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1,001 Nights

Novel By: WriterErotic
Erotica



A young woman, slave to her own potential sex addiction and inspired by the story of Scheherazade, embarks on a quest to have a different sexual encounter every night for 1,001 nights. Sara isn't even certain why she decides on this course of action. Is she really this depraved, or does she hope to burn the never-ending desire out of her system? Does she think she can find happiness in the arms of a different lover every night, or does she hope to find true love by sampling the vast array of potential partners? View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Submitted:Jun 13, 2007    Reads: 1,664    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   


Sara was screaming, trying to turn the key and turn around to look at the man she knew was going to rape her at the same time that she was shaking out of her skin. Her hands didn't work and her legs shook so hard that she fell onto her butt on the gravel. She scrambled on her back, trying to get hands and feet under her and ended up crab-walking right into him. She screamed again, a fearful gurgling sound she couldn't believe was coming from her own throat, as she felt hands on her shoulders, knowing this was it. She couldn't fight him off from this position. She was going to be raped.

"Take it easy," the man behind her was pulling her up.

Sara tried to fight him off but was still shaking and her arms weren't doing what she wanted them to do. Her throat was raw from screaming.

His head moved into her line of sight, no details discernable in the poorly lit parking lot, but a definite outline as his hands moved under her arms to lift her up. She swung at him, her fist narrowly missing his head as she threw herself off balance. He must have seen it coming; he spun her along, following the momentum of the punch and somehow got both of her arms behind her back, her face and chest pressed against the fender of the car.

"Be nice." He held her firm but without any threat, as if he didn't want to hurt her but was gauging her reaction.

"Let me go." Sara struggled against his hands, but he had the dual advantages of position and leverage.

"You're not going to try to hit me again, are you?"

"Let go." Sara managed to sound angry instead of scared. She was both, but far more frightened than angry.

"You promise not to try anything?"

"No." Sara said it like he was stupid. "I'm going to kick your ass as soon as you let go."

"Then I'm not letting go."

"I'll scream."

"Again?" There was laughter in his voice.

"I'll scream rape." Sara was getting angrier by the minute. She wanted to be off the ground. She wanted to pick the pebbles out of her knees. She wanted to smack this bastard upside the head.

"I'm not raping you."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to avoid getting hit."

"Then let go."

"You said you'd kick my ass if I let go."

There was a pause as Sara tried to think of something to say without lying. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kick him square in the balls for scaring her, even if he was harmless. But something about him intrigued her, too. She was pretty sure he wasn't going to hurt her; he could easily be hurting her already if that was his goal.

"I won't kick your ass if you let go." Sara waited.

"What if I don't want to let go?" Again there was a teasing quality to his voice.

"I won't do anything, I swear."

"What if I want to bend you over your hood and take you like I did in the field the other day, after we saw the deer? What would you think of that?"

"What?"

"You came here looking for me, didn't you?"

Sara realized that it was her mysterious woodsman, and was thrown off by the revelation. "It's you," was all she could manage to say.

"Surprise." He let go of Sara's arms suddenly and she almost lost her balance.

Sara spun to face him and stood, sliding her back up the side of her car. When she had regained her feet and her composure, she stared at the shadowy form. She wished she could see his face, but it was too dark. Half of her wanted to jump on him, push him down to the ground and ride him like he had ridden her two days ago. The other half wanted to slap him for scaring her. She had no idea what to do or say.

"Were you really looking for me?" There was a note of shock in his voice, as if he didn't really believe what he had just asked.

Sara rubbed her elbow where it hurt from being forced up behind her back. "Yeah."

"Weird." He took a step towards her, apparently no longer afraid of being struck. "I was hoping to see you again. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I seem to have that effect on guys," Sara stopped, realized how egotistical she must sound, and then tried to carry on. "I mean…" she trialed off. She had no idea what she meant. "I don't even know your name."

"I kind of like it that way," he said, "mysterious." He smiled. "You're my mystery woman."

Sara laughed. "I've been calling you my 'mysterious woodsman'."

"Perfect," he said. "I think we should keep it that way."

Sara looked at him, tried to gauge his expression in the gloom. "So what now?"

He moved close, right next to her. She could feel his body heat, but he didn't come any closer, just stood there, invading her space and making her heart best faster, his presence thrilling along her body. She wanted to touch him, caress him, feel his body against hers, but she knew the anticipation of touch was a feeling that wouldn't come back once dispelled. She luxuriated in it, soaked in his aura, breathed in his scent, scenarios playing out in her head making her wet.

Sara couldn't believe she was excited again. What was wrong with her? Why did she always feel this need? Why did any man this close pull at something inside her, make her want them, regardless of what he looked like, regardless of whether or not she even knew him? It was infuriating, but there it was, whether she liked it or not. She wanted him. She wanted him to touch her, wanted his hands upon her, wanted him inside her.

"Are you alright?" His head tilted at an angle as if he were trying to see her better in the darkness.

"Fine." She didn't know what to say. Should she tell him how he made her feel? Should she indulge herself?

"You're shivering." He raised a hand as if to touch her, but stopped short.

