Mr. Sands may well be getting a visit from Magda Gardener in the future. She, along with one of my faithful readers (you know who you are 😉 ) has been scheming behind my back to make this visit happen. Magda has always liked to badger me and tease me when I’m jet lagged. She loves catching me between time zones. When I’m not really any place or any time, when I’m in a plane for hours, or when I’m a long way form home.

After spending two glorious days walking and exploring the John Day Fossil Beds, how could I not be inspired? Not only was I in a different timezone, but , while walking in the glorious Blue Basin, I was in a different millennia. (More about that later) As promised, from the archives, I’m sharing with you the second part of The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands  — a two-part story inspired in part from entering the twilight zone at Seattle International Airport last year at this time and wondering if I’d ever get out again. As I mentioned, Magda has her eye on Mr. Sands, so who knows how that will end. In the meantime, enjoy part 2.

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Pt 2

Warning: Adult Content!

It was only as he turned his attention on me, lying there writhing in my first class seat/bed that I realized I was already anticipating his kiss, that my mouth tingled with desire, that my tongue darted over my lips making them moist, making them ready. I was more than anticipating, actually. I was desperate for his kiss. For a long time he stood watching me, and it felt as though there was no one else on the plane but the two of us. For only a second I closed my eyes, as though I could bask in his bright blue gaze, which felt like the only light in the plane, exuding a warmth that made me realize I’d never been warm until he looked at me that way. In the next instant, I felt chilled as though I might never be warm again, but it pasted almost before I was certain I felt it, and then his breath, sweet like summer over meadow grass, brushed my face, as I parted my lips in anticipation. “Not yet,” he whispered, against my ear. “We have time and I want to savour you, my darling.” His accent, the rhythm of his words was strange – not foreign, but somehow out of time.

And then I felt his teeth against my neck. Christ! Was the man a vampire? In my strange dream state, nothing really seemed impossible. But it was just a nibble, and then another and another raising a trail of goose bumps along my nape and down over my collarbone to the tops of my breasts. It was the chill of the cabin air that drew my attention to the fact I had unbuttoned my blouse and shoved my bra down to expose myself for him. I had no memory of undressing, nor of the fact that I was stroking and pinching my nipples to painful peaks and making desperate mewling sounds deep in my throat. “Please,” I whispered softly. “Please take me like you did them.”

“Oh no, my darling, not like them. I shall not take you like them, for you’re nothing like they are.” He drew my hands to his lips and kissed them in turn, then guided one to the bulge in his trousers. “I’ve only made them sleep. This I have saved for you and you alone, and it’s only fitting since you made me this way. Then he slid the blanket off me and, I couldn’t help it, I shifted my hips and let my legs fell open beneath my skirt.

“You’re ready for me, my darling. I knew that you would be, even as I saw you in queue at the check-in desk. You were like a beacon calling me to you. I knew then that I had to have you. He worried my skirt up with a large warm palm taking his time to stroke the outsides of my thighs and then fondling and insinuating his way in to the soft tender flesh between all the while I wriggled and squirmed anxious for his touch. When he’d scrunched the skirt was up high enough to reveal my panties, he planted a kiss on my still clothed pubic bone, the humid heat of his breath making me arch up to him. Then he sat back on his knees on the floor next to me. “Take them off, my beautiful girl. Take your panties off for me. I want to look at you, before I take you.”

When I was free of them, he opened my legs wide and kissed up the insides of my thighs in turn. “The smell of you is ambrosia to me,” he said, teasing me open and stroking me with two slender fingers until I felt as though I would crawl out of my skin if he didn’t take me. “Believe me, my darling, I need you as badly as you need me,” he said. Other than the soft whisper of the plane in flight, and our own desperate breathing, the cabin was filled with the sounds of sleep. The zip of his fly into the quiet night sounds made me jump and catch my breath, and then he kneed my legs open, grasped my buttocks and pulled me onto him with a harsh grunt. There was pain, more paint than I anticipated, knowing how ready I was to accommodate him, and I cried out, like I’d done the first time I’d had sex. That’s almost how it felt, like the first time, tight, virginal, a yielding grudgingly to his fullness, wanting it, wanting all of what he offered, and yet somehow fearing it at the same time.

For a moment he held still on top of me struggling to control himself, speaking soothingly, cupping my cheek as he did so. “There, there. It’ll be all right. The pain will pass quickly. It’s just in the beginning it hurts because it’s so new to you, but then comes the taking and with the taking comes the pleasure, and you’ll not be left wanting.” After a moment, when I could hold still no longer, when I needed him to thrust in spite of the pain, he sighed softly and began to undulate — gently at first and then building in intensity as I wrapped my legs around him and held on. “There now. That’s better isn’t it, my lovely. There now. It’ll be good, so good. You’ll see.” He spoke in tight little grunts, and with each thrust it was as though he were filling me still fuller until I could contain it no more and the spasms began, and they didn’t stop, only ebbed and yielded and rose again with his urgency.

