The frigid, glacial cold slithers in through every pore in her body as she steps naked from the Jacuzzi. Then it slaps her full in the face, a stinging blow that reminds her of a nasty little French godmother that didn’t tolerate sneaking Macarons past bedtime as a child. She welcomed it though, even spread her arms wide to embrace it. Ivalo, Finland and the Northern Lights were a desperate ploy to save a failing marriage and to prevent the spiraling death of the one career she had always craved.

Her cunt of a husband ensured the corpse of the first by sticking his indiscriminate cock into the bald young quim of yet another teenage trollop with daddy drama at home and a twisted, tabooed fantasy to fulfill in bleak frozen tundra. The things that Finnish twat screamed while he fucked her silly had Willow vomiting hot liquid into the snow outside their cabin. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, even if she was strictly exit only. However, certain things are just… seven circles of twisted fucking hell kind of wrong, ok? 

If that wasn’t enough, there was little doubt Aunt Mireille would relish the opportunity to berate her yet again for letting her 'sinful cunt' dictate her romantic decisions rather than propriety and family duty. So fuck the both of them, particularly Gabriel in his perfectly formed arse with a rusty wrench.

Even so, continuous adultery be damned, a frustratingly obscene and instinctual part of her wants him back. It wants his thick prick buried inside her and his masculine hands wrapped about her neck, squeezing and relenting, yo-yoing her dangerously back and forth between death and orgasmic delights over and over again.

“Fuck,” Willow screams, annoyed that her traitorous cunt was throbbing at the thought, warm arousal cooling between her thighs just as quickly as it juiced out of her. She noisily gulps another swallow from a wineskin and chucks it toward the swaying pines laughing at her troubles, red droplets sparkling as if they were Dionysus’ own tears, wept over such pathetic, selfish waste. “Fuck him too,” Willow mutters, and sits down shakily at the side of the Jacuzzi.

The truth of the matter is that she could get over Gabriel… eventually. Or, at least, she could convince herself pretty damn well thank you very much. She is, after all, a professional at making things up for a living. It was just that inspiration has been… elusive. For twelve months. Not a single solitary splash of ink on the page, just wine, lots and lots of wine.

Willow looks mournfully out at the pines, suddenly regretful for having had a “childish hissy” as Aunt Mireille liked to call them. She licks her lips, desperate for one more swallow.  

Ivalo was intended to spark inspiration while fulfilling a wish she had had since childhood. The Aurora Borealis, majestic and alien, was supposed to reach down into her creatively barren brain and plant some seeds. Wake her rebellious brain back up. Make her some bloody money for a change, some goddamned JK Rowling money. The kind of fuck you money that would have Gabriel crawling back on hands and knees through the muck just so she could tell him to toss off and find his next daddy loving quim instead.  Oh, she’d probably fuck him first. But then she’d deliver swift justice to his balls with rugby style ferocity.  

One week in, however, and there we no Northern Lights, no sparks of creative magic. And now, her only company was an empty black sky and an oppressive cold. She thinks of moving her pert little arse, sliding back into the blissful heat of the Jacuzzi. What was the point though?

“What IS the point?” she mutters, teeth clattering as she lies back against the side of the Jacuzzi. She was perfectly warm right here anyway. Besides, she feels suddenly sleepy, worn thin from angry bitching and drunk off not enough wine.

Willow feels her eyes begin to drift, fluttering open and closed while the smarter part of her brain, the one in charge of the survival shite, fights to get her back inside or at least back into the hot water.

No such luck.

All it can do is observe as its stupid cunt of an owner kills itself. Well, that and watch in baffled curiosity as a streak of thick green light is suddenly painted across the sky in a wide arc. Then it begins to pulse, coiling and undulating like a wave. Or maybe cracking like a whip. Words aren’t exactly its strength, so piss off. Point is, it was writhing like a two-bit floozy until it shivered to a stop and reached down toward Willow’s comatose body with a finger-like projection. At shit’s end, the survivor protocol of her brain yanks her arm up to it and promptly blacks the fuck out.

