What Morpheus Saw (Closed for Bevatoria)

It almost looked like she was blushing, approaching the counter with some measure of shame. Clarice was still crying a bit, but not out of sadness, but out of guilt. Delicate hands grabbed the counter, and Percy took a moment to admire those, too; her still somehow perfectly painted nails as she pulled herself to the clear surface, pausing for a moment. Her body still showed no imperfections despite what had happened, reminding him again of the things in this dream he could control: nothing would be damaged unless he wished it. And at this moment, he wanted her body unmarred, perfect, like a statue in the town hall that nobody ever scratched, that weather never spoiled.

She paused, looking at him. "Why did I steal the ring?"

"I don't know. You're the thief." He was unmoved by her moist, darkening eyes; sadness and guilt on them that he could not afford to care about. He watched intently as she draped herself on his counter top; enjoying the sight of her breasts pressing into the glass display she'd just raided, her nipples pushing into what was suddenly an unrelenting surface. Offering herself to him, her head hanging off of one end, her legs off of the other. A meal to be feasted upon, not entirely by mouth or teeth as his hands wandered to her smooth, perfect back, touching it as if to confirm that this was a dream.

It was, and it wasn't. It was his fantasy, his control of a being that had free will, something more delicious then any of the treats this world could offer. Percy was enjoying something that wasn't meant to be his. "Please don't hurt me." A quiet request from her that he saw fit to ignore; it wasn't that he would hurt her. But it was no longer Clarice's choice. It was one she had never had in his plane, in what he was determined to make his. A pleasant smell wafted to his nostrils, and he longed to taste it, to see if she was as scrumptious as she appeared to be.

He quickly walked behind her, to the other side of the counter, his 'eyes' never leaving her splayed form. At her rear now, her feet, still in her heels, bunched against her body. On any normal woman, the shoes would have long been discarded, but they were still there because he wanted them there. It was his world, and he wanted her like this, more than she knew. More than she would ever know. A small part of him wanted to remove the remaining barrier she had on, to make her completely open for him, whatever he wanted. But as his hands moved to her neck, slowly draping himself over her open body, he realized she was already exposed. Naked without being nude.

So quick, eager hands went to the catch on her bra, undoing what he had no knowledge to undo, and he hastily pulled it up her arms crossed in front of her. Snaking across her midsection to her firm, full breasts, cupping them and making her nipples hard against the glass, her weight pushing them into it without any remorse. He pushed on her back, forcing her breasts to squish against it further as she spoke again. "Don't hurt me." A husky, pleading tone that hardened him further in this dream world.

Percy didn't care. He pushed her more into it, wanting to see if her nipples could indeed cut through the glass, seeing her legs spreading just a bit. As if it was for him, out of unexpressed desire and not because he'd asked her to display herself like this. As if her voice hadn't spurred him on further, pinching her nipples between unrelenting fingers before traveling down her perfect back. The line of her spine, her perfume wafting up again as if trying to distract him for what he wanted. Her ass higher in the air, swaying for him and not because she had no balance in the pose he had demanded of her. Her stockings slipping just a bit further down her thighs, showing him more because he longed for her naked and not because she'd been shifting around a bit.

Inexperienced, rough hands pulled her panties down just a bit on her thighs, opening her most intimate places for him. Stripping her would be a mere formality, but the darkest part of him preferred her that way. Her last few scraps of clothing mere formalities now; bra hanging off of her shoulders, no longer hindering access to her breasts. Panties stretched across her thighs, a barrier no more to her ass or pussy. Her stockings slipping further and further down her thighs, not needing to show off her perfectly muscled legs. And the heels that refused to leave her feet.

All of that hiding the fact that Percy had just undone his belt, and lowered his trousers. Showing something of himself for the first time, an audible sound that Clarice would not miss. A quick grasp on her thighs, pulling her just a little as she hung over the counter, waiting for him to decide how he wanted to punish her; a certain part of him having already made that decision.

A squeaking sound made as her body moved against the glass; hardened nipple sliding and her body no longer in balance. Something was about to enter her, to restore the balance she had lost. But it was not something she would like, unless Clarice was actually longing for Percival to release his manhood inside of her.

Who knew what, in reality, Clarice longed for? To be sexually used atop a counter in the middle of a store? And if so, by a strange masked man? And if so, by Percy beneath the mask? And if so, as she trembled and shook on the glass and the plastic counter-top, as her nipples slid against the suddenly tough glass, aching in stiffness and friction?

