Charming Jemima

There was little to be seen of the finer detail of her bedlah save for the flashes of bright red diaphanous material that swept by along with the movements of her body. For some the improvised dance in which she was engaged would have been termed belly dancing, but Jemima had always hated that term. It was so typically Western to boil something so ancient and articulate down to a tawdry term that fell so far from the true nature of the thing.

To her the art would always be better called raqs sharqi, the dance of the near east, as it was named in Arabic. And the heart of the style lay not in the stomach, but instead in the movement of the hips and their synchronicity with the rest of the body. She had studied it for a number of years now and to her there was so much more to the form than plain gyration and show.

Jemima thrived on the chance to perform for a receptive audience.

And her most common audience of one in turn never turned down the chance to see her perform.

He had seen her dance many times before and the sight always fascinated him, but tonight there was an added element of anticipation in the air. Tonight Jemima would finally make her skill as a dancer an integral part of their elaborate ventures into playing fantastic roles in the pursuit of sexual exploration.

Sitting in the leather recliner and watching her private dance, he found that he was more entranced by her movements than ever before.

Jemima’s hair had been gathered up atop her head, pinned in place with decorative combs. She wore an embroidered bra and belt that trailed a small skirt of material, both were sewn with a fringe of coins that swung and rattled as she moved. Other than those common trappings of the dancer, she was naked save for a pair of panties and stockings in a red that matched the rest of the outfit, a concession to his fascination with the sight of her in such things.

She had been dancing for perhaps ten minutes before she twisted away from him, crossing the room to where a large basket stood in the middle of the floor. Jemima wove herself around it, making it the centre of her dance as she built to a climax, lifting the lid and slipping first one leg inside and then the other. Standing inside the basket, she continued to dance, taking the restricted space afforded by her position as a cue to concentrate on tighter and more writhing forms of movement.

Slowly Jemima wound herself down and into the basket, ever lower until only the upper half of her body was visible. She waved her arms like branches blown by the wind and began to sink further into the basket until her head was level with the lip. From there she grasped the lid with both hands and pulled it down on top of her, curling her body up inside the basket with all the skill of an amateur contortionist.

He waited for a moment to be sure that she did not intend to make another appearance, then rose from his chair and left the room.

Jemima pushed the lid off the top of the basket and uncurled herself from where she had been resting inside. Stepping out onto the carpeted floor of the simply furnished living room, she stretched the muscles of her body until the effects of her confinement were almost gone.

She was an experienced hand at the art of contortion and a few minutes folded up inside what to her was a fairly generously sized basket was nothing taxing. But what she was about to attempt would make far more demands upon her frame and she hoped that all the practice might finally pay off and prove her equal to the task.

Confident that she was alone and that there was no one able to see in through the blinds, Jemima stripped her dancing clothes off in a matter of seconds as she made her way to a trunk in the corner of the room.

She lifted the lid and pulled out a folded object made of green patterned latex that caught the light as it moved and small box of cosmetics. As she unfolded the latex, it reminded her of the garment she had worn when pretending to be a living flower with her feet sunk in a pot and her face framed by a circle of petals. But there would be no standing, rooted to the spot for her tonight as the nature of her latest costume required far more physical effort than the last.

Jemima sat in the recliner and began to prepare herself for the task ahead by first removing her dancing clothes; something that took next to no time thanks to their scant nature. Once she was naked, she unfolded the latex body stocking and pulled it over her legs, pushing her feet into the end until she felt them slip inside the padding a the base of the costume. Like many of the outfits she had worn in the past, there was no separating her legs and they pressed together as she wriggled into the costume.

Her hands and arms soon followed her legs into the sleeves of the stocking before she pulled the combs from her hair so that only the grips and pins beneath kept it in place. Finally she pulled the hood of the stocking over her head and zipped herself into the garment with a combination of experience and the flexibility of a dancer.

She fussed over the fit of the stocking and the lines of her body beneath its fabric, keen to make sure that the elaborate design upon its surface was aligned correctly. Unlike some of the similar stockings she had worn in the past, this one required Jemima to make sure certain things were in place so as not to spoil the illusion it was supposed to create.

All of which was made harder by the fact that the gloves at the end of its sleeves forced her fingers into the position of three digits rather than the five that she was more used to.

Save for a band of paler colouring that ran from the top of her forehead, along the entire length of her front and ended just before the very tip of the stocking, every inch of the garment had been painted to give the illusion of rich, green scales. They ranged in size from perhaps two inches in the middle of Jemima’s back all the way down to no more than a fraction of that size around her gloved hands. The pigments used were rich and vivid, designed to catch the light as they moved and present the illusion of reptilian skin. But the scales changed colour dramatically from green to a pale cream where they merged into the band upon Jemima’s front. There the detail of the scales became ever less distinct until they merged seamlessly into a tone that was almost a perfect match for her own human skin so that where her face emerged from the centre of the hood, its skin seemed to simply blend with the colours of the stocking itself.