♦

She floats in a void of sugary warmth akin to the Dead Sea but instead of salt it was what could only be described as fragrant, red velvet cake batter. Willie Wonka could bugger right off with his prosaic chocolate river shite. This was heaven, she thinks, moaning a musical little giggle she usually reserves for Gabriel’s talented cad of a tongue. If this was death, it was a wonder anyone feared it. The Reaper could have come for her ages ago and she’d not have complained if this was the end result.

Willow sighs, sinking further into the delicious batter, moans transforming into surprised yelps and yips of electric pleasure when something soft and hot teases over her clit before diving between her pulsing lower lips. Her hips buck hard when something plunges inside her and curls upward.

Her climax hits her like a bag of bricks to the cunt, hard enough to curl her body into a fetal position as it spasms, unintelligible curses spinning out faster than a whirlybird.

“Fuckitty, fucccrkkk, fauuccckk,” she grunts, as her lithe body uncoils, fingers and toes pumping in rhythm with her staccato heart beats. Then her post orgasm giggles slap her back into reality, back into the Jacuzzi, and away from that delicious cake batter and the prodding appendages.

When her eyes finally slip open, she screams bloody murder and not in the metaphorical sense either. Her brain, pulverized by climax, wine, and frigid Finnish cold, quite literally has her screaming “BLOODY MURDER!” while wagging and pointing a finger… as if anyone was around to care about another drunk English bitch.

This goes on until her voice finally cracks and the logical part of her brain finally wakes up, rightfully pissed at having been torn from its orgasmic slumber.

‘What’s all this damn fuss about?’ it thinks, peering through Willow’s eyes to determine the cause of the insufferably loud squawks.

The alien creature before it, sitting right there in the Jacuzzi across from Willow, has it turning right back around and handing off any Sherlock duties to the creatively insane part of Willow’s brain. It wasn’t about that kind of shite. Not a damn bit.

“Whawhawhawha…wuh?” Willow blubbers out. As it so happens, the creatively insane part of Willow’s brain can’t really comprehend what the fuck is happening either.

As luck would have it though, Willow didn’t need to Sherlock shite; the creature seemed to take care of introductions itself, gliding through the water with marine-like grace to lay very human-like hands on her skull.

♦

“Soooo,” Willow squeaks. “You’re the,” she waves her hands skyward where the Northern Lights had been before she passed out.

The creature trills musical notes that make her skin shiver. She can’t explain how or why, but she can taste, yes taste, the meaning of those notes on her tongue.

Yes.

“What are you?” Willow asks.

More trills. What you need me to be.

“Excuse me?”

What you need me to be. The things you need. Then it points a finger-like digit to Willow’s head before tracing an invisible line between her tits, over her pierced belly-button, and further still to the gash between her legs that still throbs.

Willow throws back her head and laughs. Or rather, cackles. Like a witch. Unbridled and unhinged. She had to be losing her mind. She’d had too much wine. She was hypothermic and delirious. She is emotionally shattered, again, because of that twat Gabriel. Sure. She writes for living, or tries to. She makes up new worlds for, as of now, a few hundred paltry pounds of nothing per month. She has to have made this shite up, trapped herself in a fantasy world to cope.

She opens her eyes, looks at the creature looking right back at her and laughs again. Blimey, she thinks, she was off the deep end of sanity. Its skin is a shade of neon green just shy of translucent, eyes a bright shade of amber. It was… humanoid. Not the little green man of Area 51 those wankers in America believe in. This thing had tits, violet, bee-stung lips, and not a speck of hair, unless you counted the rather short, bone like projections that curve like licks of small flame or a quick textured brush stroke. Female, she supposed, if a thing of particles and light had sexes. Fuck if she knew.

“What’s your name,” Willow asks.

Trill, trill, trill, name tasted on her tongue, too alien to comprehend.

The being shrugs perfectly formed shoulders.

Aurora.

“Aurora?” Willow shakes her head, laughs more. Of course it is.

What do you need? Aurora trills musically.

Willow lets her laughter die down to twitching tugs at the corner of her mouth. She thinks of Gabriel, all to herself for once, a good man instead of a raging cockhead with his prick buried in teenage pussy on Christmas Eve. Then banishes the thought because fuck that good looking dullard.

So what did she need? What did anyone need?

Aurora drifts through the water to straddle her, semi-translucent green arms encircling her until they were tit to tit, nose to nose.

