0 comments/ 22275 views/ 0 favorites Powerless By: CisMe I see you preparing for your morning shower through your partially open bedroom shades. You are bending down to slip your panties off. You don't let them drop, instead you guide them all the way down and over your feet. This is very erotic to me, and I start breathing hard. You are now standing in front of your dresser mirror, taking in the image of your body. Of course, you are not the only one. It's then that my mind is made up. I must have you. Use your body to quench the fire in me that you have caused. I wait impatiently. I hear the water starting and make my way to the back door... You are in the shower after a leisurely morning sipping coffee and thinking about having sex. Horny and alone, you slip a finger between your folds as the water cascades down your body. You stop suddenly, thinking maybe the phone had rung, or was it something else? Contented that it was nothing, you slip back into your fantasy, lazily fingering around your clit, content with a slow, strong orgasm. I see you in the shower through the glass, I'm almost sure you are playing with yourself. I am too far-gone now, past the point of morality or conscience. I silently slip out of my clothes, all the while stealing glances around the corner of your naked body. I make a little noise, but I don't think that you have heard. At last I am naked and I make my way towards the shower. I take my belt with me, knowing you may not be at all willing. In the dying ebbs of your powerful orgasm, you are startled by a sound, much closer this time. You listen intently, ear by the glass, and hear nothing. Still a little concerned, you turn off the water and open the door a crack to reach for your towel. A hand closes around your wrist and pulls you. You scream in fright and surprise as you see me, naked and erect, with an expression of pure animal lust in my eyes. Although you struggle, the stranger quickly subdues you and ties your hands behind your back with his belt. "Scream again", he says, "and I won't be responsible. Now submit and I will not hurt you." You decide to comply, as you have no other choice for the moment. With your hands bound, and you slumped over on the floor sobbing, I feel so powerful, so full of life. I pick you up easily and carry you into the bedroom, where I place you gently on the bed. After all, I am not here to hurt you, I just can't resist you any longer. I make you open your mouth as I roughly handle your breasts and ass. I want to feel all of you, to take in as much as possible. I place my dick into your mouth, warning you again to submit. You seem to relax a little and start sucking. I watch as my cock slides in and out of your mouth, your eyes wide, and grow even harder. I pull my dick out and lay you in the middle of the bed. With a couple of ties I find in your closet I restrain your hands on the headboard. Laying on the bed with your hands tied above you, you are a little afraid, but you realize that I don't intend on hurting you, and that when my lust is spent, I will leave. As I move down your body, you feel a twinge of heat between your legs, despite your fears. I force your legs apart and start licking and biting the inside of your thighs, making my way closer and closer to your pussy. Now you can't help but want me to eat your pussy. You are a little angry with yourself, but you can't help the desire welling up inside you. As I get to your pussy, I notice a slight sheen to it, and I smile realizing that you want sex. I slowly start lapping at your pussy, concentrating on the inner lips and clitoral hood. I can tell you like it, so I start slipping two fingers in your pussy in time with my licks. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly now; I know you really are getting into it. I feel your pussy start to convulse so I start sucking and really licking directly on your clit while plunging my fingers in your pussy harder. Your back arches up off the bed and a moan escapes your lips despite you. As you orgasm, you are almost ashamed. You don't want me to have power over you, but know that I do. You know that I know it too, and this makes you angry. As I come up your body, you try to squeeze your legs shut and fight me off, but it's useless. I'm so much stronger than you, and you feel helpless to the desires in both of us. I place my dick at the entrance of your well-lubricated pussy, and start sliding it in inch by inch. You see my eyes, full of lust, and you can't help wanting my engorged cock inside you. It feels depraved and wicked, but at last you truly submit to my desire and give yourself to me. I feel you relax around me and your legs open. I am almost over the edge but I am fighting it. I want this to last. I cup your breasts and fondle them. I lower my head to yours and you meet me in a kiss. I can't take it anymore, so I begin to vigorously thrust deep inside you. I am completely lost in you now, and I orgasm and scream simultaneously. I feel drained and satiated now. I look down into your eyes, and they are gleaming. It is you that holds the power now. Powerless NOTE: I wrote this story more as a metaphor of my life. The you could be my husband, children, job, friends, anything. Many times as a working, married mom I feel powerless in my life. Just because someone else is in control of it doesn't mean that I don't enjoy it. ••••• I could hear men's voices all around me when I slowly woke up. My head hurt slightly. When I tried to bring my arms down to rest my hands in my lap they wouldn't move. They were tied to a pole above my head. I was sitting on a small chair with a weird shape. It's like the chair was made for my ass. It was comfortable but I didn't like having my hands over my head and tried to move them. My jerking noises alerted you that I stirred. "Ah, sleeping beauty has awoken," you said. "If you will give me a minute I will deal with you." You turned your back on me and addressed the men assembled. I couldn't make out any faces, only heard the hushed tones as you and the men spoke to each other. My mind began to clear and I remembered bits and pieces of what happened before I woke up. You and I were at the club drinking beer. I remember glancing around, seeing several nice-looking men. None quite as nice-looking as you but they definitely made me aware they were there. You pointed to one..."You want to fuck him don't you?" you asked me. I just smiled and said nothing. I continued to drink my beer. I don't remember having more than two, but that's where the night turns foggy for me. "I can see you are trying to remember what happened to get you here," you said. "I'm going to fill you in on the evening and then tell you how it is going to end." The tone in your voice had me frightened. I had never heard you so upset at me. It was then I glanced down and saw I was completely naked. My large breasts on display for all the men to see. My neatly shaven patch visible to each of the eyes checking me out. "You and I were drinking beers like we do each time we go out," you told me. "But then you noticed HIM." You motioned to a taller man—graying hair, green eyes, average build. "I asked you if you wanted to fuck him and you just smiled and wouldn't answer me. I took that to mean yes you do. "Then, this man," you said pointing out another one, "walked by us and you stared at his ass until he disappeared into the bathroom." The man in question turned around and you saw he had a nice ass packed into a tight pair of jeans, average height, brown hair. "I'm not going to bore you with the details of each and everyone of these men here but you checked them out at some point in time during the 30 minutes we were at the bar," you said. "Now I'm going to let them have you anyway they want and their is nothing you can do to stop them." "No, please don't do this," I pleaded. "I didn't know I was checking them out like that. I only want you. You have to know that!!" "You are a whore. A tramp. A slut. Tonight you will know just how we men like to treat your kind," you said. I began crying upon hearing this. No one ever called me such horrible names. "Stop that fucking crying now, whore," you commanded me. "Or I will give you something to cry about." I had no doubt in my mind you had plenty of torturous things you could and would do to me so I took a couple of deep calming breaths and stopped crying. "Now you are going to suck this man's dick," you said. "No matter what happens around you, you keep those god damned lips around his cock and keep going until he cums down your throat." The first man he pointed out came over and stood in front of me, his fly open, his dick sticking out of his jeans already hard. "I have told these men to have no mercy on you," he said. "Fucking sluts don't deserve mercy. Now get that damned dick in her mouth and let her taste you." I took the man's dick in my mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes. I could see he didn't want to be forced to do this but stuck it in my mouth. I tried to keep the tears from coming down my face as it slid in. I didn't move my mouth. You came up behind me and grabbed my hair, jerking my head back. "Suck his fucking cock or I will make you suck it!" Trying not to cry, I moved my lips up and down the thick member. He had some pre-cum on it and it tasted good. I tried to block out how nice his dick tasted and how good it felt to have it in my mouth. This wasn't the place for me to enjoy sucking this man's dick. "Don't try and hide your pleasure, whore," you said. "I know you like sucking that dick. That's right. Move those lips hard up and down him. Suck him. Take him all the way in. I want to see you gag." I slid my lips up and down that hardened shaft and took it to the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and could feel myself moisten when I took him in my mouth. I did gag as he reached my throat. "Bitch. There'll be no vomit here so you better swallow whatever you bring up," you said. "Now that's a good whore. Suck him faster." You had taken your cock out of your mouth and began stroking it. You looked back at the other men and nodded for them to join you. I still couldn't see how many there were but you and the rest of them began stroking yourselves around me in a circle. I continued sucking the one man. His breathing increased and he began to fuck my face as if he were putting it in my pussy. I felt myself cum and forced myself to be quiet. "That's right, slut," I don't want to hear you enjoying this. Now make him cum. When I see him cum I'm going to fucking cum all over you." I sucked on that dick hard and fast. Slow and easy. I licked the head. I came all in the chair. You reached down and put a finger in my moistness. I tried not to buck against your finger. You stuck in two fingers and it was all I could do to keep from moaning onto the man's dick. When you got your fill of me, you took your fingers out. "Open your eyes you fucking slut," you commanded me. "I'm using your cunt cream to make my dick smooth as I rub my hand all over it. Smell it." You put your dick in front of my face right over the other guys. I inhaled my sent and you saw me close my eyes in pleasure. "Get those god damned eyes open cunt. I told you, you aren't going to enjoy this." With that, you began stroking yourself. The man with his cock in my mouth began stroking his balls and rubbing the bottom of his penis, meeting my lips. I could see him tense up and knew he was about to feel my mouth with his hot cum. As I swallowed his load, I came again. It felt good getting this man off until I felt the first few squirts of cum, coming at me from all directions. It hit my hair, my face, my tits. I think some of it may have hit the one guy with his dick in my mouth. "Get your fucking