Jemima stretched her three-digit hands and then gave the length of her body an experimental shake, pointing her feet upwards to test her control of the new shape she was forced into. She nodded to herself as a good three feet of the stocking rose into the air beyond the point where her feet were located. But that was all part of the effect, to lengthen her body by two or three feet and create the illusion that rather than ending where her feet lay, her form continued onwards before tapering into nothing at the tip of the stocking.

She smiled at the effect of the padding at the end of the stocking, confident that she could manipulate it to give the impression she twisted away below the waist into a serpentine tail.

After all, that was the idea, to transform her into a fusion of snake and woman so that she was able to perform a dance that fused sensuality with serpentine grace.

Opening the box of cosmetics, Jemima used pale tones to blend the edges of her face into the pale colours that surrounded it before pressing prosthetic caps onto her canine teeth. When she had finished she pulled back her lips to gaze at the sharp fangs they added to her mouth and ran her tongue over them, amused by the predatory quality they gave her smile.

Jemima had toyed with the idea of some form of prosthetic to simulate the forked tongue of a snake, but in the end she had reasoned that the combination of her costume and the fangs was enough. Trying to hiss and lash a tongue that was at the same time threatening to choke her might have detracted from the overall impression she hoped to make.

Finally she slipped the bra and belt of her bedlah back on over the top of the stocking and slid out of the recliner and onto the floor. She crawled the few feet back to the basket and slipped inside before using the weight of her body to stand it upright once more.

Then she waited and filled her mind with the thoughts of cold-blooded creatures intent upon catching their prey.

The idea for this encounter had grown from a chance glimpse of an old film late one night, between the end of something that they had wanted to watch and finding something to stare at once it had ended. Neither of them had seen the film in question, but they both recognised the extravagant setting and seemingly obligatory overacting as belonging to the venerable Hollywood outings of Sinbad and his mock-Arabian adventures.

In the scene they happened upon, a wild-eyed sorcerer performed for the amusement of a sultan and his court, his innate villainy betrayed by his black, billowing robes. He might have flicked the remote and left the scene behind, but the sight of a woman being enticed to climb inside a large clay jar made him pause for a moment.

He had always been intrigued by performances of stage magic, hoping that there might one day be a magician who turned his erstwhile volunteer into something fantastical and alluring rather than simply making her vanish or sawing her in two. So he watched with growing interest as the bearded stereotype cast a snake into the jar with the woman, all the time chanting his magical spell over the vessel.

Soon the sorcerer was brandishing an axe with which he smashed the vessel into pieces as his spell reached its climax. The shattering of the clay was replaced by the cries of the assembled court as they saw that the woman and the snake had been replaced by a bizarre amalgamation of both creatures that had entered the jar. In their place was a creature with the head and torso of a woman, but below her waist curled the tail of a snake.

At the command of the sorcerer the creature danced before the awe-struck court, but by that point they had lost interest in the film itself. The stop-motion creature was rendered ridiculous by the proportion of its limbs and the constant cutting between close-ups of the actress daubed in cosmetics and the gyrating model failed to associate one with the other. In the end the creature more resembled a fitting plastic model than an exotic and unnerving fusion of woman and snake.

But by that time they had both lost interest in the film and its preposterous storyline.

They were convinced that they could come up with something far better themselves.

Jemima heard the sound of the door open and followed his progress across the room from his footfalls until he reached the recliner. She almost smiled at the oddly recalled fact that a real snake would have been forced to rely on the vibrations that his passage sent through the floor. But unlike a real serpent, she was not deaf and her prey could not hope to escape her attention in that manner.

She waited no more than a few seconds once she was sure that he was seated in the chair before starting her performance. He had no concept of what was in store as far as the content of her own dance was concerned and she intended to catch him as much off guard as she could.

Jemima pushed the basket over, throwing her weight forwards so that it turned away from the recliner and cast the lid across the floor. Her efforts meant that when the basket came to rest, it was roughly lying at eleven o’clock to his position in the recliner.

From his vantage point, he glimpsed the top of her green-clad head as she slid her arms out of the basket and reared her upper body like a snake uncoiling to scent the air. Jemima turned her head and regarded him from the corner of her eye, her gaze seeming to notice him for the first time and the edge of her mouth rise in a predatory grin of anticipation.

