My name is Gabrielle Dolly, and I approve the contents of this site.
After Double Switch, both the readers and I needed a break. So I set forth to tell a story both light and fluffy. Of course, being me, I could not make life too easy for my characters…
Movement One - I. An Unfinished Overture for Two Hands
Gabrielle Francesca Dolly was in her favorite position, on her back on a bed, being made love to. She was crossways on her hospital bed with her legs in the air, the soles of her feet pressed flat together to put some tension in the muscles of her spread thighs.
Her silky nightgown of midnight blue, (no cotton hospital shift for this girl), was in a puddle around her hips. And of course she wasn't wearing any pants. Not our Dolly.
Her arms were stretched out to her sides, her palms pressed flat against the blankets. Her head was turned to one side, her eyes shut tight and her lips pressed together in a happy girl smile. Her red-gold mane poured over the edge of the bed nearly to the floor in a thick waterfall of sweet-smelling hair.
There was a pillow under her hips and her lover, perched on a stool by the side of the bed, was stroking her thighs with his finger tips, his lips, and his tongue.
Dolly was flying. Her husky, passionate voice was crooning in a rumbling alto in her chest at the moment, but before long it would rise in a proud crowing song as she swooped and looped and dived in the throes of her orgasm.
Mitchell Cary Drummond, her lover and the high priest of the cult of her worship, was totally absorbed in loving her. His head was bent over the wonderland where her legs and body met. His whole being was attuned to the state of her body. While he often said that she was his whole world, this was where the rubber met the road... where he proved the fact of that claim.
Whenever he had her under his hands and felt the charge of the awesome responsibility of pleasuring her, he forgot the aches and pains of his everyday existence, the troubles and worries of his job, the question of whether or not the cats were getting enough to eat and where they were going to find a new maid to replace the one that had quit. All of that went away and all he could see was the smooth, lightly-freckled surface of her skin, the rich sensual play of her taut, well-toned muscles as they rippled, bucked and jerked their involuntary ecstasy at his playing of them.
And play them he did. He played her body as though it were a fine musical instrument and he a virtuoso. The prospect constantly challenged him to improve.
His aim was not so much the single crescendo of an orgasm, but rather a complex and interwoven symphony of orgasmic passages that built to a climax then followed with one or more anticlimaxes and, finally, denouement, resolution, and catharsis.
He only heard the sounds she made; the soft susurration of her body writhing in the sheets, the rasp of her breathing, punctuated with cries and moans, the rapid thudding of her heart. All he could feel was the heat of her flesh, the pressure of her soft and tender girl parts, the fire of her breath in the hollows of his neck, the frantic stroking of her hands across his body, the wet nibbling of her mouth in a driven counterpoint to his own kisses and nibbles.
On this occasion, his kisses drifted up the soft curve of her inner thigh. He touched her gently all along the surface and deep in the intimate interstices of the muscle until he found that one place, high on the curve, near the joint, about the size of a dollar coin, where even her hard muscular thigh had a soft spot, where a nexus of nerves rested near the surface of her inflamed skin, where he could touch her just so with his fingers and lips and drive her over the brink... past the point of a slow, genteel teasing and toward the eventual frenzy of a gut-wrenching dance done on her back and made abject by the woman's total surrender to the sweet torture of her lover's hands and mouth.
And when he sensed that she had almost convinced herself that she just couldn't stand it any more, he upped the ante by sliding sideways and kissing her right... there... beginning a sweet, torturous ....
"Just what in Hell do you think you're doing?"
"Huh?" Dolly said sleepily without opening her eyes. Drummond stopped for an instant, lifting his head to see who was so stupid as to bother them, only to have Dolly's hands firmly pull him back against her, where he came into intimate contact with the object of his attentions and gave it a loud, wet kiss before murmuring...
"Er, lover, we have company."
"Can't you read?" Dolly snarled, pointing toward the door where, sure enough, a large hand-lettered sign hung on the outer knob and read:
"DO NOT DISTURB: THIS MEANS YOU!"