She smelled heavenly, like dried, sugar dusted fruits and fresh winter air.

Aurora trills again, musical notes exploding in Willow’s mouth like tubes of popping confetti. Her body tingles and there’s a sudden itch between her legs that needed scratching.

Warm lips meld to Willow’s and a cool tongue slips into her mouth to tangle with hers. An orchestral symphony comes alive in her mouth, and she moans.

Didn’t you desire inspiration, Aurora trills. Didn’t you come here… for me?

Their kiss deepens, frantic and searching. Willow’s own arms, once limp, encircle the strange creature of light, pulling her closer. Her heart hums and her pussy throbs, desperate for release. Fingers find her clit before she can voice what she wants, pinching and squeezing, shooting sparks of pleasurable pain to the baser parts of her brain while shutting down the more rationale parts. She’d never been with a woman, human or otherwise, and now she wishes she’d conquered that mountain when she had the chance years ago.

Willow’s legs wrap around Aurora, squeezing tightly.

Inspiration? Mhmm.  That shite could take a back seat. All Willow needed was to get fucked to the edge of insanity. Maybe even totter across that razor’s edge. Explore a bit of unadulterated madness.

♦

She’s bent over the edge of the Jacuzzi, half in and half out of the water, pale freckled ass waving proudly in the frigid Finnish air, her mane of red-gold curls hiding the last of her nerves and the cranberry flush of her cheeks.  Her thoughts are a jumbled mess. A singular thread is all that’s left connecting her to reality. A singular thread preventing her descent into… well, she isn’t quite sure what where this descent goes. A rabbit hole seems thoroughly lacking as a metaphor at present. She wonders if it even matters given the state of her life at this moment.

Alien hands find purchase on her ass and she shivers.

The thread goes taut.

She wonders what Aunt Mireille would say if she brought Aurora home… snogged the shit out of her right there on the kitchen counter. She’d be speechless, for once in her rancid, miserable life. It’d be the greatest success of her life. She’d wink and…

Willow feels her cheeks pulled apart and a hot tongue slither into her folds, growing to unnatural lengths, vibrating like the wand she keeps stashed in her bedside drawer.

The thread frays and snaps like a steel cable, all dangerous, kinetic energy.

♦

She’s laughing, and moaning, and drooling all at once, fingernails clawing at the wood. She can’t breathe and can’t think and doesn’t give a shite about either. All that matters is the snake-like tongue burrowed deep inside her cunt, scraping and lashing her inner walls with supernatural intent.

Humanity could get bent, she thinks. They didn’t know a sodding thing about sex or how to perform it. They were all amateurs and didn’t even know it.

Aurora’s hands glide up, tracing invisible nerve pathways along her ribs up to her tits, to the exact spot where they meet in a bundled mesh just below her nipples.

She’s never really felt anything there before, always considered the puffed nubs as little more than repositories for milk and helping a prick get hard. She was wrong, fucking all the way wrong. She’d have to write a book. She’d have to…“Motherfucking god!” she howls, orgasmic seizures suddenly shocking her body into a series of writhing convulsions. Her heart feels ready to erupt into volcanic quakes, spraying the world with blood. Her nipples pulse with static electricity. And her cunt… it was a torrential hurricane of energy that had white sticky cream squirting past Aurora’s long tongue and into her throat.

“Fuckictyfuckfuckshitefuckfuuuuulakuuuuhhh,” Willow cackles and screams, hips bucking backwards.

♦

Fuck I taste good, Willow thinks, savoring a cum-battered kiss with Aurora. If Gabriel’s cum was high-end, chain-restaurant good, her own flavor was Michelin star quality.

“More,” she begged, and Aurora’s cum-stained tongue delivers another dose of herself.

Make that four stars, she corrects, and sucks it down like a greedy drunk.

Is this all you want? Aurora trills.

Willow breaks their kiss, stares into amber orbs of light. It isn’t. She wants to be… corrupted, needs to be corrupted. She needs to be reborn, if she can. Doesn’t care what it requires.

“More,” she pleads. “More, more, more!” She isn’t quite sure what she means by more, only that she’s a slave to Aurora now. .