It was only then that he kissed me. Long and hard and deep, he kissed me, and he kept kissing me, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth taking my breath away with each lap and stroke and suckle, with each inhalation of his need until I had none left, until he breathed for me. It was as though he pulled the whole of me into himself. In kissing me, it felt as though he could read me, as though he had made me even more naked that I really was, exposing my inner workings for all the world to see. But there was no one to see but him, and I wanted him to see, I wanted him to see everything. “Almost there now,” he whispered against my mouth, and I could feel his body tensing above mine and the more he tensed, the deeper he kissed me, and the deeper he kissed me the more I opened to him until there was nothing in me that wasn’t revealed to him. When at last he exploded into me, me still orgasming as though I’d break a part, me still unable to draw breath of my own, consciousness slipped away completely, everything slipped away in an instant, and I simply ceased to be.

At the Wetherspoons where Maggie had taken me and bought me breakfast once I was functional again, I finished my coffee and looked up at her. “That’s what I remember. It was then that I woke up with you leaning over me. The blue-eyed man, Mr. Sands, I take it– he was nowhere to be found. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t think I could have made it off the plane.”

“He’s an incubus,” Maggie said without preamble. Before I could respond, she added quickly. “That particular night flight between JFK and Heathrow is called ‘the Sands flight,’ by all of us who work it regularly.” She blushed hard and looked down at her hands next to her coffee cup. “We’ve all experienced what you have.”

“An incubus.” The words came out like a harsh breath, but they weren’t a question. Whatever he was, I’d known, or suspected in my gut from his first touch that he wasn’t human.

She nodded. “He always shows up in the queue at the luggage check-in desk and upgrades someone to first class – at least he does now. There was a time when he preferred to prowl the main cabin. He takes only one person, but leaves everyone else feeling particularly euphoric, like you do after really good sex followed by a good night’s sleep. The person he takes, however, well we’ve learned over time to watch out for them, to make sure they’re well cared for after. It’s … it’s sort of our job, the crew, I mean. Oh he doesn’t compel us or anything, but, well, we all know what it was like.”

“So why don’t you warn people?” I asked running a finger around the rim of my cup.

“It doesn’t work that way. We don’t usually know who it is, and even if we did, he has ways of keeping us from talking.” She waved her hand as though she were waving away an insect. “Oh, it’s nothing sinister. It’s just that he can make us forget … well just about anything.”

I recalled how he had affected her the past night on the plane when she accidently interrupted him. “So, now what?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I now had to cope somehow with living in a world where incubi were real. I needed to understand.

“That depends on you,” she said, leaning over the table. “Those Mr. Sands has visited can always welcoming him back. Obviously he needs to feed, just like a vampire does and, after the initial taking, you’ll never be so drained again. But he won’t come to you unless he knows he’s welcome and,” she smiled at me, “if you ever take the Sands flight again between JFK and Heathrow, well, he’ll just assume that’s permission to play.”

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, but what began as a frisson of fear settled below my belly, between my legs and the way I squirmed, the slight acceleration of my breathing — well she caught it and nodded knowing. “He’s terrifying and yet too good to resist, believe me, I understand. And I can’t imagine life without him now. Besides,” she looked around the room as though she feared someone might be listening, then leaned closer, ‘there are other … fringe benefits to letting him in. My sex life is way better, and I’m just … well I just feel better about myself, I don’t know, more self-confident, more capable.” She looked down at her watch. “Look, I have to go. I have another flight in the morning and I need to get some rest. Are you okay now?”

I took a deep breath and thought about if for a moment. “I’m fine, yes. Thank you.” Actually, I felt terrific now, better than I could remember feeling in ages.

“Good. I’ll leave you to finish your coffee and order something else if you’re still hungry. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Honest.”

As she stood to go, I asked. “What’s his first name?”

“I have no idea. He’s never told us. We call him Mr. Sands because it’s like the whole plane has a visit from the Sandman, only with very pleasant dreams.”

That should have bothered me, I suppose, but it didn’t. I shamelessly ordered round two of breakfast, and when I was too sated to eat another bite, I headed home, anxious to write down my experiences on the Sands Flight. It just felt like something I needed to do. I paid my parking ticket and made my way to the car park feeling as though everyonearound me was looking at me, admiring me somehow. No doubt that was just residual from what had happened to me, but I found I liked that just find. As I stowed my luggage, then settled into the driver’s seat, I caught a glimpse of a tall dark man standing near a black Audi, who seemed to be watching me, and my skin prickled and the muscles below my belly clenched. I was sure it was Mr. Sands. I didn’t have to see him up close and personal to know. I just knew. I smiled to myself. “Hope you enjoyed your dinner,” I said under my breath. “I’m always happy to invite you over.” And I swear to God, the words were barely out of my mouth before I had an orgasm that shook the whole car.