prick out of my whore's mouth," you told the first man. "You got what you came for—my cunt's mouth making you cum. You will leave." With his head hung, the man put his peter back in his pants, zipped them up and walked away. I looked up at you, defiance visible on my face. "You think this is all that's going to happen to a whore like you, do you?" you said. "I've just begun to show you how a whore deserves to be treated. "You, the one with the nice ass in those jeans," you pointed and directed the next man. "Get that ass over here that she enjoys so well and lick up all this cum off her." The man flinched for a brief second but walked toward me. He knelt in front of me. "Start with that stench coming from her mouth," you ordered. "Kiss and suck it all out of there." The man began to kiss my lips. When he thrust his tongue in my mouth, I closed my eyes and began kissing him back. I so wanted to put my arms around him and grab his ass and bring him close to me. "You god damned mother fucking cunt!" you screamed. "Open those slutty eyes of yours and watch as he cleans all that spooge off you!" I opened them. It just didn't feel the same being kissed with my eyes open. It still felt amazing and I noticed he had gorgeous brown eyes. I think he was afraid to close his eyes too. He kissed me lightly on my lips and then began kissing around my face. I could tell he was trying not to act repulsed by what he was doing. When he had the cum off my face he moved lower and began sucking my breasts. "That's a good ass," you said. "Eat those mounds. Get that shit off her. Make sure you bite those big ass nipples hard. I want to see her flinch as your teeth sink into them." I prepared myself for this stranger's assaults on my nipples. When he sunk his teeth in, I expected shooting pain. Instead it felt so good. I arched my back to greet his mouth. A sigh escaped my lips. "Bitch! You want this man don't you?" you asked me. I nodded my approval. "Fucking answer my god damned question you good-for-nothing whore." "Yes," I said in barely a whisper. "What? I can't hear you. Cunts don't talk softly. You tell me what you want this ass to do to you!" I cleared my throat. "I want him to suck my tits until I cum again," I said, the defiance coming back into my voice. "Tough, fucking shit you whore," he screamed at me. "This good-for nothing piece of ass you enjoy staring at will clean you up for me to have my way with you." He pointed at the man, "Get back to work ass. Lick it up while you are at it stroke yourself. I want to see how much you like tasting other's men's cum." The man looked horrified and almost terrified but he too did as he was told and took his penis out and began to rub it back and forth. He leaned down and kissed the rest of the cum from my breasts. I thought of ordinary, boring things—litter on the highway, scrubbing toilets, pumping gas. The thought of pumping made me smile. "You think this is fucking funny cunt?" you asked. "What is so god-damned funny about this?" "Nothing," I said as I looked at you. "You are the one who told me to not enjoy this. I'm trying my damndest to do as you have commanded me but the thought of pumping gas made me think of pumping and I found it funny." "You are worthless. You know that?" you told me. You grabbed my hair hard and pulled my face upward. I became frightened you might strike me. The back of my head began to hurt from you pulling my hair. My eyes began tearing from the pain. "That's what I thought, slut," you said. "Now let this ass clean you up nice and good. I have one more 'treat' for you before I'm gonna have my way with you." I looked around after you let go of my hair and noticed there was only one man left standing. You dismissed the man cleaning me up. "This man is going to show you just how much of a whore you really are," you told me. "You know how?" I shook my head no. "Answer me cunt!" "No. I don't," I told you as you motioned for him to step out of the shadows. I tried not to flinch at the sight of him. He was looked at least 30 years older than me. His wrinkled skin hung over his body and his poor penis barely stood at attention. With an evil grin you told me, "This man is going to eat out that cunt of yours and you are going to enjoy it like a good whore. Now spread those legs so he can get in there." I looked at your face with hatred in my eyes. You just smiled and shook your head. I couldn't believe you were going to have this man who was more than likely old enough to be my grandfather near my most private of parts. I knew what it meant to truly hate someone at that moment and just hoped this would be over with soon. To take my mind off this man's tongue licking its way up my thighs and nearing my moist center, I thought of all the ways I could torture you in an extremely slow and painful death. That tactic worked for a few minutes. The older man seemed out of practice how to please a woman so it wasn't that hard to not enjoy it. I saw you lean down and whisper a few things into the man's ear. I knew that it if I didn't focus harder on ways I could make you pay for what you'd done to me I would be moaning before long. It was then the man took two of his fingers and stretched the skin taut over my clit and licked it. My breathing increased and I strained against the ties on my wrists. "That's right whore, you like this man tasting your cunt," you said. "There you go move them hips to meet his mouth." I did. I couldn't help it. It felt so good as his tongue licked my clit. He slid a finger inside my pussy and it was all I could do to cry out. God I knew I was about to cum. You did too. I threw my head back, spread my legs farther apart and felt the juices flow from me. I surrendered to the tidal wave of pleasure passing over me. I didn't care anymore. You could call me whatever vile name you felt like using. I was all of them and more. With my eyes still closed and my head thrown back, I didn't notice you sent the final man away and had taken his place between my thighs. "That's right my fucking whore," you said. I opened my eyes wide and brought my head back to see you between my legs. "Now you know what it's like to be used and abused like the slut you are." You flicked your tongue over my clit just to prove your point. My juices squirted out of me and hit you on the face. "You are powerless to me," you said. "I can make you cum at the mere thought of me fucking you right now." You were right. I felt my pussy tighten and contract, thinking of you sliding in and out of me. "See, whore. I'm not even touching you and you desire me," you said. To prove your point, you grabbed my ponytail once again and yanked my head back. You sucked my nipple hard, biting on it. "You feel that cunt?" you said through your teeth. "I'm tearing at your nipple and yet you still want me. Now I'm going to fuck you hard and fast and make you cum harder than you ever have." You thrust your dick into my moistness, keeping my head pulled back. Juices flowed freely as I took you in. I could tell you were being rough with me but it felt so good. I moaned and bucked against you. I didn't care that you hurt me anymore. I only wanted the pleasure you provided. You tensed your ass and jammed your cock into me one final time before you let go of my hair and grabbed your shaft. You shot your cum all over my tits. Then you knelt down and licked your own juices off me. Once you had me clean, you reached up and untied me from the pole. "Now get the hell out of here whore," you ordered. I walked away from you, standing naked and proud a smile upon my face. Powerless In addition to the standard "horrible twisted shit from the depths of Feo's mind, viewer discretion is advised" warning, I must also give a "psychedelic trip inspired by Satoshi Kon, will probably confuse the hell out of you at first" warning. (If you don't know who Kon is, I'll compare it to Inception instead.) Anyways, if I've done my job right, it should start making sense by the end of the first chapter. As always, comments and criticism are welcome. Chapter 1: The Illusionist Sandra watches herself in the mirror as she pulls the mask from her face. Her reflection is beautiful, stunningly so, and she blows a kiss at it before she hides it again. But this is a lie. She takes the mask away again, and her reflection shows empty blackness, no face to be found. In this manner, she's intimidated more than a few criminals. This, too, is a lie. Once more she unmasks, as she does every night, forcing herself to confront the truth. She runs her hand across the scarred ruin . . . -- -- -- -- BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! The alarm radio jolted Sandra awake. "The Crimson Five have gone missing after a confrontation with an unknown foe. As yet, it is uncertain whether they are still alive . . ." As if by habit, Sandra reached out and felt for a mask on her bedtime table. It was only after she failed to find one that she realized she'd been dreaming. I need to stop listening to the news, she thought, punctuating her resolution by hitting "snooze" harder than was strictly necessary. It hadn't taken long after the dreams began for her to move a mirror to the wall beside the bed. She checked it now, proving to herself that her face was the same as ever. Pretty as a mask, she caught herself thinking, and it's all mine. Not a blemish to be found. It's no wonder I'm so scared of burns . . . She shut herself up and lay back in bed, resting until the alarm went off again. -- -- -- -- Sandra's inheritance had been sizable enough that, so long as she lived cheaply, she'd never have to work. She'd long ago done the math, concluding that marrying and raising children would not mean living cheaply, but thanks to two modern miracles--nightclubs and birth control pills--that did not preclude her current lifestyle. She always slept until two in the afternoon, but she waited for the clock to strike six before she made her grand entrance. By then, the dance floor was already crowded, couples shifting and breaking apart minute by minute as she watched. A leggy blond girl had briefly separated from the boy she'd come in with. "Might I have this dance?" Sandra asked loudly, and more quietly she followed up with, "Don't ruin the moment." She led the confused blond through a slow, romantic dance, and she finished with a kiss before releasing her. A little girl-on-girl should draw men's eyes quite nicely, she thought. She wasn't sure what made her pick him out from the crowd, standing alone at the edge of the dance floor and quietly sipping a drink. He was handsome, after a certain fashion, with pale grey eyes and the figure of a runner, but it seemed that no one other than her had given him a second look. For just a moment, his eyes met hers, but something in them forced her to look away. I'll make him my target for tonight, she decided. She danced with quite a few good-looking boys and girls before she made her way over to him, but he didn't seem at all surprised to be chosen over them. He'd already set his drink aside, and he didn't seem so much as buzzed as he introduced her to a dance she didn't recognize. "Was that good enough for you?" he asked once the song had ended. "You move as smoothly as you dress," she replied. "There's something about you that really draws a girl in--I still haven't figured out what. Perhaps I could solve your mystery more easily in a more private setting." (This was not as great a risk as might be assumed--were he to try something untoward where no prying eyes could see, he would find that she was stronger and more vicious than she looked.) "I doubt you could solve all my mysteries," he said, and she suspected he wasn't joking. "But you're right, this place is a little loud. You seem like a lovely girl, and