Clarice's Scenario

The third and final installment of The Tattoo, The Shirt, and The Scenario. Rated NC-17.

Disclaimer: Clarice's Scenario picks up the week after The Shirt left off. As before, the characters of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, et. al., are the exclusive property of Thomas Harris.

Clarice Starling hadn't had much sleep since the Evelda Drumgo bust went apeshit---had, in fact, not had any real sleep in months---and now she could barely hold her head up to finish dinner. Her roommate and colleague, Ardelia Mapp, noticed this, and wasn't surprised.

"Hot damn, Clarice, I think you'd better sit out the clubs tonight," she suggested.

"No, no, I'm fine," Clarice replied, but Ardelia, being Ardelia, was persistent.

"I'm serious, girl. Why don't you stay home and get yourself some sleep? I can fix Bobby up with Jenny Norman---you're too tired to even drive."

Ardelia lifted Clarice's chin up, getting her to look at her. "Now, look...there'll be other Saturday nights, other guys for you to meet. And don't worry about that dickhead Krendler. I'll talk to Mr. Crawford as soon as I can get hold of him, to get your ass back in Behavioral Science, all right?"

"But what if Krendler DOES get me fired this time?" Clarice finally asked.

"He can't, and if I have anything to do with it, he won't," Ardelia reassured her. "Mr. Crawford's been trying to get you reinstated for months, remember? Who knows...the fact that you saved Evelda's baby may just do it."

Clarice shoved a forkful of the good October beans Ardelia had brought back from South Carolina. She'd cooked them with a little ham, and Clarice enjoyed them very much. Then she washed it down with her glass of Jim Beam and Coke. "It isn't just the Drumgo bust, and it isn't really that fuckin' Krendler, either," Clarice now admitted.

Ardelia immediately got the clue. "Has Lecter written to you again?"

"Not in the last year or two, he hasn't...but I've got a feeling I'll be hearin' from him soon."

"Well, when you do, make sure you tell Mr. Crawford. No matter WHAT it is."

Clarice and Ardelia finished their beans, as well as the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and scratch biscuits that were on their plates. When Clarice offered to wash up the dishes, Ardelia stopped her.

"Clarice, don't worry about them," she said. "Just go to bed and sleep, we can catch the dishes in the morning."

A knock on the door. "It's the guys," Ardelia now said, setting the dishes in the sink and checking her hair and makeup in the mirror before answering. It was the Dillard brothers, Mark and Bobby. Handsome guys, nice guys, but neither of them were Clarice's type. Too young.

"Hello, ladies," Mark said warmly, giving Ardelia a kiss on the cheek before giving her the long-stemmed peach roses he had brought. Mark and Ardelia had been dating almost a year, while Bobby had been divorced from his wife for three.

"Look, y'all, I owe you an apology," Clarice then said. "I won't be able to go out tonight."

"You're kidding," Mark said, a shocked tone in his voice. "Clarice Starling not nightclubbing on Saturday night?"

"I wish I was. I'm...I'm still pretty shook up over the fish-market shootout an' all, I hope you understand."

Surprisingly, Bobby and Mark understood completely. "It's okay, Clare, maybe some other time?" Bobby offered.

Clarice grinned. "Maybe." She and Bobby shook hands, then he carefully hugged her, remembering her ear.

Clarice saw the three of them off, then locked all the doors and windows before replacing her Jim Beam and Coke with something lighter...a glass of Chardonnay. Then, after closing all the blinds, she took the wine into her bedroom.

Clarice stripped nude in record time, then retrieved a stepladder and took it to her bedroom closet. She climbed the ladder carefully, then reached way, way back to the back of the top shelf.

She pulled out the long brown box she had received from FedEx while Ardelia was in South Carolina, then stepped down. How Clarice had kept this secret surprised even herself.