"Trembling is more like it." She hadn't realized it, but she was shaking, her entire body reacting to him out of her conscious control.

His hand rested on her arm. For a moment she thought he was trying to comfort her, but then he moved his hand up her arm, her shoulder, then down over her breast, brushing over her nipple through her blouse and pulling a sigh from her throat.

He moved lower, both of his hands on her now while she remained motionless, arms at her sides. One of his hands slid up under her skirt and made its way between her legs, his touch light as a breeze. Sara closed her eyes and let him explore. He moved with precision, his fingers finding their way in the darkness, stimulating her as his other hand rested on her waist.

Sara heard her breathing speed up, felt warmth spreading through her body. She ached for him, wanted him inside her, wanted his hands all over her, his lips on her mouth, more than his fingers under her skirt. She spread her legs and braced herself against the car, her hands resting on the fender to either side. She leaned back, giving him access to her body, wanting him to take her, take control, bend her to his will.

His fingers were massaging between her legs, rubbing so lightly over her clitoris she wasn't sure if he was really touching her or if she just wanted him to be. A finger slid inside her, his thumb resting on her clitoris, now two fingers moving in and out, building to a steady rhythm.

She pressed herself into his hand, gyrated against him, trying to force him deeper and harder, but he pulled back from her thrusting rather than moving into it. He was teasing her, stimulating her just enough to make her want more but not enough to satisfy. She grasped his forearm, pulling his hand to her, making him move harder against her, deeper inside her.

He shook his head slowly; Sara wasn't sure how to take it. Suddenly his hand was in her hair, pulling her head back so hard it hurt. She gasped and let go of him, reaching behind her head, trying to disentangle his fingers from her hair. He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her roughly, and his hand plunged inside her at the same time.

Sara felt her breath catch in her throat at his ferocity, he was fucking her with his fingers, his thumb pressing against her clitoris and moving in small circles, his tongue forcing its way inside her mouth, her head pulled back hard. She felt him move with her reactions, speeding up as she bucked against him, and then her orgasm was exploding inside her.

She lost track of her own body as waves of pleasure washed over her. Opening her eyes she saw him looming over her, one hand still wrapped in her hair, but not holding on quite so tight any more, the other still locked between her legs. She reached one hand out and rubbed him through his pants. He was already hard, pressing insistently out, almost bursting from his pants, but as soon as she touched him he brushed her hand away.

"No," he said, and his tone did not invite debate.

"Why not?" Sara couldn't figure him out. She thought for sure he'd want her to return the favor, especially after their last encounter. He hadn't come then, either. "Did I do something wrong?"

He laughed then, a deep almost musical sound that surrounded Sara and made her feel strangely uneasy. "No, it's not that." He touched her cheek with only his fingertips. "You're incredible."

"Then what is it?" Sara was frustrated. She had orgasmed and it was good, but she felt that something was missing. Maybe she wasn't good enough for him.

"Anticipation, for starters." He was still touching her face. "You don't like to wait; you rush right in and get things done. I could tell as soon as I touched your ankle. You would have fucked any man there that afternoon, wouldn't you?"

Sara wanted to say no, but he was right. It wouldn't have mattered who he was or how good his touch had made her ankle feel, she would have wanted him. She nodded, unwilling to admit it out loud.

"I like to savor things. I might take an hour to enjoy a good meal. I might relish the smell of a good wine or cognac and twirl it around the glass for fifteen minutes before finally tasting it. Sometimes the anticipation is better than the fulfillment." He traced his fingers down her cheek, down her neck, under her chin. "Although I don't think that will be the case with you. You're something special."

Sara looked down, couldn't meet his eyes, even though she could barely see them in the darkness. There was nothing special about her. What he saw as special she considered her curse, her single biggest fault.

"You don't like that part of yourself." He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her head up until she looked at him.

It was like he was psychic. Maybe he was. How could he know that about her? How did he know exactly how to touch her, exactly what she was thinking? How did he know to come here tonight when she didn't even know she was coming here tonight?

"You have raw sexual power, but you fight it." He stared at her, but it was as if he were staring through her, his eyes half-seen in the dark. He said nothing for long minutes, just stared at Sara as if he didn't even see her.

"Once you embrace your desire, once you accept the nature of your sexuality, then I'll give myself to you." He smiled; Sara could feel it more than she could see it. "I think that once you accept what you are, what we share together will be inimitable."

Sara's head swirled with his words. She tried to understand his meaning, and wondered how much he actually knew about her and how much he just guessed.

"It's late," he said it without taking his eyes off her. "We both need sleep."

"Let me give you my number." Sara bent down and grabbed her purse from where it had fallen. When she stood, he was gone. She spun in a quick circle, her eyes scanning only blackness.

"Wait!" she called after him. "You don't know how to get in touch with me."

His voice came out of the darkness; he already sounded like he had gone quite a distance. "You know where to find me."

"Where?" She was trying to get a bearing on his voice, thinking of following him into the shadows.

"Here."

"The parking lot?" She waited, but got no response. "Hello?"

Only the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze answered her. "Hello?"

He was gone, again.





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