I'll gladly follow where you lead." -- -- -- -- Back at her condo, she decided their conversation would go best accompanied by light music (lighter than the dance tunes at the club, at least.) Unfortunately, her antique record player had finally given up the ghost, and the first thing she found on the alarm radio was the news. "Tonight's retrospective on the missing Crimson Five will begin with the Enchantress. This mysterious illusionist has seldom been seen without a comedy mask, and is the only one of the Five whose true name and face are still unknown . . ." She was a little too hasty to turn off the radio. "You don't like supers?" the grey-eyed man asked. "Every time I hear about them, I have strange dreams," she replied. "What's it matter to you? Are you--" A metaphorical light bulb shone over her head. "You are, aren't you? People only notice you when you want them to." "I've never been the type for tights," he told her. "I am merely a sort of weaver. I assure you that my threads cannot control your actions, only draw your interest." There was a hint of levity to his smile. "I didn't even need them to draw it now." "What's your story, then? How'd you get to be this way?" To her surprise, he answered. He described a life spent in loneliness, always wondering what other people truly thought. He told her what it felt like when he first made his way into someone's mind--how it hurt to learn how much she hated him. He spoke of the search he'd undertaken to find and help others like himself. "You interest me, Sandra," he finished. "I've watched you, both awake and in your dreams, and I've seen how deep your pain goes. I wasn't expecting to reveal myself this early, but I'd rather make the offer now than lie to you. Sandra, how'd you like for me to make your sorrow go away?" "How would you do that?" she asked, her tone lascivious. "It begins like this," he replied, kissing her square on the lips. It would not be true to say that the sensation was indescribable--it was quite similar to what she associated with a tongue across her breasts. To have that same feeling on her lips, though, was as strange as it was wonderful. He changed focus to her cheek, then down to the hollow of her neck, and wherever he touched, pleasure followed. Her dress hit the floor, soon followed by what little she wore underneath. He knelt as his tongue trailed down her body, stopping in a familiar place and circling counterclockwise. "Keep doing that," she sputtered between gasps, "and I might collapse." He pulled his tongue away and looked up at her, his grey eyes merry. "Do you want me to go?" "If you've got anything I'd rather not catch, now's the time to tell me. Otherwise, get those pants off and hop into bed." As she lay back, he paused at her entrance. "Tell me about your dreams," he said. "Keep talking as long as you can." "There's this girl," she began, "who used to be pretty. She was caught in a fire" (at that, he entered her), "and she wasn't so pretty anymore. People saw her as pretty--that should not feel this good--but it didn't always work--that really should not feel this good--so she put on a mask--" With that, her words became unintelligible. They lay motionless together, him on top of her. "What were you afraid of?" he asked. She racked her brain. "I don't remember. I was telling you about something, just a moment ago, wasn't I? Something I'm better off not remembering." "I'm happy to have helped you," he told her as he withdrew. "I'm afraid there are other places I need to be, but I'll be back as soon as I can." -- -- -- -- Five bodies lay on a concrete floor. A grey-eyed man knelt beside the nearest, pulling off a comedy mask. Had her illusions remained, he might have seen a thousand things, from a flawless Venus to a creature of nightmares. But now that she was caught in an illusion of a different sort, he could see her as she truly was, and lay a kiss upon her ruined lips. "Sleep, my bride, and dream of me. Be happy in your world of dancing and drinking. Be only Sandra, and forget the life in which you were called the Enchantress." His time was limited, of course. So long as the others retained the hopes and fears from which their powers stemmed, there would always be a risk that they would break free. Sandra herself had come dangerously close to waking before he'd taken away her memories. The dream weaver stood, and turned his attentions to the next in line. Chapter 2: The Strongman "All right, chump, hand over your wallet." Julian takes in the ski mask, the gun, and the bravado. "You're trying to mug me? Seriously?" "Don't talk back to me, little man! I've killed plenty of jackasses like you for talking back!" "No, you haven't. This is your first mugging, isn't it? You're standing way too close." He crushes the barrel of the gun in his hand. "Besides, all the criminals around here know better than to mess with me." It doesn't take much to reduce the mugger to panic. Within two minutes, he's repeating after Julian: "I'll never break the law again . . ." -- -- -- -- "Wake up, Julian! You know the Master will fire you if he catches you sleeping!" Julian groaned and opened one eye. It appeared that he hadn't even taken off his shoes before collapsing into the armchair. "If he fired me, then I wouldn't have to vacuum this mansion anymore. Is there even anything left to clean?" Lucas was all smiles once he was certain Julian was awake. "Of course, silly! You haven't gotten any of the dust under the furniture! Now hurry and get up--I need to get back to scrubbing the toilets before I'm seen!" Once Lucas was out of sight, Julian stood and took another look around him. The vacuum cleaner was still plugged in, the furniture was still old and absurdly heavy, and the floor was still an infuriatingly fragile wood that marked at the slightest provocation. Julian had no desire to be lectured again for scratching it, so he once again made an effort to tilt the armchair forward rather than sliding it. "One, two, three . . . Damnit!" I hate being scrawny. It seemed that Lucas's intervention had been well-timed, because a quiet cough soon alerted Julian to a presence behind him. "Overwhelmed?" Authority is a funny thing. Julian often told Lucas that it was ridiculous to call their employer "Master"--"We're servants, not slaves!" He promised himself nightly that on the next day, he'd stride confidently up to the Master and greet him as "boss." And yet, whenever he looked into those pale grey eyes . . . "Not at all, Master. I was just planning what to do next." "It's late, far past the time you should be done. Go home, and sleep--you'll have your plan in the morning." At the time, all Julian thought was that he was grateful not to have been fired. "Thank you, Master." The Master left him with one last word of advice. "You don't always need to use your head, if you can get someone else to think with his." -- -- -- -- Julian awoke to the sound of a refrain that was almost familiar. "Get up, Julie! Work starts in an hour!" "Suck my dick, Lucas." Julian wondered once more why he'd ever agreed to share an apartment with him. To his surprise, Lucas laughed. "First time I've heard that metaphor from you, Julie." "I say that all the . . ." This was when Julian finally realized how high his voice had gotten. "Damn it, I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" Lucas was starting to get irritated. "Maybe you're dreaming that you finally learned to drive. I'm sick of being late because of you." Julian rolled out of bed in a less-than-dignified manner, then stood and faced Lucas. "Definitely a dream. Two big things give it away." He grasped Lucas's right hand, pressing it firmly against the dream-body's chest. "Might as well have some fun tormenting you, though." Sure enough, Lucas looked horrified. "Julie--are you all right?" "Are you really this much of a dweeb, or do I just dream you this way?" He let go of Lucas's hand to strip off the dream-body's nightshirt and bra, and sure enough, Lucas didn't look away. "You just keep getting redder and redder. Any more of this, and you might . . ." He put a hand to Lucas's pants. "Explode." This is gay as hell, he thought, but if it's just a dream, who cares? "Julie, you're not well--" Lucas didn't get to say much before Julian tackled him to the floor. The dream-body's lips were against Lucas's lips, and the dream-body's breasts were against Lucas's chest--and then Lucas shoved, and the dream-body's head smacked against a wardrobe. That hurt, he thought. It doesn't normally hurt when I'm dreaming . . . -- -- -- -- Julian didn't bother to knock before barging into the study. "What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded. "How did you even do it?" The Master didn't so much as stand from his chair. "I lent you the tools with which to solve your problem," he replied. "What you did with them is your own concern." "Damn you! Me and Lucas--I'm never going to live this down!" "Who's vacuuming under the furniture?" the Master asked. "Does it matter who's vacuuming under the damn--" "Lucas is." The Master didn't raise his voice, but he didn't need to. "And who do you think will be cooking dinner tonight?" ". . . Lucas will?" "And, provided you let him touch those lovely tits beforehand, who do you think will clean the toilets the next time you're assigned to do so?" "Lucas will." Julian was surprised to find himself laughing. "He's that easy to control?" "There are greater powers in this world than the strength of arm you revere, and I am happy to pass this one to you. However, there is a complication. So long as you think of yourself as a man, you can't remain a woman forever. Your body will change back unless you can somehow affirm your femininity." "I'm already wearing maid clothing . . ." Julian put two and two together. "Oh hell no!" "It should only require your mouth. I'll volunteer myself if you'd rather not do it with Lucas." Julian could feel his body already shifting, breasts slowly shrinking away. Yet he stood his ground. "No way!" "The past won't change, you realize. It will merely be differently tinted." "I'm not doing it!" "If you don't, Lucas will still remember that you tried to force yourself on him--as a man, no less." That managed to shut Julian up. "We won't be interrupted in here." The Master stood from his chair. "Kneel in front of me. Take as long as you need to prepare." Within a minute, the Master's pants were around his ankles, and Julian was nervously running his hand up and down an implement he'd never expected to find dangling in front of his face. It obediently hardened under his touch, and once it passed level, he rewarded it with a lick. Maybe this won't be so bad, he thought. "You don't have to be so scared," the Master told him. "Go on, take it into your mouth." Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Julian let his lips close around the tip, only moving it a short way inside. As he built his confidence, he began to clean away the precum that slowly dribbled out, savoring the strange flavor. When he trusted that the Master was off guard, he forced the organ as far into his mouth as he could manage, and a few seconds' sucking was rewarded as the Master gasped in surprise. Unfortunately, it was also rewarded by a thick blast of cum that very nearly choked him. He reached the wastebasket under the master's desk just in time to cough most of the cum into it. "Worth it," he gasped. The Master's shocked expression turned to a smile. "It's not often someone manages to break my self-control. You really are incorrigible." "I can't say I changed my mind about guys," Julian told him. "I liked toying with you, but it wasn't really sexy for me." Julian pondered that for a moment. "I'd love to see you do to yourself whatever you did to me. We could have a lot of fun together, girl-on-girl. Just one thing . . ." "Yes?" Julie knelt before him once more, and she licked away what cum remained on his cock. "Make sure you still taste this good next time, boss. It's not normally sweet like this, is it? This is the first time I've liked cleaning something." "I'll be back before nightfall," he promised. "Have fun with Lucas while I'm gone--but not too much fun." -- -- -- -- "Not a dream," Julian mumbled. "Really not a dream." The grey-eyed man smiled at that--what sort of a dream weaver would he be if he couldn't mimic pain and pleasure? A job well done, he thought. I can't believe he thinks I'm powerful enough to change his sex. I wonder, though, is he merely resentful, or did I miss something about Lucas? I'll try him right after I check on Sandra-- For a moment, he didn't recognize her. The scars are gone! She looks the same as in the dream! The grey-eyed man had never before used a dream to change someone rather than punish them, and he wasn't sure what the implications were if the body could change with the mind. Well, I know one implication. He smiled lecherously at Julian's body. Those lips will soon be just as kissable in this world as in your dream. Lucas can wait, at least for now--I have another experiment to try. Chapter 3: The Beast She's alone in an alley, long after sundown. She's been too successful, and too careless in hiding the bodies--few of the humans are brave or foolish enough to walk alone now. The wait is intolerable, but at last she smells one, slowly coming her way. She waits for him to enter the shadows, and then she leaps-- She can't see what she hits, but it feels like a brick wall. When she regains her senses, the barrier surrounds her, holding her in an invisible cage. "In the name of the Crimson Four, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder." His tone loses its edge as he examines her. "I don't know what you are, but I hope you can understand me. Believe me, I want to help you--" -- -- -- -- "Wake up, Margaret," Al told her. "You're having another nightmare." She lashed out with knife-sharp claws, but even in darkness, he knew her movements before she did. He began to recite a calming mantra, and she matched it in growls that slowly turned into words as her snout receded. When fangs and fur had gone away, she laughed, almost hysterically. "Living dangerously again, Alvin?" "You're the one who insists on having these dreams," he replied. "The least I can do is help you through them." He'd been nothing but patient throughout their courtship, understanding of the fears that often threatened to transform her, but she knew he was tired of having to sleep in a separate bed. She had no desire to restart the familiar argument. "Well, I've had enough of them for tonight. Put me to sleep again, my dear sandman, and make sure that I don't shred the mattress this time." She couldn't see his smile, but his tone was soothing. "No more nightmares tonight, I promise. You'll wake up fully rested for the big day." "Way to make me less nervous, Al. Don't get me wrong, I still want to do it, but it's such a big step, you know?" "They say you know you whether you really love someone when you see them at their worst. I've been seeing your worst for almost a year now, and if I haven't fled in terror yet, I never will." His grey eyes glowed white as he called on his power, and his words followed her off to a peaceful sleep. "I love you, Margaret, and I'm nothing but happy to share the rest of my life with you." Powerless -- -- -- -- "We are gathered here today, in the presence of these witnesses . . ." Lucas spoke with such solemnity, it was difficult to tell that both his speech and his officiant's license had been obtained off the Internet. Thankfully, he kept it short. ". . . If any object, speak now or forever hold your peace." "Who do you think's going to object?" Sandra asked. Margaret had no family, Al wasn't speaking to his, and they'd managed to duck the paparazzi. Al was the only person in the church who wasn't a member of the Crimson Five. "If there are no objections," Lucas continued, "then it is time for the happy couple to recite their vows. Alvin, do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?" Al was looking snazzy in a rented tux. "I didn't know what I'd found when I first met Margaret. I was still new to my powers, and to the dreamscape, and I was drawn to the strange sorrow that haunted her. In the time that has passed, I have learned much from her dreams, and I am happy to have helped to ease her pain." Margaret's shifts in size prevented her from wearing a ring, but Al had found a jeweled armlet that was just slightly overlarge. Julian passed it to him, and he slipped it on her arm. "Now and forever, I do." "Margaret, do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?" "I was barely more than an animal when I was captured. I have all of you to thank for believing I could be redeemed. Lucas, thank you for letting me join the Crimson and turn Four into Five. Sandra, thank you for showing me that I didn't have to hate myself. Thank you, Claire, for treating me just the same as everyone else, and thank you, Julian, for razzing me whenever I fell too far into woe-is-me. Above all, thank you, Al . . ." Suddenly, the words she'd prepared seemed inadequate. "Thank you for seeing me as I am," she found herself saying, "and for loving me nonetheless." Claire took this as the cue to hand her Alvin's ring, so Margaret cut her speech short. "Now and forever, I do." "You may now kiss the bride." Lucas's grin was of the sort Julian would have described as "shit-eating." "Thank you both for giving me the opportunity to say that." "Do you really want to do this?" Al asked. He was well aware by now of her fear of being touched. "Worst case scenario, I transform and the shock collar knocks me out. When I wake up, my dress will be ruined and all the wedding cake will be gone. Best case scenario, we'll make a memory that will last forever. Let's give it a try." His lips met hers, and she stiffened. She could already feel flesh and bone rearranging, nails and teeth growing sharper and sharper. His scent hung in the air . . . His scent. His calm, reassuring scent, without so much as a hint of fear in it. She pulled away to breathe it in, then dove back into the kiss. They separated to find the others watching them intently. "So, cake?" Julian asked. -- -- -- -- "I want to try kissing you again," she told him, together again at home. "Sleeping with the collar off has helped me learn to control myself. We can't have a real wedding night, but we ought to be able to do something." In lieu of a verbal response, Al jabbed her hard in the stomach. "Ow! Damnit Al--" She caught the transformation at her ears, and recited a mantra until it reversed. "See? I'm getting better already." Al took a moment to think. "How long can you hold yourself at about halfway?" "Pretty long. Lucas's been letting me go on more patrols lately. He's always got me collared--after what I did, the cops would blow a gasket if they knew I could take it off--but I can just do the nose or the claws if I need to." "There's something I've been thinking of trying, and tonight's as good a night as any. To start with, I'll need you at halfway." Six seconds and a few shifted bones later, she bared her teeth in mock-ferocity. "Halfway ithn't tho bad," she told him, "though the fangth are a problem." "Okay, try kissing me. I'll stay completely still." The kiss was very nearly successful. The taste of his lips was sharper than normal, but she found that she enjoyed the flavor, and his scent reassured her as she pressed against him. Unfortunately, her teeth were also sharper than normal, and one drew blood as it snagged on his lower lip. She hastily backpedaled before temptation could strike. Al rubbed at his lip. "That could have gone worse," he told her. "Now, let me take the collar off you and stand back. I want to see if you can control yourself at full strength." "Are you crathy? If I hurt you . . ." "If you charge at me, I can put you to sleep before you reach me. You'll probably crash into the wall, but nobody ever said therapy didn't hurt." She attempted a melodramatic sigh. "Go ahead." She took the time to retract her claws and remove her clothes before she changed. She'd been naked before him often enough, and she had no desire to rip such an expensive dress. She moved the armlet slightly to compensate for increased muscle mass, and once he'd removed the collar, she called upon the change. He looked her up and down (mostly up; bloodthirsty beasts don't know enough physics to care about conservation of mass.) "I've never seen you hold still in this form before. You look like a cross between a dog and a cat." At that point, he remembered that he was supposed to be evaluating her mind rather than her body. "You doing all right so far?" She couldn't respond very well without lips, so she just gave an obedient whuff. Actually, she was doing far better than fine--she could smell his blood stronger than ever, but she wasn't having control problems at all. I wonder . . . "I'm thinking we've done enough for today. We can try some more tomorr--" She interrupted with the most plaintive whine she could produce. "We're better off not rushing this. Neither of us want to get burned--or clawed, as the case may be." Like Hell you do. The smell of blood was far too strong--he'd properly simulated its nature, but not its quantity. She approached him slowly, arms out in a nonthreatening gesture, and sure enough, it stayed constant with distance. You put me to sleep for this "therapy," didn't you? I wonder how much of this was a dream? "I guess if you really want to--mmph!" She lifted him off his feet, pressing his face into her breasts, and she didn't let him go until they were both in the bedroom. He'd explained her pathology to her more than once--when she was frightened, she turned into the beast, because the beast wasn't frightened of anything. Now she was the beast, and the beast was her, and even if it was just a dream, she wanted to be touched while the feeling lasted. He seemed a little dazed at first. "This is furrier than I thought our first time would be, but you seem like you're still in control. If this is what you want . . ." A lewd gesture demonstrated that this was in fact what she wanted, and he removed his clothes just in time before she would have torn them off him. You may be littler than me, she thought, but you dream big in at least one department. Score! She bent double to take it in her mouth . . . "Yeouch! Cat tongue!" Well, her claws were even worse-suited for the job, and her tail was too stubby to be of any use. She flopped back on the bed, face up and legs spread. I am a beast, she thought, savage and monstrous, and I know how to skip to the important part of things. Her hymen had torn in some long-ago incident, and her overtaxed body hadn't ovulated in years. His entry to her entry was a simple affair. This is ridiculous, she thought, watching him bob between her legs, but it feels pretty nice. I could get use to this-- His upwards-reaching hands finally found her breasts, human and charmingly squeezable under a thin layer of fur. Wow. I could really get used to this. She came slightly after he did, yowling with pleasure, and the wondrous scent of their union threatened to overwhelm her. They lay motionless together, happy in the moment, and his only response as she shrank in on herself was to kiss her when her lips came within reach. "How much of this was real?" she asked when she was human again. "Uh, what?" he replied, already beginning to panic. "There's no need to lie. I can't be angry with someone who's filling me up so nicely. Our marriage--was