After setting the package on the bed, she went to her stereo to set the mood. In her 5-disc CD player were The Best of Sade, Meredith Brooks' Blurring the Edges, Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, Melissa Etheridge's Your Little Secret, and Madonna's Erotica. When Sade started singing No Ordinary Love, and the mood was properly set, Clarice sat on her bed and opened the box once more. Immediately she was hit with the musky-sweet Vetivera di Amoro, though she did not know its' name. Inside was the familiar shirt and the love-filled note, which had been heavily sprayed with the sensual scent.

Now, she read the note at length...

My beautiful Clarice,

Here is something I've wanted to give you for a very long time. I slipped it out of the asylum when Dr. Chilton shipped me to Memphis, and I've kept it with me these seven years, in the hopes that we'll see each other again.

Just for you, I've kept it laundered and fresh, and I took the liberty of spraying my favorite scent on it before mailing it to you. Do you like it?

Clarice brought the shirt out of the box and to her nose, once again inhaling the sweet cologne. Besides the other sweet smells, it had traces of sandalwood, leather, vetiver, and bitter orange. She could also detect an air of sweet musk...immediately she felt the twinge of delight burn through her soul. Yes, she liked it.

I know I'm late in saying this, but I apologize for asking you that question regarding the "visualizes, scenarios, and exchanges." It was rude of me, and none of my business. But I don't think I was being rude when I told you you needed more fun out of life, was I?

No, you weren't, babe, she thought to herself. You weren't being rude at all.

Now I must ask you to do me a favor, Clarice. I haven't minded you turning in the other letters I've sent, but please do not turn in this one. Keep it, and my shirt, with you. You're in a bad enough situation with the FBI as it is...to turn over such an intimate treasure would be fatal for your reputation, as well as your career. As I said in Memphis, people will say we're in love.

They still are, Clarice thought. She read on.

You don't have to answer now, my sweet. Until we meet again, think about what I've told you. I do hope you enjoy the shirt...if you want to, you can even wear it, but only when nobody is around to see. That includes your dear roommate, Ardelia. I know she's your best friend, but don't you think it's best to keep our secret from her, as well?

With everlasting affection,

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

Clarice now held the letter to her nose. The pages still held his sexy scent. Again the sweet burning between her thighs. Again the pangs of delight. She smiled, then put the letter, and the box, back in their designated hiding place. Ardelia would probably be home later, so she couldn't afford to put Hannibal's shirt on over her taut, shapely form.

She put the stepladder back in the hall closet, then padded back to her bedroom. She threw the covers askide, then climbed into bed. taking the shirt into bed with her. She loved the rich masculine scent of the shirt---it was like nothing she had smelled before or since---and besides the cologne, she'd also caught a whiff of Hannibal's clean, natural body scent.

She held the shirt close to her as she fell asleep, making sure to hide it under the covers in case Ardelia looked in on her. Soon, in the context of her dream, the shirt would be replaced by Hannibal Lecter himself.

The first thing Clarice felt after falling asleep was a strong spray of steamy-hot water. She was in a shower, inside the master bathroom of an elegant beach house, and from the shower window she could see the tide wash in and out of the moonlight. She could almost smell the salt air through the window, and was transfixed by the moonlight on the water.

The next thing she felt were a pair of arms wrapping around her waist, then a pair of soft, strong hands caressing up her stomach and cupping her breasts. A whiff of Vetivera di Amoro...soft, silken lips nuzzling the back of her neck.

Hannibal.

"Hello, Clarice," the familiar voice whispered in her ear, soft and loving, as he embraced her from behind. She turned to face him, looking deeply into his blue-violet eyes. Before she had a chance to speak, he cupped her face in his hands, their lips meeting in a frenzied, violently hungry kiss. Like so many times before, Clarice welcomed the crush of his lips against hers, savoring the erotic dance of their mouths and tongues with every blistering kiss.

She could also see how his body looked without clothing, and it was an exquisite sight indeed. Hannibal was in wonderful shape for his age, sleekly muscled and with a whisp of a tan, a light dust of hair covering his broad chest and board-flat stomach.

