The Other Life

The Other Life

A man wakes in a Maine forest to find himself the sole survivor of a plane crash and finds he has no memory of his life before it save for the contents of his wallet.

Further investigation leads him to the shocking discovery that he is somehow living in two alternative realities with two lives that are similar but markedly different.

In one reality with a wife who is loving and compassionate and wishes only the best for him; in the other with a partner who is as sexually dominant as she is sadistic and seems able to make him obey her at will – unwillingly or otherwise.

But it’s only when elements of his two realities blend with the other that his mind truly begins to crack.



He was lying in a strange bed when his eyes fluttered open, familiar and unfamiliar at one and the same time. A warm breeze rolled off the beach from the crashing sea and into the bedroom where the woman watching him. Still, silent, and calculatingly.

Her hair was as red as the lava of an active volcano and he knew that if he were to switch on the light atop the cabinet next to him, her eyes would be the most feline green; though how he knew it he couldn’t say. She was not beautiful, but she was sexy in a cold kind of way, he thought; knowing instinctively that it was not the first time his mind had framed such a reference. As she took a few steps towards him he saw the fullness of her lips as they drew back over slightly oversized white teeth in a smile of what he took to be triumph of some kind, but any attempted rationalization on his part was forgotten as she flipped a robe drop from the rounded and alabaster softness of her shoulders.

“You have been returned to me,” she said in a low voice that was no less… authoritative… for being melodious and unmistakably feminine.

Then, reaching out to take his fingers in her own, she drew them to the curve of her thigh and the coolness of the skin soon turned to heat as she added:

“You will never escape me again.”

Seemingly without conscious volition, his fingers began a gentle kneading of her flawless skin and her smile of triumph broadened, her eyes seemed to intensify in the glow of the moonlight through the open doors leading to the deck, and he felt himself drawn upwards from the bed towards her waiting and, it seemed to him, mockingly amused lips.

A sudden terror gripped him and he sensed the woman, whoever she was in reality, did not have his well-being anywhere near the top of her priorities. He tried desperately to place her – her connection to him and their history with each other. And failed miserably.

Without being aware of the transition, he was now on his knees upon the bed, his own lean and lightly muscled frame as naked as her own as she gazed down into his eyes with what seemed to him an unholy possession. As if ritualistically, his hands placed themselves at his back, each clasping the other, and he lowered his head with what he described to himself as humiliating submissiveness; fighting the movements of his own body, even as it ignored him totally.

“That is the good obedient boy I have missed so much,” the melodious but commanding voice gave praise as if to a five-year-old, while his cheeks coloured at hearing himself referred to in such terms. He was kneeling before her like a penitent with head lowered, eyes at a level with a pair of magnificent breasts that, like the voice itself, seemed to invite obedience. 

“Mummy has missed her little boy and has taken steps to ensure he does not go walkabout without her permission again,” she went on as his mind went into a whirl.


Even without asking, he knew he had to be at least a decade her senior.

“But that is for later,” she told him, reaching out none too gently to take a handful of his hair and drawing his head to her hard and impatient nipples.  

As if they were the recipient of an unspoken but irresistible order, his lips opened that his tongue might protrude and please her in the way he knew she wanted.

“That’s my good, good boy,” she told him and he felt a shiver of unfathomable pleasure travel the length of his spine for having pleased her. “I knew you hadn’t forgotten how to show your mummy your respect.”

He felt her hands rest upon the top of his head for a few moments as she savoured the sensations of his tongue over her engorged nipples, then felt her exert pressure as she withdrew her breast from his mouth and forced him down and over yielding firmness of her stomach and beyond towards the epicenter of her womanhood.

The scent of her was already in his nostrils as his chin, and then the tip of his nose made contact with and utterly hairless and utterly perfect slit he knew would prove as moist as any his limited recollection of other women in another life could provide. He felt his senses, his resistance, being overcome and closed his eyes to the unmanning and emasculating use she was preparing to make of him. Even as a part of him glorified shamefully in the control she exercised so effortlessly. 

“Now, be the good boy for mummy she knows you want to be and worship her the way she likes to be worshipped.”

As his tongue left his mouth instantly and inserted itself into her sopping labia before making the first of many upward sweeps, all thoughts other than those of pleasing this… stranger… receded other than a lingering recall of her last words before he became insensate with his own lust.

“You never know, if mummy is very pleased with her little boy’s efforts and contriteness, she may be persuaded to make his punishment for being naughty and running away a little less… painful.”

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