that a dream too?" "It was what I wished our marriage could be like. What it would be like in a better world." "How about our courtship? Was that a dream?" "We couldn't love each other in reality. Too many things stand in the way." "Do I even know you?" "No, not yet." Al seemed to be trying to sink into the ground, but of course, this only pressed him closer to her. "Listen, everything about the Five, that's true, and everything about you as well. I was the only lie in it." "I figured that much. But you owe me another lay. In real life this time." "What? But--why--" "Did you really think you could cure me in one dream? I've got maybe three minutes before I start flipping out again about being touched. But I do think you helped me a bit, and I'd like you to do it again." ". . . Thank you." "You know, Al, this could be the beginning of something beautiful." She smiled wickedly. "Or it could be the beginning of something really, really fucked-up. I can't think of a worse thing to do with dream powers than sex under false pretenses, but it was at least good sex under false pretenses." Rather than respond to that, he simply vanished, leaving her alone with the smell of sex and fulfillment. -- -- -- -- "Can't think of a worse thing to do, can you?" he asked, looking at the smile on her dreaming face. "I'm sorry. I wish there was a place for us somewhere." So long as she was happy in the world of her dream, she'd never struggle against it hard enough to wake up. It was a simple matter to adjust her memory of what had happened, wiping the slate clean. Julie's coming along nicely, he thought, casting his gaze to shapely breasts and luscious lips. Just two more brides, and the Crimson Five will cease to be. Chapter 4: The Runner She doesn't recognize the man who's waiting at her front door. "Good afternoon. My name's Lucas. You're Claire, aren't you?" "Congratulations. You got my name right. That's better than most of the newsmen. Is this about my abilities?" "Well, possibly. I'm not exactly sure what your abilities are--" Before he can finish his sentence, she's already behind him. "I'm fast. Really fast." She smiles in a mockery of sweetness as he turns and gapes. "I think of it as the power to not waste time. I'm sick of talking to reporters, so please go away." She opens the door to go inside . . . "I'm not a reporter, Claire. Listen, I have abilities too. I've used them on behalf of the police for the past year, and they're thinking of making a task force--" She lets the door swing closed. "You want me to be a superhero?" He flounders. "Well, not exactly. We'll be more like a police auxiliary, called in to deal with situations they can't handle. We probably won't be stopping bank robberies--I'm the only one of us so far who can block bullets--" "I'll do it. I've been waiting for this for years." "I trust I don't need to warn you that this will be dangerous--" She knows she ought to let him finish a sentence, but she's too excited to do so. "Everyone marches slowly towards death. What matters is that we use the time we're given. A life of heroism, even if short, counts for more than a life wasted in inactivity." He gives her a weird look. "How very morbid." -- -- -- -- The statue returned to awareness once more in the presence of her sculptor. She only thought clearly when he was around--when he left the workshop, her mind dissolved into a froth. She'd been able to see him once he'd carved her eyes, but she could not move to ask him the questions she wondered--things like How can I think? or Why do I dream? or Why do I know about things I've never seen? Still, she knew that she loved the grey-eyed man who'd given her shape, and she hoped that in some way, he loved her as well. He'd long since finished the rough work, and the outline of her body was clearly apparent. Today's job was the last of the sanding, revealing the femininity that belied her granite construction. When he was finished, she would be the perfect ornament for a garden walkway. She would never tell him so, even if she could, but she enjoyed the way it felt to be stripped of surface imperfections. She was no fragile marble girl, to shatter at a harsh touch! As he worked his way down her legs, she remembered the hard days of labor that had given her eyes and ears, arms and fingers, and, yes, even breasts and vulva (the latter not quite hidden by her hand.) She thought of the shock of intimacy the day when, slightly drunk, he'd kissed her lips, his warm flesh against her cold stone. Above all, one thought hung in her mind: For him, I'll be the best statue I can be. Within a few hours' time, she was perfect down to her toes, standing nude upon a plinth shaped like a tree stump. "Praxiteles himself couldn't have carved you better," the sculptor told her. "I almost hate to sell you, but you'll fetch a fine price." If she could have, she might have vomited, messily soiling her carved perfection. Or perhaps she would have screamed, combining shock with rage in equal measure. She might simply have leapt from her plinth and wrapped her arms around him, crying and begging him to please, please, not give her to some rich stranger. She cursed her immobility as she merely stood and watched him walk away. When he was gone from the workshop, her thoughts dissolved once more, but a thudding impact jarred her to her senses. She'd fallen forward from the plinth, and her head was filled with a sensation she dimly recognized as pain. She stood on legs of flesh and bone, and stared at hands that moved under her control. From somewhere in the depths of her memory, a word came to her: Galatea. She knew it wasn't her real name. She had the vague sense that it wasn't even close. But it was the only name she could remember, and she repeated it to herself as she crept from the workshop, speaking quietly so that her dear sculptor would not hear her. -- -- -- -- She made it three blocks, walking through city alleys at nighttime. "Well hello, little lady," the strange man said, all but licking his lips as he and his three friends looked her over. "Did you swim in the river, and did someone steal all your clothes?" "Leave me alone," she told him, "or else tell me where I can find shelter. I can't go back." "I know just how a sweet little thing like you could earn some money," he said. She turned to run, but his friends were far faster, and she found herself rudely immobilized. By the time her mind could protest the impossibility, they had her down on the ground. They took turns, and when they were done, they tossed a twenty-dollar-bill on her body. She ripped it in half once she'd regained enough presence of mind to notice it. -- -- -- -- The sculptor didn't seem at all surprised to see her at his front door, bruised, bloodied, and dirtied. "You see now what the world is like, don't you?" he asked. "Every friendly face is just waiting to betray you." "I'm not . . ." She struggled with the words. "I'm not pure anymore. Not the way you carved me." "It's all right," he told her. "All can be forgiven." He led her back into the workshop, and motioned her to the plinth. No sooner had she taken her position than she felt the change. It was less sudden this time, just a little tingle in her feet that left them hard and immobile. She looked down to see granite colored like flesh, almost as real as life, but she looked up again hastily--it was important to maintain the proper position. The change crept up her legs, and between them, clearing away blood and other fluid. She found herself laughing at the feeling, and the sculptor smiled to see her mirth. "Get up here," she told him, while she could still speak. "This is too good not to share." He was clearly caught off guard. "I'm sorry, but I still have things I must do." "Things more important than me? It'll be wonderful, I promise." The sensation reached her breasts, and she barely kept her focus. "We'll kiss forever in each other's arms. When someone finds us, they'll put us in a museum, and everyone who passes by will know what true love is. Hurry up--there's not much time left." "I love you, but I can't stay with you forever. Life doesn't work that way. I'll keep you as long as I can." The hardening of her lips prevented her response. He watched her until her eyes stopped moving, and then he turned to go. She leapt from the plinth, slamming him against the wall. "What? But--how--" A granite fist split open his cheek. "You just want a statue!" she screamed. "You don't really care about me! You're just like those men!" "Please, calm down--" She hit him again and again, and the whole world shifted. -- -- -- -- "Sleep!" the grey-eyed man choked out, and hard fingers let go of his neck as Claire collapsed into another nightmare. It wouldn't keep her down for long, but it would give him enough time to think. You made me bleed, bitch! he thought, putting a hand to his face. You're going to suffer for this. He dragged her body next to Lucas's. I'll have you two share this dream. Quick and dirty, and not even you'll be able to escape it. Chapter 5: The Defender "You ever wonder why supers don't get married?" "Don't distract me, Sandra. This is important." They're just offstage at a political rally, and Lucas is in charge of protecting the keynote speaker. Neither is particularly happy to have to listen to him drone on, but Lucas believes in the importance of appearing professional. "Pfft. You could do this in your sleep. You were daydreaming about Claire again, weren't you?" "I'm still trying to figure her out. It's like she's always happy and sad at the same time." "It really makes me think. Most folks marry by thirty, right? You're thirty-three, but you look young for your age, and you'd have a shot with her if you tried. Yet you can't even tell her you like her. Margaret's probably never getting married. I'm probably never getting married. Julian's marriage lasted six months before he got divorced. What gives? Are we all that fucked up?" He winces to hear Sandra swear, but he's long since given up telling her to stop. "Maybe it's a matter of society. A lot of normal people are still scared of what we can do, and dating other supers brings up even bigger issues." "Those artificial supers in the leaked docs a few months ago were ordinary folks with families, and I hear some of those cultists who claim they get powers from meditation marry each other. It's only us naturals who die single. Look at how many issues we each have, and it becomes chicken versus egg--are we this crazy because we're supers, or are we supers because we're this crazy?" A bullet deflects off the invisible shield Lucas has placed over the speaker, and the crowd descends into chaos. Both of them know that now is not the time to talk. Both of them know that when the crisis is over, he'll think about her words for a very long time. -- -- -- -- the voice said. Powerless Sandra was off-duty now, standing outside a bookstore with a mask of illusion over herself. The man known as Lucas would not have been able to find her, but the disciple was neither Lucas nor a he anymore, and her new grey eyes were able to see through such tricks. Sandra didn't seem to be doing anything, though--just standing there watching as the crowd moved past her, each man and woman tending to a different schedule. the voice demanded. The disciple was nothing if not obedient. She shouldered her way through the masses until she'd drawn close enough to speak. "You only think of yourself. You call yourself a hero, but really, you just want attention. The voice blesses and punishes you." Irritated, Sandra turned to face her. No recognition dawned as she looked at her new form. "Go away, you crazy--" "The voice blesses and punishes all of you!" The disciple called upon the power the voice had given her, and