For a moment, she thought she saw a tattoo on his left arm...

But that was a passing thought as her hands smoothed over his chest, her fingers gently running through the soft chest hair as they kissed, her hands soon sliding under his arms and up his smooth, strong back.

As he began kissing her neck, the dream shifted, like all dreams do...

Now they were on the bedroom floor, surrounded by a forest of softly lit candles. A dribble of scented massage oil on her back, then his hands tenderly working the oil into every inch of her body. "Mmmmmmm," she sighed, reveling in his massage...knowing full well where it would lead.

After she rolled over to let him massage the front of her body, she soon felt his tongue flicking, to and fro, up her legs, starting with her ankles. She focused on him, and now saw the tattoo clearly.

It was his portrait of her from seven years ago, wearing the flowing gown, her hair flowing freely, the baby lamb in her arms.

"Love your tattoo," she grinned. "Didn't think you were the type..."

"I could say the same about you, my dear," he purred, tickling the tiny, bright-blue Monarch butterfly that lived on her ankle. "When did you get it?"

"Right after I killed Jame Gumb...when'd you get yours?"

"Last year, in Florence..."

But enough of that as Hannibal continued kissing his way up her trembling body. Now she felt his lips savoring either side of her pelvis, then she felt his tongue darting languidly over and into her navel.

He then kissed and licked her abdomen, tickling her ribcage with his tongue before he reached her aching breasts, which rose and fell with every breath she took. He softly ran his tongue along her sternum, each hand cupping and squeezing her breasts...then he tasted her breasts. He gently bit her nipples, sucking and kissing them until they were almost raw with need, causing her to soar with pleasure.

She held his head to her breasts, loving the feel of his hot hands and hotter mouth, soft moans escaping her throat. Keeping his hands on her breasts, he kissed and licked even further up. Her shoulders and neck were not safe from his kisses, his teeth barely breaking the skin as he nibbled her neck. Then he nipped at her chin and jawline, his tongue darting over the tiny cleft in her chin before his lips once again sought hers.

The heat from his body, the heat of their passion, almost burned her pale flesh, so great was their arousal. She now opened her legs, their bellies and genitals rubbing together with every kiss.

Already he wanted inside her, but he knew she wasn't ready yet...

With slow, languid caresses, he began kissing back down her body, once again taking his sweet time...once again causing her to teeter toward the orgasmic edge. She parted her legs even wider now, letting him kiss and lick her inner thighs as a delicious prelude to the cunnilingus that soon followed.

The sweet scent of her drove him out of his mind, the taste of her inflaming his passion even more. His tongue slowly traced the soft tissue of her labia, causing a gasp of delight to tear from her throat and the first flow of her womanly juices to meet his hungry lips. Hannibal drank every drop of her nectar, his tongue darting and thrusting into her opening, his lips forming a sucking seal around this most sensitive area of her body.

When his tongue began stimulating her clitoris, her gasps and moans turned into screams. Now her hips were undulating to the sexy rhythm of his mouth---were, in fact, almost bucking off the carpeted floor---as she was attacked by one orgasm after another, screaming his name over and over, her juices flooding his face.

Now she was ready.

Hannibal slowly kissed his way back up Clarice's body, barely giving her a chance to catch her breath when his mouth clamped passionately over hers. They kissed for endless minutes, prolonging the sweet afterglow, bracing themselves for what was next.

He was at full erection, and was perfectly willing to retrieve a condom from his nightstand. But, respectfully and lovingly, he asked first.

"Would you like me to wear a raincoat, Clarice," he now said between breathless kisses, "or would you like me to fuck you raw?"

Clarice smiled, the sound of the word "fuck" on his lips as sexy as when he'd first said it in Baltimore. "Fuck me raw," she replied, nuzzling her chin. "I don't like rubbers."

Hannibal smiled back at her, then left her for just a moment. He opened the drawer of his nightstand, which he'd stocked with condoms and Astroglide lubricant, and took the lubricant out. The condoms had been a waste of money, he realized as he closed the drawer back and returned to where she lay.