Drummond's ear was grabbed and his head was forcibly lifted away from Dolly's snatch.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
"He's taking care of me," Dolly said, still without opening her eyes, hoping she could persuade this interruption to go away without delaying her too much and causing her arousal to ebb away. "I'm a high-maintenance kind of bitch and I need my lovin'. Doctor's orders."
"It's true," Drummond averred, right hand held erect in the Boy Scout sign. "Doctor prescribes her orgasms..."
"Not on my ward, she doesn't." Obviously, this person did not hold with Doctor's progressive ideas about healing.
"Um, she is the medical director."
"Yes, and I am the head nurse. What I say goes. It's in my contract."
"Oh," said Drummond brightly. "You're Pru Mills! We've been expecting you."
"And Doctor has told me about you two. Let me warn you. I don't buffalo. I don't bulldoze. I don't charm. I don't allow my hospital to be turned into a cathouse. So you two and your little ways can just forget about... ."
"Ms. Immovable Object," Drummond interrupted, "Meet Ms. Irresistible Force." He took Dolly's shoulder in his hand and drew her to an upright sitting position, earning himself a dirty look from the frustrated former doll.
But it wasn't long before the stately, aristocratic woman was seated on Drummond's stool, (he having taken over the armchair in the corner of the room), with Dolly's bare legs splayed around her, getting a massage of her undeniably stiff shoulders from the insistent TAT agent. The two were chatting like old friends. The steely disciplinarian had fallen under Dolly's charismatic spell and the diminutive TAT agent had yet another scalp to hang on her belt.
And that was Pru Mills's introduction to Drummond and Dolly.
Ordinarily, authors don't publish their "trunk" stories — those stories they cannot or will not sell. But these stories of the Dolly Apocrypha were effectively written in public. They were composed in 1500-word chunks, as posts on a mailing list. They have been on the Web almost since they were first written. Withholding them now would be kind of churlish. And... I hope that they can bring a few people some joy.
Recent developments in the publishing arena make it feasible for me to publish these stories without having to face the gatekeepers of the publishing industry in New York. Leaving aside the question of whether this is wise, I am pleased to let it be known that I am preparing to publish a heavily revised version of the Apocrypha — call it Apocrypha 2.0 — in ebook formats (Kindle, Nook, et al) sometime before the end of 2012. Thus it is then that one may come to think of the stories as they have been published on the Web these last 12 years as the first draft of what someday will be the final version of the Dolly Apocrypha. Sometime also in 2012, I hope to have paper edition(s) available as well. Watch this space and at BabyTrollBlog
Also sometime in the future (I hope in the NEAR future), Dolly and I will seek professional publication of The Dolly Canon — stories purpose-written for publication, at (one hopes) a higher level of quality and professionalism. Friends have read the stories as they stand: Geppetto's Log, Genesis, Armed Citizen, The Omega Trilogy (Deicide in Irian Jaya, You Could Spend Years, The Next Story). All have much work to be done on them to bring them to an acceptable level of quality. I offer this here in the hopes that these will expand beyond the mere 15 pastiches here into an admirable body of work. Additionally, all of the thought I have put into this whole ball of wax has persuaded me that there may be yet a THIRD story arc — call it the Continuing Adventures of Gabrielle Dolly — and a FOURTH — call those The Adventures of Gabrielle Godslayer. As I say, watch this space and the blog.
Content: Being as this is created by and for fans of a violent television show that had a notorious following of people who are interested in sex, (as if there is anybody who is not interested in sex), it's a pretty safe bet that, even though this story is not about the characters in the show, there's plenty of both. There is also some language that some may find offensive and will tut-tut about. Too bad. That's what the off-button is for. Nobody is forcing you to read this. Exercise your freedom of choice. Everybody else: enjoy!
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© 1999-2011 Mark Philip Alger. All rights reserved.
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