Sandra's body erupted. Sprouting from the ruins of her face and torso, flexible tendrils moved faster than the eye could see, ensnaring the men and women who stood near them. They grew longer and longer, smashing cars and wrapping passersby as far as the eye could see. Most didn't have time to scream beforehand. The disciple gazed at the shrieking chaos. Is this really what you want? she asked the voice. the voice replied. She stared at a woman who struggled in vain to escape the tentacle around her midsection. At first, she thought the woman would choke as it forced her mouth open, but she didn't seem affected by a lack of breath--and as it went deeper and deeper inside her, her motions began to change. She watched her mouth reshape, fitting snugly around the protrusion on which she writhed . . . The disciple closed her eyes to avoid throwing up. This time, she spoke aloud. "No. I don't want to know." She saw two bodies locked together in an intimate kiss. Clothing shredded as they melted into each other, losing form and definition in impossible closeness. "Is this my fate?" -- -- -- -- They caught up to her at sundown, on the roof of a three-story apartment. She began simply enough. "Just so you know, I've already taken out your sniper." "Our what?" Julian attempted. "You're here to negotiate, right? You want to see if I can restore those people. But in case things go wrong, there's a sniper on the fourth story of that building across the way, ready to drill me between the eyes. It's a pity he's otherwise occupied at the moment." "We can still talk this out," Margaret attempted. "We don't even know what you--" The disciple called upon the voice's power, and Margaret choked on a tongue that rapidly reshaped in a manner not even she was used to. "The voice blesses and punishes you." The ever-longer tongue wrapped itself around Julian. "One of you, for never repenting, always claiming that the murders you committed weren't really your fault. The other, for arrogance without bounds, and for becoming a hero just so you could tell other people you were better than them." The disciple locked eyes with Claire. "Do you have anything to say in your defense before you are judged?" the voice urged. Claire stepped forward, ignoring the panicked yelling behind her even as it turned to moaning. "They're not real, are they?" she asked. "The real Margaret and Julian must be in another dream." "Dream?" the disciple asked. "Is that what you've convinced yourself this is? This is your justified punishment, no more and no less." "Cut the crap," Claire told her, and the disciple flinched--she remembered from her time as Lucas just how bad a sign it was when Claire started talking like Sandra. "What the hell are you doing?" "You've seen it yourself, how people never change. Give them the chance, and they'll always turn on each other. You heroes only make things worse by defending them--it's when they have to defend themselves that they find common ground. By destroying you and threatening them, I'll create true peace as they fight only me . . ." She realized that Claire had already tuned her out. "I'll rephrase that: what the hell's going on? Why can't I break out of this dream like the others? Why can't I run like I used to? Why am I still--" She smacked her fists together, and the disciple was shocked to hear the sound of stone on stone. the voice demanded. The disciple decided to half-obey--she ignored the voice. "The voice hasn't explained everything to me yet," she confided. "It says I need to prove my loyalty before I can wake to the truth." "Wake to . . ." Claire put two and two together. "Dear God, you're Lucas, aren't you? That's why I can't escape the dream--it's not my dream. What did this bastard . . ." She cut off with a ragged cough, clutching at her throat. "What's happening?" the disciple demanded, as much to Claire as to the voice. "I don't understand." The voice laughed as Claire began to cough up white liquid. The disciple didn't hesitate as she crossed the distance to the rapidly reshaping Claire. She held her close, and kissed her lovely lips, not caring about the fluid upon them. She left the voice with one last thought before they melted together and the world imploded. Fuck you. Chapter 6: The Dream Weaver They fell from the sky with a thud, Lucas landing atop Claire. "You know," he told her, once they'd recovered their breath, "you're pretty soft to land on for someone who was stone a minute ago." She shoved him off, gently but firmly. "They say trauma gives you powers. Maybe I got a new power from all this--to be as soft or hard as I need to be. It'd make as much sense as anything else in this place." She suddenly recognized the masculine pronoun in her thought. "Wait, you're a guy again?" "And you're not turning into a . . . All things considered, I think we came out ahead." He looked her over once more. "Did you know you've turned grey here?" "You too. Grey hair, grey skin, grey clothes . . . I guess we fit in here." Their grey was subtly paler than the alley walls beside them, and darker than the clouds that filled the sky. Rain poured down endlessly, but neither of them felt wet. "Whose dream do you think this is?" the voice said. "Did you hear that?" Claire asked. "Loud and clear," Lucas replied. the voice said. "Who--" Claire began, but a dozen grey doors had already begun to open in the alley walls. Grey figures filed out, blank and featureless, all heading in a single direction. Claire had expected to follow them to some manner of execution, but Lucas already suspected where they were headed--an old-fashioned pillory. A single man stood on display, looking mournfully down at them. Not far from the pillory, rotten fruit was piled three feet high. The grey figures stood politely in line, waiting for their chance to throw. "Shut up!" Claire shouted. "You think my life's been any better? You don't get to whine after what you did to me!" The dream weaver closed his eyes, waiting for the first impact. It never came. He opened them again to see the fruits smack one by one against an invisible barrier. "Surprised?" Lucas asked. "I can't call myself a hero if I don't help those who're in distress." "But . . . Don't you hate me? Like they do?" The grey figures kept on coming, their faces melting into an indistinguishable mass. "You're sick. You need help. But I don't think you're a bad person. That stuff you made me say . . . I do think that sometimes, but not always." "I think you're a bad person," Claire said. They both ignored her. The grey figures began to dwindle, vanishing one by one after each throw. When they were gone, Lucas approached the pillory, and struggled in vain with the restraints. "I don't think the dream will end until you're out of this. A little help, Claire?" She grumbled under her breath, but the swing of a granite fist freed him, and the dream began to dissolve. -- -- -- -- "You okay?" Lucas asked, once the chaos was over and the dream weaver was on his way off in the back of a police car. "It's been a confusing night," Claire replied. "My speed seems to be permanently gone, but I can still turn to granite, so I'm doing better than Julian and Sandra." Neither had been able to manifest a power in their changed forms. "So, what do we do now?" "Now? Well, I guess we start recruiting again, filling the missing spots. Julian will probably shift over to regular police--" He struggled not to laugh at the image of the newly feminized Julian in a police uniform. "--And I'm not sure Sandra will stay in the business at all. Margaret seems stronger than ever, though." "I saw the kiss she blew at that guy before they took him away. I'm not sure I want to know what her dream was about. But that wasn't my question. What do we do now?" "You mean . . ." "I was completely at your mercy in the dream. Your hesitation confirms something I've suspected for a very long time. I'll give you one free thank-you." She kissed him before he could react, and this time, her lips were soft. "You'll have to earn the next one on Tuesday at six. I'll meet you at Big Benny's Burgers. You're paying." "Claire, I'm not sure this is a good idea." "You're right, we'll probably crash and burn. We'll admit we're better as friends, only occasionally coming together again for awkward comfort sex. But maybe--just maybe--there's something more here. What have we got to lose?" The sadness wasn't quite gone from her smile. "I need this, at least for now." "It's about how you turned to stone, isn't it?" Lucas hadn't asked what had happened in her dream--he suspected that she wouldn't answer. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to." "We all fell for it, until the very end. We chose worlds where we'd never have to make choices again--where all we had to do was follow his orders. I need to prove to myself that I'm not still powerless." Powerless to Resist Hi, this is just a one-shot. I hope it's an entertaining scene/scenario, although it's probably totally unrealistic. But that's the beauty of fantasy... enjoy, and please rate and review, I love all the feedback I get, good or bad! ***** It was the worst during the warm nights. I had stopped wearing shorts all together; I needed the quick access that came with a skirt. I tried going without any panties for a few days, but that only made things worse. It was as if my mind would recess, the only feelings left were my aching throbs between my thighs, and my wild, lustful imagination. I guess that was a plus, I had a vivid and dirty enough mind to imagine new sexual scenarios every time my urge overcame me. And it was becoming at least four times a day. And this evening was no different. 5 minutes ago, I rushed away from the dinner table, leaving my 5 other family members confused, as I dashed off without a word. Now I was on my back, on my carpeted floor. I didn't even make it to the bed. Both my hands were between my legs, petting and softly fingering my dripping pussy. Moments later, it wasn't enough, and I dug under the bed for my pink vibrator, who had been getting a lot of action lately. A little too hastily, I pressed it deep inside my wet opening. I gasped silently, my entire core being shaken by the small plastic toy's vibrations. Yes, it was coming, I knew the feeling so well. My jaw hung slack, and my eyes started to roll back. I stuck two wet fingers in my mouth, sucked on them, and seconds later, I clapped my hand over my mouth, suppressing the long, guttural moan that came out of me. I convulsed, and came hard, wave after wave of pleasure racking my body. Yes, oh god yes, this release was fantastic. The relief I feel after is almost as good as the orgasm itself. And then the shame. Again, for the umpteenth time, I had been hopelessly turned on, for no apparent reason, and I fulfilled my carnal desires without a moment's hesitation. My mother's voice rang from down the hall. "Jen, are you ok honey?" Good lord, I don't know how everyone, even my younger sister, couldn't put together what had been going on with me. I needed my own place, to save their embarrassment as well as my own. Ok, backing up a little: I'm Jenny, I'm 19, a freshman in college, but I still live with my parents. My oldest brother, Eric, is married, got a good job, and he seems to be pretty happy. Joseph, two years older than me, lives at home too, but works for the railroad, and he's home for a day, and gone for two. Patricia is my younger sister; she's 16, still in high school. I'm really jealous of my siblings' looks, both my brothers are pretty studly, and tall. Patricia already has a better chest than me, and between her cheerleading and volleyball, she's probably got the whole school swooning. I won't sell myself short, I think I'm rather pretty, with long, straight brown hair. I've