The Stranger 

Claire kept having this recurring dream.  Even in a strangers bed she felt a war going on inside her head.  In the heat of passion, at the height of climax; as if reaching the summit of Mt. Everest-being on top of the world, releashing her body to the elements of nature, screaming at the top of her lungs in orgasmic bliss.  Still she felt conflicted-this girl who experimented with danger in the careless whisper of a stranger.  The carefree, inner goddess-that little princess within her felt immortal, invincible to the fears of this world.  


Waking up in an ancient Gothic style mansion and chained to a queen size bed.  She was vulnerable; exposed to her deepest fears and lack of control.


Stripped and whipped into submission in the glow of the moonlight shining through the half-opened window.  The room was otherwise dark except for a long stream of soft light casting its ray across her nakedness-accentuating her glistening breasts.  Across the walls are writings in another language-Praha stood out among a wall of abstract paintings of nature. 

The door to the bedroom chamber creaks open slowly.  A cold breeze blows across the room as a dark entity moves slowly from the door to the edge of the bed frame.  A dark figure appears at her feet and slowly glides across her body; pressing into her flesh as though he is massaging her with such intensity-placing her entire being into a trancelike state.  Her eyes locking in on the eyes of the stranger on top of her-his eyes are entirely black and without any whiteness or soul behind them.  

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