Return to The Rosenberg Institute Chapter Four

The Rosenberg Institute

Author: Pipsberg
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay and the property of Mutant Enemy.

I am standing in the center of the room, surrounded by Southern gentlemen. I am wearing a dress that I certainly would never dawn in society. A corset style bodice in crushed red velvet barely contains my generous bosom. In fact, I practically flow out of it. My back is almost completely bare, a mere four ties crossing the skin there. Below my waist, velvet folds of the same color hang loosely, only to my ankles. My feet and torso feel tremendously bare.

My thick, wavy hair is pinned up, several curls escaping over my shoulders. Around my neck I wear pearls, tight like a choker. On my feet are dainty red slippers. I am moving slowly in a circle, both observing and wary of the suitors as they circle me. Like predators they stalk me and I feel both excitement and fear as they moved closer. I know that somewhere among them, he is there.

Then from the pack, he emerges. He is dressed in typical Southern regiment attire. I canít see his face well, but I know it is him. He moves towards me, takes my hand and leads me away from the unwanted suitors. We fade into another room, smaller and intimate. There is no-one there but us.

Then he is pressing me up against the nearest wall, his hands suddenly in my hair, his lips on my neck, then my cheek. Soft, he is so soft. I feel his entire body pressing into mine and I melted into him and into the wall at the same time, bringing his weight with me. I am infused with warmth so keen I feel it everywhere. My hands are hot, my neck and cheeks aflame with a bright blush. My chest heaves and I feel an ache that I donít understand surge between my legs.

At this point, I have always woken. I can feel my body struggling from this sweet forbidden dream. I open my eyes, not from sleep, but in the dream. I see green. Deep green eyes. These are Willowís eyes. My Southern gentleman has transformed into Willow, my Northern miracle. Willow is holding me. Willow is touching me. Willow is kissing me. Her lips move from my cheek to my lips and caress me there.

I respond to her, hungrily kissing her back, my lips swollen and insistent against hers. I want more. I want all of her. I want to consume her. I pull her towards me, my hands in her silky red hair. I press more deeply into her lips, my mouth opening to invite her in. Her tongue moves into my mouth; stroking, pushing, loving. Her hands move from my hair onto my hips, pulling me towards her.

She is heat all around me. She is everywhere. I arch into her, wanting to feel her between my legs as well. I am wet there, so very wet. As if reading my mind, one hand moves from my hip to between my legs; holding me. She holds me. And my world explodes.

Continue to The Rosenberg Institute Chapter Six

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