never been athletic, but I have a very thin build. Not much of a chest or butt to speak of, but I try not to be too self-conscious about it all. I've only had one serious boyfriend and one summer fling after that. I have almost no boy experience, yet I crave sex every day. It's a problem. My mom gave two courtesy knocks, before opening the door herself. Quickly, I kicked the door back (I hope I didn't hurt her!), and tossed my vibrator into a pile of laundry. "Jen, what's going on? Are you ok?" my mom sounded panicked. "Uh, yea, sorry, I'm just changing, my clothes were just really uncomfortable," I lied. Jeez, could that woman ever just knock? So I had to change now, although I'd perspired quite a bit, and I couldn't very well join my family again smelling like I'd got my rocks off. I really felt out of control. Since about 2 months ago, I've had no willpower to suppress my lustful urges that come over me. I feel like something's wrong with my brain, I've never heard of anyone needing it this bad. Well, I've never really talked with anyone about it either, but how do you approach someone about it? Do I tell my doctor I have to cum every few hours, just to say sane? Do I get a boyfriend that likes it as much as I do? Should I get more than one boyfriend? Am I supposed to become a pornstar? I laughed to myself, all those options were ridiculous. Well, maybe not the one boyfriend. But I get so shy... how do I find a nice, charming, caring guy that will also fuck my brains out, and can be on call to do so? I remembered back to Joey, who I dated in high school. We were steady for a little over a year, and I didn't lose my virginity until the winter dance. He was never pushy, which was nice, and we screwed every once in a while. Then we graduated, and he moved away. I was sad, but knew I needed to expand my world. Then there was Jayden. He and I never really talked in school. He was a little bit of a bad boy, but he really worked on his body the last year. I was shocked when the pasty little kid I first met had turned into a manly hunk with unruly hair. I smiled to myself thinking about it. We had been at a big grad party, bonfire, and he sat next to me. After a couple minutes, we were finally forced to talk. We talked about nothing, he casually asked me if I was 18 yet, (yes!) and I have no idea why he took his shirt off, but the effect was not lost on me. He read me well, and without another word, he stood up, offered his hand to me. We were inside, and as soon as we were out of sight, his lips were on mine, roughly mashing and pressing against my lips. It didn't take long for me to open up and let his tongue in, and 2 minutes later, I was locking my legs around him, as he struggled to carry me and find a bed upstairs. He was a much more powerful, rough lover than I what had with Joey. It was weird though, when we finished, he just rolled off, started putting his jeans on. I had to find him an hour later. No words, just my number, and a winky face. I was glad when he called the next night, and we hooked up a lot, and it was great, it was hot. And then one day, he sent a simple text, that read, "thx for all the fun, I'm gonna move on tho." Well that was over as quick as it began. I wasn't too bent out of shape about it. He wasn't boyfriend material, but what I didn't realize was the uncontrollable urge he released in me. I was happy to be singe for a couple weeks. Then I was unhappy. Then, I started to really discover how much I could stimulate myself; it seemed that my hands were under my panties every night, a ritual before bed. And then, that wasn't enough, so I donned a hat, sunglasses, and drove an hour to a sex shop. I bought my first toy quickly, paid cash, and left with my head down. I could barely contain myself, and I thought about opening up the dildo and burying it inside me for the long drive back home. Three weeks later, I was back at the same sex shop, and thankfully no one recognized me. I took my time this time; I went through all the toys, all the props. A short time later, I was out of there with another, textured dildo, and my trusty pink vibrator. I hadn't talked to anyone about it, but I figured that some other girls must have indulged the same purchases that I did. I opened my "naughty drawer", putting Pink back, and touching all three toys lovingly, and covering them up again with a spare pillowcase. God, I was such a closet freak. I'm pretty sure all my friends thought I was uninterested in sex, but it was just the opposite. I didn't have it in me to be a complete slut, and let guys take advantage of me. Well, not yet anyway. Still, I finally reached the point where I needed another guy. Honestly, I didn't care too much about another relationship; I just wanted a reliable booty call, as dirty as that makes me sound. So I started making a few changes: instead of wearing sneakers all the time, I tried out sandals, flats, other, more flattering shoes. I chose shorter skirts, and modified a few tanks to show some midriff. Not too much right? Of course, my mom noticed, but I chalked it up to the weather being much warmer. She would give me an "I-know-what-you're-really-up-to" look, but hey, I was an adult now. My best friend, Carrie, let me know about a party: bonfire, drinks, boys, the whole works. I disliked having to make myself up, but tonight was going to be worth it. I combed my way through my entire wardrobe, until I found a sundress I really liked. I did my makeup, and spent another 5 minutes or so teasing my hair until it fell just right. It was time to go. I grabbed my purse, and left the house for the bus stop. While it was comfortable out tonight, I still wish my parents would let me take the car. But... if all went according to plan, I would be able to arrange a ride back the next morning. I smirked to myself; I was totally honest with myself what the goal was tonight. I wanted to find a nice boy, and I wanted to get laid. Bus number 47 came a few minutes later, and I strode in, paid, and made my way to a window seat near the back. The ride usually takes about 15 minutes, so I got comfortable. The next stop, there were a lot of people that got on, a busy Friday night! I scooted over a little more when a man moved to sit next to me. I looked him over briefly: he was 30, tall, mature but still an attractive guy. He nodded at me, but we didn't exchange a word. His khaki's were tight against his legs, and I glanced down, and I could see the outline of his cock! It must have been big, because it was a few inches long, while still soft. Oh no. Not now, not here... This was bad, I had cum about an hour ago, and now I was feeling the urge again. And it was strong; I could almost hear my pussy crying out for attention. It ached, and the seconds ticked by like torture. I'm sure I was red in the face, so I tried to just stare out the window. But then it turned into a daydream, where this strange man reached between my legs, and started to expertly finger my wet pussy. Oh god, this was difficult. I grabbed the edge my dress firmly, pulling it tight against me. I'm not sure if it was hurting or helping, but the only thing I could focus on was the incessant throb between my thighs. I shot a quick glance at the man sitting next to me, oh why couldn't I just leave for fantasy land, and he would violate me in every way. I leaned my head back, I tried to block out everything, but the only thing I could focus on was getting stimulation. And then, all of a sudden, it felt like I was actually being touched. My fantasies were vivid, but never this real, this intense. It felt good though, and for a few seconds, I let ragged breaths escape my lips, enjoying the weird sensation. I opened my eyes; I wanted to check, make sure no one knew what I was up to. I glanced sideways, the man was still facing straight ahead, but wait, his arm was crossed over me... I looked down, amid staggered gasps, and saw his hand in my lap, underneath my sundress, and pressing against my panty-covered pussy, rubbing it. I was being touched by a total stranger, I had to scream! This is so wrong! No sound came out of my mouth though. How on earth could he be so bold as to start rubbing a random younger girl's sex? I grabbed his wrist hard, and his head snapped around, but he firmly held his hand there. His eyes held my gaze, they were blank, reading my face, whereas I was a mess, my eyes glazed over with lust, and my mouth slack and open; I was almost hyperventilating. 'Pull him off! Get out of there!' my mind was yelling at me, but as seconds ticked by, I was becoming a slave to my body's pleasure, a slave to this strange man's fingers. I felt him shift; still holding on to his wrist, he slipped underneath my panties, pressing into my wet pussy with his finger directly. I arched my back involuntarily, my subconscious willing him further inside me for more pleasure. Could anyone see us? I was a mix of emotion. Part of me wanted this to stop, and stop now, and have someone take this man away from me. The other half was completely ready to give in, let him have his way with me, regardless of the consequences. And that half was winning. He started moving faster, pushing deeper into my dripping wet opening, and began to bend his wrist in, finger-fucking me, even though he barely moved. Somewhere, my mind registered that I had spread my legs wider, allowing more access. The gravity of the situation started to dawn on me, I was surrounded by people, on a public bus, and the man next to me was at second base. His ministrations sped up, and I started shaking, I was close to orgasm. I was sure the "shlick shlick" of his fingers in my sopping wet pussy would be audible to everyone. Oh god I was so close, I squeezed his wrist tightly, and he thrust in an out at a frenzied pace. I whispered a husky, "Yes," and I came hard, right there in the plastic bus seat, tiny bubbles of pleasure exploded in my head, and I was lost in euphoria. My chest was rising high, as I slumped back a little in my seat. I started to come down from my hazy, lust-crazed state of mine, when he slipped his two fingers out of me, and brought them up to my mouth. "Suck," he said simply. He pushed his stick cum covered fingers against my lips, and with little resistance they were inside my mouth. I obliged, too overwhelmed to do anything other than what I was told. After a few seconds of sucking on his fingers, the bus came to a stop. As he stood up, he gave my boob a rough squeeze, and without another word he was gone. I was left alone to work out what had just happened to me. I felt enormous shame, inside me like a knife. I looked around nervously; there was still quite a few people sitting, standing around. How we were sitting must have blocked it from every one's view, no one was looking at me, but I was paranoid that they all knew. Knew that I was hopeless, pitiful, horny girl that had just allowed a man to molest her in an open, public place. I enjoyed it too, I needed it. It could've been a old man, a woman, or the fucking Easter Bunny and I would've let them do what he did to me. Thankfully, my stop was the next one. A minute later, I was off, it was just a few short blocks to the girl's house who was throwing the party. I was not feeling like the boy-chaser I set out to be an hour ago, but a drink or two and a best friend sounded like enough to take my mind off of things. As I got closer, I could hear the bustle, and the see the flickering orange light of the fire. It didn't take long for me to find Carrie, and 15 minutes later, I had a drink in me, and I was laughing, and enjoying myself. I'd almost started to forget about the bus ride over. We joked, sat around for most of the evening. "Carrie, you and Rob are getting serious, you said you guys were done after