Cocaine. Molly. Crystal Meth. She’d never had any of them, not even a little puff of marijuana. Shite was dangerous. Not worth it. However, what she feels right now had to be what the greatest of addicts felt, a hardwired need to shoot up with ever greater quantities.

Aurora’s violet mouth quirks upward and she untangles herself from Willow and rises up out of the water. Between her legs, a thin, violet stripe of hair leads to human-like anatomy with alien touches, clit shaped rather like a tiny star. Lower still, her green lips are flare open like a blooming tulip, teasing golden hued inner folds shiny with pearlescent fluid.

Willow tackles her with perfect flanker form and they go tumbling out of the Jacuzzi and spin out over the snow with near weightlessness. The snow sizzles and steams when their bodies touch down in a tangled heap of mouths to quim.

Honeyed fluid hits Willow’s tongue with tidal wave intensity, flavors multiplying and changing. She sucks them all down like a starving lapdog: candied orange, French toast, red velvet batter and… fuck yes, Turkish Delight, all tinged with light, musky, alien arousal. Grinning wickedly, she snakes a hand up, finds the star-shaped nub above her folds, and pinches it tightly between thumb and pointer.

Aurora’s hips shoot up like a spring loaded piston, rainbow juices squirting out of her, drenching Willow’s face. All she can do is laugh and wriggle her face between Aurora’s smooth green thighs, reveling in the onslaught of hot liquid delight.

♦

Aurora licks her clean with practiced grace and broad sweeps of her tongue, breaking every now and then to share a soft languid kiss. The ground beneath them, once filled with snow, is naked earth, warm and fragrant with the rich tones of minerals and hibernating life.

“Feeling inspired yet?” Aurora trills.

Willow palms Aurora’s muscular green ass and pulls the creature of light close. Oh, she’s inspired alright. It just isn’t the sort of inspiration she’d originally desired. The plot threads, the character development, the magic, the Tarantino-style wordplay, she couldn’t give a shite about them. She couldn’t give a shite about words either at the moment. They seemed wasteful and distracting. She had finally mounted the razor’s edge of sanity and she wanted to leap to the other side. Being a writer seemed a silly dream now, a human one, and thoroughly tedious. She wanted to be… sex incarnate. She wanted to be bred into the dirt like a bitch in heat. Ascend into the Finnish sky.

Willow ached to be released, to… “What the fuck?” she grunts, eyes snapping open.  Something seemed to grow between Aurora’s legs and it was slithering up Willow’s taut belly, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

Finally, Aurora trills, the tendril between their thighs solidifying into a prick-like appendage. I’ve been fucking waiting godamnever. The trills turn to musical giggles in Willow’s mouth. It’s time.

“For what?” Willow squeaks as fear settles in.

Aurora rolls them over and settles astride Willow’s hips, stroking the thick alien erection between her legs.

Willow’s eyes widen, words temporarily finding purchase back in her brain. “The bloody hell is that?”

“Insanity,” Aurora trills, almost lovingly apologetic. “Now give it to me.” Her hips shift down, notching the prick at her creamy folds.

Her last conscious thoughts are that she’s about to fucked, quite literally, by the Aurora Borealis.  She’d laugh at the absurdity turned horror if it wasn’t for the alien cock worming its way inside without warning, stretching her to her limits. She might have shouted for help. She might have done a great many things.

The problem is that it just felt too damn good. Her body burned like superheated plasma and orgasms detonated in a never ending daisy-chain of explosive pleasure. All she could was submit as her mind fractured and Aurora’s alien prick wriggled inside her like a tentacle.

♦

Neon orange sweat has Aurora’s lean frame shining in the dark like a glow stick. She was told what she would ultimately have to do and how to do it by the previous victim of this wretched curse. She was told about the pleasures it would include. She was told how easy it would be to succumb, lose control, and miss her one window. She hadn’t believed her, hadn’t wanted to believe her. She could list a fuck ton of reasons why but it always began with needing to operate a goddamn dick. The fuck was that about?

She really should have listened more though, taken the stranger’s advice to heart, because she was already fucking tottering at the edge of losing control.

The whiny red-headed bitch’s pussy was a sinful furnace of fucked up pleasure around the admittedly beautiful cock between her legs. And she couldn’t slow her thrusts down, even if she wanted to.