He said little, just threw that word back at her again - "thief". As she knew she was. Clarice was still not aware that she was dreaming. This was all insanely real to her, not just fantasy, and 90% of her wanted to run screaming away, to kick this bastard in the balls and taxi home and fall into the bathtub and scrub herself clean with a sponge. And 10% of her was breathing hard through her lungs, and feeling a fluttering through her stomach into her lower parts, and was clenching its fingers in some kind of twisted anticipation.

Suddenly she knew she was wet, she was aroused. This sickness, her sexuality, was spreading through her anatomy, demanding more than its fair share, its allotted 10%. The most hideous thing was, Clarice wanted him more, the more awful he was. The more he half-undressed her, leaving her feeling more exposed for the few scraps she was allowed to keep, mangled and ripped from their purpose. The more he pawed her breast and stroked her back and parted her thighs.

She seemed unable to form words. Her mouth shifted open slightly as he adjusted himself behind her. She knew what was happening. Clarice was a virgin, and yet of course she knew how this ritual proceeded. She had seen television. Girls had told her stories about how the first thrust hurt, and the rest of the first time was a kind of aching pleasure, more throbbing than enjoyment. And of course, most girls were not slapped onto a counter-top and nailed by an irate shopkeeper, most had the embrace of an at least superficially caring partner.

Thoughts were spinning around her head like the bobbing horses of a carousel, and like a carousel turned in meaningless circles, going nowhere. Meanwhile this dream-figure was doing what he wanted with her - to her - and she could do nothing. Every muscle in her body was frozen with indecision. When his fingers pulled down her panties - not even properly off, just enough to give himself the access he craved - she made a kind of whimpering sound for a moment, and fell quiet.

From behind, her stockinged legs were little more than handholds as her pussy now came into sight, ripe for the plucking. Her labial lips were slightly pursed, but there was a clear slickness across her. Oh, she was wet, alright, certainly wet enough for Percy's purposes. And wet enough to suggest that some part of her hungered, even if the situation and her morals screamed no. She had a pronounced clitoris, and a small patch of blonde pubic hair, all of which was almost immediately before Percy's gaze, and seemed to tremble beneath his inflated appetite and presence.

Suddenly Clarice did start to speak, though she remained unmoving. "Wait!"

A pause. Her legs closed together slightly again, or at least pressured against Percy's grip. He could still easily pull her legs apart and do as he pleased. But Clarice's words formed a tempting counter-offer. "I...let me use my mouth. I...I'm a virgin. I'll do what you want if you don't call the cops, but please don't do that."

Her whimper excited Percy. If anything, his lack of confidence in what exactly had spurred it excited him further, taking in the statuesque blonde arranged on the counter for him. Was it excitement? Fear? Arousal? Some combination of many differing, competing emotions, struggling for dominance within her confused, addled mind? Percy leered, smirked at her even as he knew she couldn't see his face. Only the mask. One of the things that made it easier for him to do what he wanted to do next. The other was just the barest sight of her sex; the tuft of hair above it, and the moisture clearly visible near her most intimate area. She wanted it. He needed no other justification; in this world, some part of her was enjoying, craving the humiliation.

"Wait!" It was so off putting to him for Clarice to say something, anything when her body seemed to only be waiting for the word 'go' that he barely felt her legs closing ever so slightly against his grip; he clasped her thighs tighter, but awaited her clarification on why she'd dared to defy his will in his world. "I...let me use my mouth." Percy felt his hardness perk up at the thought of her pleasuring him with her lips, her tongue...the wetness of a different part of her body. "I...I'm a virgin. I'll do what you want if you don't call the cops, but please don't do that." He inclined his head; as if pondering her offer. It was an alluring offer from an sensuous woman; one who had realized mere payment with garment would not free her from this world she found herself trapped in. No, her sins demanded more then just flimsy bartering. She would have to pay with something of herself.

Clarice's submission enticed him. Percy's hands flexed on her thighs, as it his body was joining his mind in weighing the stakes. Which of her treasures would he want to enjoy in this place? What to take from Clarice's willing body, and unwilling mind? The real Percival would have been so stunned, so flummoxed that he likely would've stammered out something incomprehensible. Because to his simple, inexperienced sexual mind, that's what this was. Incomprehensible. That this goddess, this woman who had distanced herself so much, would offer up this of herself freely.

