warm.

Hours later, he was still awake...

End

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