“FUCK!” Aurora, who’s actual name was Fiona, screamed. “Why. Does. It. Feel. So. Good?” Each word is emphasized with a hard smack to Willow’s perfectly pert ass, causing her pussy to shudder and undulate around her prick, squelching wetly with each hard thrust.

Fiona would get no answers, however. The stupid bitch was moaning dumbly, drool leaking at the edges of a smiling mouth. “Shit, shit, shit,” Fiona huffs, breathless and aroused beyond reason. “I don’t get it,” she groans, pawing at Willow’s swaying tits to use as leverage as she fucked her into the dirt.

She wants answers, but the more she moves the throbbing prick in Willow’s juicing slit, the less it all seems to matter.

“Fine,” Fiona screams to the stars. “Enjoy the show you sick fucks,” she mutters.  

♦

Fuck it tastes good, Fiona thinks, tongue burrowing inside the redhead’s tight asshole. It shouldn’t taste this good should it? It was so fucking wrong, but so deliciously right. Like cake snuck guiltily in the middle of the night.

“I need more,” Fiona grunts, lashing the pink star in hunger.

“Moooore,” Willow echoes drunkenly, the first and only word spoken in what like an eternity of mindless fucking.

Fiona giggles, remembering. “Bred into the dirt, right?” She grasps her prick, has to squeeze tightly to prevent exploding right then and there. “With pleasure.”  Fiona lubes the gorgeous cock with the redhead’s syrupy fluid, slots it at her cute pink ring, and shoves roughly inside.

The constricting heat threatens to milk her prick prematurely as soon as it bottoms out and Fiona has to wrestle for control while Willow’s hips slowly corkscrew.

“Moooore,” Willow moans, fingers clawing at the dirt. “Moooore.”

“Shit,” Fiona grunts as her belly churns, cock bouncing erratically inside Willow’s ass. Something felt… off. Her cock swells, feels like it was doubling in size. Begrudgingly, she yanks herself out and just in the nick of time.

The green appendage dangling between her legs explodes in a shower of Northern Lights, and where there was once one prick, there were now two. “Fucking twins?” Fiona groans. Fucking twin pricks, bouncing eagerly between her thighs.

While she might have been horrified and confused a short time ago, all she did now was shrug and, laughing quite madly, slot each beautiful cock to one of Willow’s holes and push.

♦

Their coupling is an alien thing, beautiful, ugly, and not of this world. Fiona couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She was emotionally detached but physically fused to Willow, twin pricks thrusting in tandem with each other, relishing in both silken vaginal walls and tight, tabooed heat. Fiona could feel them rubbing each other through the thin membrane, swelling in imminent release. She could feel her own cunt, still there below the base of the shafts, leaking ungodly amounts of arousal. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, unlike anything she’d likely ever feel in the future. It was driving her insane as it had long since driven Willow insane. She doesn’t want it to end, wants to feel these sensations for an eternity.  

She spanks Willow’s ass, enjoying the way it jiggles, grunts when it causes both holes to constrict more tightly.

Then she feels it. The moment she was warned about, her one and only window to cross. It starts as a churning in her belly followed by a painful series of compressive forces in the shafts of both pricks. Her hips shoot forward of their own volition and she fucks cunt and ass like a bat out of hell, pushing Willow face down into the dirt.

She feels the window open as the pressure in her pricks finally relents.  Fiona feels herself synch with Willow, hears their screams unite in pleasurable agony as her quivering cocks twitch and unload a deluge of hot cum inside what will likely become her own filthy, rioting holes.

♦

Fiona giggles with Willow’s voice, pawing at her new, if whorishly used new body in front of a mirror. Now that she’s in it, she isn’t sure why she ever complained, ever feared. There was no baby fat on her cheeks. No scars or acne tarnishing her skin. Just smooth, ginger freckled skin and a mane of silky red-gold curls.

Everything was… perfect, except the Aurora Borealis, formerly Willow, churning madly above her in the blackened Finnish sky.

“Don’t worry,” Fiona says to the angry lights. “I’ll treat this svelte little Ferrari just right.” Then, grinning wickedly, she drops a rather petty one-liner. “Maybe I’ll even write the novel you never could.”