Which was what ended up making his decision for him. This was his world, and he was in control. In reality, geeky Percival would be happy with whatever he could get from a woman of Clarice's stature. Here, however, Percy would take from this girl whatever he could get. Still, his hands relented on her ever so briefly.

"I will let you accept me into your mouth, Clarice." He intoned. A moment as his hands released her, only to grab at the panties that were still resting on her thighs, stretched out...as he yanked at them from both sides. Tearing them apart with strength he didn't have, and tossing them in front of her. Letting her see what his rage had produced as his hands grasped at her again, pushing her legs wider, pulling them closer to accept him.

"After I take what I want." He'd barely ended his sentence before his length, ready and unencumbered by his physical limitations, entered Clarice for the first time during that dark, mystical night; his hips pounding into her from behind. Feeling her opening sheathe around him, accepting whatever he gave her. He wasn't entirely sure what this was.

But Percy knew he was enjoying it.

Clarice heard him accept her offer, and she felt a wave of relief run through her, even though Percy was not letting go of her. Her hands loosened from their fists, and she breathed out slowly, her muscles relaxing. But his next words surprised her, and it took her a moment to register what he meant. "No, wait, I - "

Her sentence became a scream as he drove into her with full force, driving her a few inches across the table, breasts rubbing hard against the glass once again. Her pussy was wet and tight, wrapping around his hard-on as he pushed forward, her whole body receiving him as one might receive a tackle, folding around the point of contact, and then forcefully pushed away. For a few seconds she could not process what was happening.

Several feet away, the window of the shop was dark enough to reflect what was going on, so that Clarice looked up to see a dark presence behind her as her nudity was splayed over the table - and the nudity was fucking her. Hard. "No, no..." she whimpered, although the cock felt magnificent in her, hard and thick, filling every part of her aching passage. It was like an itch that was finally being scratched - multiplied by a thousand and applied to the most sensitive part of her body. He might have been monstrous, in her mind, but he was filling some earthly, cthonic need, something that was only fulfilled in one way.

Underneath him, Percy would see his cock vanish time and again into a pair of wet lips that kissed around him better than any mouth. He had chosen well. Her clitoris was pronounced, and her labia moving as if to embrace his shaft, stretched by the force and size that was impaling her. And Clarice looked up, and met Percy's eyes through the mask. Of course, she would not know it was him. But he would see her eyes looking at him in the reflection, and they were wide open, a little wider each time he thrusted, reactive to every one of his movements however subtle.

Her hands clenched around the sides of the table. "Oh fuck, oh fuuuuuck," she cried out...

Percy's smirk disapeared as he felt her relaxation quickly turn to tensing as she fully comprehended what he had said. "No, wait, I - " He wasn't sure whether her scream or his indecripherable sound was louder as he thrusted into her, feeling her body buckle and give against his manhood. He pinned her thighs against the side of the counter as he took her, letting her torso slide back and forth across the glass. It made a bit of a squealing sound, as if the glass hadn't been cleaned in a while. Percy wasn't even concious of how he felt inside of her; only that she felt glorious around him. That her body felt amazing taking a part of his.

When he wasn't gazing at her glorious backside, or the slapping sounds their bodies were making upon physical contact (to say nothing of the noises that escaped her mouth every time he forced her), he found himself drawn to her reflection in the glass. The sight of her being pushed by him, her eyes widening as she saw herself. As Clarice saw him watching her, watching herself get taken. She seemed to be drawn to it, and so Percy was drawn to her reaction to watching her own violation. As if she wasn't a part of their bodies working in unison. "No, no..." Why was she saying that? She seemed to be enjoying the physical act, if the slight squishing sounds he was hearing was any indication. No, Percy smiled as he realized she was saying 'no' to herself - to try to will her mind to stop enjoying what her body was craving. Percy felt harder then he'd ever been before, as if he was being fulfilled by this dark craving.

His hips continued to work at her, slapping at her thighs each time he fucked her. Clarice's body subtly bucking as he did, as if she couldn't make up her mind if she wanted it, or wanted to get away from it. Percy's hands started to squeeze her thighs painfully; nails subtly digging in to keep her in place as his pounding became more urgent, feeling his own high coming far too quickly. As if he hadn't accounted for that part of the dream world. Had it been only thirty seconds by now? Or several minutes? He honestly couldn't say. Time here seemed to have no meaning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuuuuuck." Small, weak hands clenching around the side of the counter, tensing for reasons Percy did not comprehend, even as his avatar did. She was enjoying it. And nearing her own release, too. Could he allow that? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to give her the gift of his seed. Again and again. Until she could do nothing else, or take nothing else from him except whatever Percival would give to her.