high school!" one of the girls said. "Well what can I say? He's a stud, he's got money, and he's an ok guy. Why shouldn't I hang on to him?" she replied. I chimed in, "Well he's the only guy you've ever dated, don't you worry you're not, you know, getting out there?" "It's not like I'm 30. I have time to explore." "Haha, and she's not talking about exploring nature!" another girl teased. "Well, exploring some very natural things," Carrie chided back. We burst into laughter; our conversations would rarely be anything but raunchy. It was just more fun to talk about, and poke fun at the others. I envied Carrie at times, she was naturally headstrong, a leader, a good friend. Everyone liked her, and she was always surrounded by people. I know she didn't try too hard, but her looks, her personality, her humor were plenty to make anyone charmed by this woman. Rob joined us, a couple of his guy friends making small talk with the rest of us girls. We would get quiet at times, just staring into the flames as we sat around the fire. There was one drunken brawl on the lawn, but that was it for excitement. Well, violent excitement anyway. The bonfire started dying, and I noticed a few couples making there way from the party. There were a couple more people that paired up, it was interesting to watch. First it was lap sitting, then petting, then making out, and as I saw couples leaving the ring, the next step wasn't too hard to figure out. Carrie had left with her boyfriend, and suddenly, I felt very single, very alone. I got up, and did what anyone does when they feel awkward at party: go to the bathroom. I started feeling worse as I moved farther away from people, I had come here to not be alone, but after the bus ride, I was feeling confused, and conflicted. I closed the bathroom door behind me, staring in the mirror. I dumped the drink from my cup, filled it with water and drank it quickly. I looked at my phone, it was just past midnight. I sat on the closed toilet seat, just staring. I started hearing sounds through the wall behind me, it was rhythmic, but I couldn't make it out. I leaned back, an ear to the wall. I was able to make the sounds out; it was a girl moaning, a guy panting, and a very squeaky bed. Voices could be heard through the wall, and I started to make out words. "Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, oooooo yea you like that dirty boy?" A female voice said, obviously in the heat of the moment. "Unnngg" was the only sounds I heard from him, besides grunting and heavy breathing. I could hear their pace, the squeaks of the bed getting faster and faster, until it slowed, (they must have changed positions,) and then started building again. At first, I was amused, albeit a little grossed out. But I continued to listen, and I started feeling jealous. I wanted to be the one getting screwed in the other room. Oh no. It was here, again. I couldn't believe it, but my powerful urge came at me like a torrential storm. I willed my body to stop reacting, I tried to convince myself that I was not getting aroused, that I was not turned on, that I was not going to need to get off, right here, right now. I bit my lip, leaned away from the wall, but I could still hear distant sounds, voices and squeaking. No, no, not right now, I'll do it when I get home... I was losing the mental battle, I gripped my lower thigh, but my skin had become much, much more sensitive. My body started to betray me, my thighs started sliding apart, and my hands slid further up. I knew where they were headed, but it was like I was out of control of my own limbs. My fingers gingerly brushed the outside of my panties, sending a shiver down my spine. There was no doubt that I was seriously aroused, moisture was on my fingers, coming through the fabric. I slid them down a bit. I hesitated for a minute, but then couldn't fight the need, and I slowly began rubbing my moist lower lips. It only took a minute before my pussy ached for more, and I slipped a couple fingers inside. Slowly, gently I began to push them in and out, first one, then two at a time, then three, stretching my inner walls as best I could. Oh god, wouldn't one of my toys feel so good right now, or a cock. Mmm, a big, meaty, hot, hard cock... I was getting lost in lust, my eyes were hazy, and my legs spread further and further apart. I'm not sure how, but I slipped of the seat, and landed painfully on the tile, but nothing could distract me from my goal. I need more though, I ran my other hand up my stomach, grabbing one of my boobs, squeezing and pressing it, before doing the same to the other. Suddenly, the door was flung open. I looked up, startled, at a tall guy, stocky, with a lot of poofy, brown, curly hair, and a thick beard. I didn't recognize him, but I hoped he didn't know me. And he looked down at me, one hand under my dress, fondling myself and masturbating. I was caught. I didn't move my hands from their precarious positions; I waited for him to react. He stood there wordless for a few seconds, and I could feel intense blush in my face. He finally spoke, Powerless to Resist "Well, let's get you up at least," I slinked my hands away from my dress, offered him my hand to help me back to my feet (the not-sticky-juice-covered hand). I looked away, but was grateful he was being kind, and he'd at least not called all his buddies to look at the helpless, horny girl. But I was wrong, I thought he was leading me out the door, but he slammed it shut, and turned me around over the sink. Before I knew what was going on, he was on his knees, and grabbed my ass cheeks roughly, kneading them in his hands. "You are a sexy little horny bitch, you know that," "No," and "Stop," were about to come out of my mouth, but I felt him ruthlessly press his mouth against my pussy lips. He started tonguing wildly, rapidly, while smacking my ass and grabbing my hips roughly. I tried, I tried, and I tried to resist, by calling out, and telling him to stop, but breathless noises were the only things escaping my mouth. His foreplay was over quickly, because he stood back up, and grabbed a handful of my sundress, shoving it far up my back and exposing me. I heard a zip, some shuffling around, and then warm flesh pressing against my dripping pussy. I was thinking 'I don't want this', but all that came out was a wanton moan. "Yea that's right slut, you want it bad don't you..." his grisly voice taunted me with every syllable, but as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't bring myself to turn away, to push him back, to make him stop. Seconds later, he pushed into me, slowly but continually, and I couldn't contain my loud cry of pleasure. He moved to grip my waist, and started moving back and forth. He controlled my body too, making me meet every thrust. As much as I hated myself, I could hardly deny such pleasure that was running though my body. My pussy sent wave after wave of good feeling through my entire frame, and I was finally feeling full again. I moaned and wailed each time he buried himself in me. He would reach up, grab my breast and squeeze a nipple, and then he'd smack my ass, before gripping me hard again. Soon, his thrusts became erratic, and I could feel that he was about to cum. There had been no thought of protection or anything, I wasn't on the pill! I couldn't get pregnant. The pleasure was totally controlling my body. He began to grumble, moaning too, and he must have been right on the edge. "ON MY BACK!" I screamed out, Thankfully he obliged, and after a few more hard pounds into my pussy, he pulled out. I could hear him behind me, his hand must have been a blur, but a few moments later, he groaned loudly, and I felt spurts of warm goo hit my skin. To demean me even more, he wiped his cock against my ass, the backs of my thighs, using me to wipe himself off. He staggered back, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub, but I could still feel his eyes burning into me? Well, he was done, at least I think he was. What should I do? Should I run away screaming, crying? Should I call someone, should I just turn around and slap the guy as hard as I could? He'd given me no choice... But I didn't fight it in the least. And it felt good. Oh, it was short but it was feeling so good. I began to feel fingers, small fingers again touching my pussy. The contact returning to it felt so good, and seconds later, the fingers were thrusting rapidly in and out. I opened my eyes, and to the disbelief of my last partner and myself, it was me who was mercilessly attacking my own pussy, and I was unable to do anything except wait for my release. It was fast approaching, and after just another minute, I felt myself right on the edge. With a soft scream, I pushed myself over, and I came like rolling thunder. My hot, wet juices rushed out of me, and I felt them drip down my legs, on to the floor. My legs gave out, I held on to the porcelain skin, but dropped slowly to my knees, until I rested my forehead against the edge, breathing heavily. I heard the guy shifting behind me, getting dressed again maybe, but I didn't even turn around. "You are one freaky girl, I'll give you that," he said as he opened the door, "Thanks for the fuck! Ha ha ha ha," his voice faded as he left the small bathroom. Oh god, I was pathetic. I enjoyed every second of him fucking me, even though I knew I should've stopped it. But I was powerless. I am a slave to my pussy, and was getting its way, no matter what the consequences, no matter how bad the situation was. I took off my clothes for a minute, grabbing someone's towel, wetting it, and trying to clean myself off a little bit. I spent a few more minutes arranging myself, before going back out. I didn't know how long I'd been away, but there were a lot fewer people there. I only recognized two or three girls, but none that I wanted to talk to, my friends had left, or moved from where they were, and Carrie was long gone. I didn't want to be there anymore, the shame was building every time I caught someone's eye. I felt like they all knew that I had been the easy slut some random guy had just taken in the bathroom, of all places. I pulled my phone out, scrolling through the contacts twice, before I dialed my mom. "Unnn, hello, Jen, what's going on?" she said sleepily. "Where are you, why are you calling?" "Hi mom..." I tried to sound composed, but I felt a tear stream down my cheek. "Um... I was at a bonfire little get together with Carrie, but she split, and I want to leave, and I don't know anybody..." "What, wait, what? I thought..." she was having trouble in her drowsy state. "Will you come get me please?" There was a pause on the other end. "Okay honey, I'm on my way, tell me where you are." Her voice was warmer, and I smiled to myself, grateful. I told her the address, and I left to go stand out front by myself. Fifteen minutes later, headlights I recognized came around the corner, and I waved. My mom, still in her robe, got out, and gave me a hug. "Are you ok honey? I'm worried, what's going on?" I held my hands up, slowing her down, "Mom, I'm fine. Carrie was gonna be my ride, but she left with her boyfriend. I could've stayed, maybe found a ride, but some people had been drinking, you know, just to be safe..." I hoped the partial truth was enough, at least for now. She gave me a little smile, and we climbed into the car. With only a few more words and good-nights, I went up to my room, falling straight into bed. I stared at the ceiling, wondering about my problem. Was this how the rest of my life would go? If I had a career, would I duck out every couple hours to get off, or screw someone? If I was attacked, would I even have the willpower to not want it? All these thoughts mulled over my head, but eventually, I drifted off to sleep.