His Clarice was plenty wet, but he didn't want to penetrate her with a dry phallus...he was afraid it might still hurt her when he wanted her to come.

He knelt before her, dribbling some of the lubricant onto his circumsized penis, rubbing it onto the 8" shaft and purple-pink head until he was as wet as she. Then he set the bottle aside before lying back on top of her for more lustful kisses.

He was between her still-spread legs, and between kisses he paused to guide the tip of his penis to her opening.

"Are you ready, Clarice?"

"Yes."

Hannibal gently nudged the tip inside, then balanced himself on both hands before thrusting forward, his well-lubricated 8" slowly inching inside her, then out partway, then back inside in a sexy, repetitive motion. Clarice felt only the slightest twinge of pain, because he was so well-endowed, but the pain quickly passed into pleasure.

"Mmmmmmmm," she sighed, loving every slow stroke as she began thrusting with him, wanting to feel every inch. He sensed her pleasure and shifted his weight, moving closer to her. His hands now moved under her arms and clutched the underside of her shoulders as he kept his slow rhythm, putting Clarice's pleasure before his own.

Their bellies now slapped gently together, her breasts crushing against his chest as they fucked, her legs entangling with his. Her hands traveled all over his torso, up his arms and shoulders, rubbing his chest and neck before clutching at his back, their lips colliding and kissing every so often.

"Do you like it, Clarice?" he now asked. "Do you like...oh...feeling me so deep inside you?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Do you like fucking me, Hannibal?"

"Very much...mmmmmmm, Clarice, you have no idea...oh, yes..."

Now he began fucking her faster, deeper, harder, now that she was used to it. "Oh, Hannibal, I can't believe your cock," she howled. "Goddamn, it's so big!"

"You like my cock, don't you?" he growled sexily, his eyes awash with passion, never leaving hers.

"Yes!"

"You've always wanted it, haven't you?"

"Yes! Oh, God, YES!"

"Ohhhhh, Clarice..."

Now Clarice was howling, Hannibal's pounding, passionate thrusts unleashing the orgasmic hurricane inside her. "Aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh!!! Aaaaaaaaauuuuuuhhhhhhhh!!!" she wailed, her screams like the most beautiful music he had ever heard. "Ooohhhhhh, Hannibal, YES!!!! YES!!! Aaaaauuuuhhh!!! Aaaaaaauuuhhhhhh!!!"

"Ohhhhhhhhh!!!" Hannibal cried out, her screams and her tightness bringing about his own release. "Aaaaaaauuuuuuhhhhhh...oh, Clarice!!! Clarice...aaaaaaaauuuuuuuhhhhhhhh!!!"

His screams matched hers in ferocity and volume, and he threw his head back as he filled her with his hot seed. His own orgasm was powerfully intense after so many years alone, so many years of saving his passion for this woman, the one person he loved more than life itself.

Finally, they collapsed, momentarily satiated and very sweaty...

Clarice Starling woke from the dream covered in sweat, her faraway lover's shirt now drenched with her sweat and female honey. It was two in the morning---she had gone to sleep at 9:30, an hour after Ardelia and the guys had left---and Ardelia was not yet home.

Maybe she and Mark decided to crash at his place for a few rounds of the nasty...

Reluctantly, Clarice got out of bed, then neatly folded Hannibal's shirt and placed it back in its' box before hiding everything back where she had it.

"Good night, Hannibal," she whispered lovingly, "wherever you're at tonight."

In his digs in Florence, Italy, Hannibal Lecter awoke from the same dream. Like his beloved Clarice, he had gone to bed nude, and as a result he was covered in not only sweat, but the results of his first nocturnal emission in so many years.

What's more, he also had a raging erection.

He padded barefoot into his bathroom and stepped into the shower, turning on the hot water. As he washed, Clarice never left his thoughts...

TO BE CONTINUED...

Further Explorations