Whether it was good or bad. But which was this for her? Good, or bad?

And what about for him?

Note: Last post got cut off, sorry for its incomplete feel. This one is more...robust.

Clarice realized something strange - that she felt no pain. She was not bleeding, or at least she could not feel any bleeding. And yet she knew she was a virgin. How did this make any sense? Obviously for the last few minutes, she had been too...distracted...to exactly reason this problem out. And still the dream-cloud hung over her head, obscuring the how's and why's of this bizarre and primal situation. But now it did come into her head, and stayed there, even while her body was forcibly pumped, used, and ploughed. The squishing sound of her vagina being used and abused was starting to make her head spin - was that really her body making those sounds? It was vulgar, animalistic...but it felt so good, even as her mind reeled with horror at being fucked on a counter-top like some dirty whore.

And suddenly it dawned on her. Epiphany of epiphanies - she was dreaming. This was nothing but some sick sex fantasy that her unconscious had dreamed up. Clarice became lucid. Not that her behavior radically changed. But given Percy's intimate closeness to her mind, he would feel the difference. Clarice was still asleep, but mentally she had woken up. This was now a place of fantasy and un-reality, but it was not merely a sleepwalker through which he was reaping his pleasure. And there was one change in her: she became tensed again. She had just been relaxing into his motions, becoming if not an active partner at least a receptive and yielding one. Slowly he had fucked the resistance out of her, until she had become almost loose around him.

But now, and of course at the moment when both were nearing climax, she seized up again. She did not try to pull herself off of him exactly, but her back muscles tensed, and her now sopping cunt clenched tighter around him. As Percy was squeezing her thighs, he would feel it there too - a kind of firmness that shot through her legs. In the mirror, her eyes were now less dopey and confused by the powerful sensations shooting through her body - they were aware and intensely ambiguous. He could read her thoughts, at the very least, in her eyes - these little green portals to her soul.

Some part of her just wanted to fuck back against him, be an utter whore, and delight in the bodily pleasure of it all. After all, it was only a dream, and her dream for her alone. No-one would see her slut it up, if she so desired. Although the fantasy was of her being sexually used, it would be HER using the DREAM, since she was ultimately in control. Right?

The other part of her wanted to retain her usual, prudish sense of self-esteem. Clarice was not a whore, she was a lady, and being fucked doggie-style in exchange for a few probably expired lottery tickets - was not exactly the prototype of a lady. This was undignified - beneath her.

But the feelings of intoxicating pleasure, and her closeness to climax, warped things out of morals and onto a more enriching and overwhelming plane of existence. And suddenly, as she began to fall over the edge of the waterfall, she accepted the dream entirely.

Percy would feel the change immediately. She began to fuck back against him, so that each thrust he made forward was met with a little of her pushing back, and vice versa. A few times he almost slipped out of her entirely, as each stroke became more extreme, but their two bodies were now colliding more intensely and firmly.

---------

Clarice in her bed, hair slightly mussed from the pillow, her mouth slightly open, moaned quietly. One of her hands was pressed against her pussy through her clothes, and slowly her body, which was aroused even in her slumbers, began to stain her PJs with her yearning, darkening the fabric with her arousal. She bit her lip, harder and harder, until it bled slightly. She swallowed unconsciously. She writhed slowly, sexily, legs churning against the sheets as she dreamed.

---------

A taste of iron, of blood came into Clarice's mouth, but she paid it no attention. She was fighting for her own orgasm now, pushing herself back against the rigid pole that was driving into her. Her hips were grinding back against Percy, and more than just having her breasts just scraped against the glass, she was rubbing them purposefully for her own pleasure. She felt the glass become yielding, and almost like a pair of hands massaging her breasts and nipples, it began to caress her, so that she groaned out loud.

"Oh god, yes, fuck your slut, fuck your slut," Clarice moaned out loud. Now she wanted it, she fully accepted the fantasy as her own - not knowing that it had been fabricated for her entirely. She was beginning to get into it despite herself. "Use me like your slave, fuck my cunt, oh, oh fucking yes...fuck your slave, master..."

Finally her eyes closed as she began to ride the wave of her climax, moaning now without particular words, just embracing the dream for all the pleasure it could provide. As she began to come, her eyes trembled slightly behind their lids. She began to repeat a very strangely particular word, and a very special one to her for some reason - and since she was now 'awake', it must have been in some sense intentional and deliberate, even if 'squeezed out' of her by the orgasm itself. "Odalisque, odalisque..."