She pulled yet more of her serpentine body from the basket, turning towards him as she did so and keeping her eyes locked with his. Jemima had spent some considerable time preparing for her role and she was able to draw her restricted form behind her and then draw it forward as if preparing to strike, all the time making the motions seem as natural as possible.

By the time the tip of Jemima’s tail emerged from the basket, she had crawled around so that she was laid in front of the recliner, propped upon her arms and regarding him with the same interest that she might have given to a rabbit, petrified by her hypnotic glare. She added to the pose by deftly flicking the end of the tail and parting her lips to reveal her fangs as she did so.

Now that she had her prey entranced, it was time to bend him to her will with the movement of her coils and Jemima reared up to stand in front of him like a serpent ready to strike. But rather than try to rise immediately to her feet, she instead rose up using onto her knees, keeping her balance and moving her tail to create the illusion that she was able to bend and twist herself in any way she chose.

From her kneeling position, Jemima was able to once more resume the dance she had begun before donning her costume. She made ample use of the remainder of her bedlah, shaking the waistband and moving her breast in time with her thighs, buried as they were in her tail. For all the world she looked to have been transformed from the dancer who climbed into the basket to a supple, writhing snake-woman who continued to dance now filled with the deadly instincts of the creature she had been merged with.

Jemima became more and more impassioned as she danced, the need to express the sinuous and fluid movements of a snake seeping into her unconscious mind until the task seemed second nature and the limitations of her costume were replaced by the realities of her form.

She sank back onto her belly and arched her tail over her head, gripping its tip with her three-digit hands before returning to her kneeling position with it curled beneath her. The fingers were still dexterous enough to make the sight of her slowly stripping off the bra and waistband of her bedlah a miniature dance in of itself; a dance that ended with her pulling herself up to the recliner and placing her head mere inches from his groin.

Jemima stared up at him, the look in her eyes far from seeking permission to approach, were instead filled with the same predatory glint that had characterised her performance. He remained as still as a rock, staring back at her with a mixture of what might even have been genuine fear showing in his eyes and excitement showing in his crotch.

There was no way that she was going to wait for permission this time.

Her hands slid to his flies and a moment later they were beyond the zip and cradling his penis, removing it from his trousers and bringing it into the light of the room. Jemima pulled herself forwards, her arms reaching around his thighs and her torso pressing down into the seat of the chair as though she intended to slither over him.

As soon as she was close enough, Jemima teased the head of his penis with her tongue. The points of her fangs were sharp and he let out a strained breath as they grazed the most sensitive part of his member. But she was not doing this simply to torment him, and she soon closed her lips around the head and swallowed him deeply into her mouth.

He looked down at the sight of her body as it twisted away beneath him and swore that the rhythm with which she was twitching the tip of her tail was the same as the one with which she was massaging his penis inside her mouth.

Satisfied that she had aroused her victim to the point she desired, Jemima released his penis from her mouth and reared up so that she could climb up his body. She pulled herself over his naked member, ensuring that the sensation of her body beneath the latex only added to his stimulation.

When they were face to face, she drew her tail up into the recliner and arched her body so that she was able to inch herself down into his lap. A previously concealed opening in the fabric of the costume parted at slightest tug from her hand and she lowered herself onto his erect penis as slowly as she was able. She slid down sit in his lap with all the serpentine grace that she had demonstrated in her dance and once her buttocks reached his thighs, she began to replicate her swaying dance as far as possible, twisting his member inside her body.

At the same time she curled her tail so that it wrapped around his legs, pulling him in to her like a snake crushing its prey in a deadly embrace. His own hands reached around to seize her breasts through the latex, massaging them and pinching her nipples as she rode his penis beneath her. Jemima’s mouth opened in a silent gasp of sensation, her fangs bared as though she was prepared to bite into living flesh and deliver a dose of lethal poison.

Soon he could take no more and his climax saw him grip her serpentine body almost with a strength that caught her by surprise as he pulled her bodily down onto his member.

When he was spent, Jemima pulled herself off his penis and gently reclined the chair, sliding herself on top of him as they came to rest. She guided his hand to the opening in the back of her costume and he understood her intention despite the fact he was falling into a state of relaxation bordering on torpor after her attentions.

As his fingers massaged her towards her own climax, she lay on top of him and allowed his free hand to stroke the smooth curves of her buttocks through the latex, the length of her tail twitching in pleasure at his attentions.

It was a long time until morning, and she found herself enjoying the role of a cold-blooded predator more and more the longer she played it. There were no complications to be had here, she saw what she wanted and she took it.

Wouldn’t life be so more simple, she thought, if all we had to do in life was rear up on our tails and pounce on what we wanted with fangs bared?

22.02.12