Then she merely cried out, the sounds of a woman in labor, a scream that would convincingly resemble pain in any other context. Her lower body exploded in a thousand bursts of fireworks, and she bucked against Percy insanely, regardless of what his body was doing.

She was thinking of a painting she had once seen, which for her had always been the height of her sexual self-image. Of course, the word was very obscure and specific, sufficiently so for Percy to drop in real-life to really shake Clarice. It referred to a middle-eastern concubine, and was a subject of many french Impressionist paintings. These paintings were controversial in their time, for being starkly sexual. Women lying on beds, staring directly at the painting's viewer, usually naked, sometimes their nudity exaggerated by a single scrap of 'clothing' like a collar or ribbon.

A tool for the pleasure of men. And confidently, assertively seizing this role as their own.

The motions never seemed repetitive to Percy. He was definitely experiencing something new, having never gotten someone as beautiful as Clarice in this situation - unlike Travis, who had been through his choice of women for some time now, Percy's few...well, his *only* time with a person of the opposite gender had been less then memorable. But the sensations of her pussy enveloping his length...the sounds emanating from her body willingly and unwillingly..the smell of sweat, her perfume permeating the air as they fucked. Even in a dream, it seemed real to him. Percy consciously knew what this was, that it was fake, a situation he had created to satisfy some perverse fantasy of his subconscious-

-and then he felt her realize it, too. Not that she was in Percy's dream. But that she was dreaming. He focused on her thoughts even as his pumping into her body persisted, about exactly what Clarice was realizing. She was awake, aware, but not fully in the moment. Her body reacted in the dream, too, tensing ever so slightly against him. Not that he stopped.

Not that he could. She'd slowly relented against him, her body now open for whatever he wanted. Through the mask, he gazed at her eyes, searching for what she was thinking, what she was feeling...the conflicting emotions. Contrasting with the lack of conflict in his. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide...she wanted more of it. Slowly, he felt it take over her, as she reasoned that this was HER dream. HER sick and twisted fantasy. So she had to accept it. Revel in it. To defy her nature, and accept what a part of her knew she truly was. That no act, no matter how despicable, how humiliating...or how erotic...was truly below what she could do. What she could want.

Percy could tell what was winning when he felt her push back at him. Not to resist. But to take him deeper. The urge to fuck overwhelming the logic that demanded that he could go no deeper; that he'd already pushed in as far as he could. Trading the pain of banging hips, thighs, and asses for the smallest chance of more penetration. Of feeling something you hadn't felt during any of the dozens of other thrusts or pounds that you'd taken already. It took her, and then, it took him as his hands pulled her even closer. Even as Clarice fucked with him, the man in the mask joined her. Non existent bruises formed and disapeared; for pain had no power here.

As long as Percy wished it, he had that control.

***


Clarice was not the only one shifting in her bed.

In his, a familiar hardness poked at his boxers, at the sheets. Unbeknownst to him, his hand drifted down his body, to his length, stroking it. He didn't feel it because in the dream, it was enveloped by something better, something more tantalizing....

But some things still had to match, and soon his own clothes would be soiled by the product of his consciousness's machinations.


***

He swore he could hear her breasts squealing against the glass, somehow pushed harder against it. It was only then Percy realized his hand was pushing her down against it, hard into the small of her back demanding submission from Clarice that was not needed. Her nipples were spiking against the surface, a sight that aroused him almost as much as the desperate noises that escaped her.

Although not as much as what she said next.

"Oh god, yes, fuck your slut, fuck your slut,"

What? He somehow didn't stop, but Percy was dumbfounded, locking into her mind even as the body he inhabited kept working on her automatically. He felt a bit detached from it now; her words incredibly arousing, and enticing...even as something began to trouble him. She was embracing this as her fantasy, as what she secretly craved. It was exactly what Percy had hoped for.

And yet...

"Use me like your slave, fuck my cunt, oh, oh fucking yes...fuck your slave, master..."

Incredibly wanton words. And unbelievably intoxicating to hear from the girl that Percy had been lusting after for longer then she had known. Clarice was on the verge of fulfilling every fantasy that Percy had thought about regarding her, of truly giving herself to him, starting the process out of reality that he could hope to finish in reality. Her eyes closed, but still he focused on her thoughts, which were a mishmash of pleasurable waves and feelings, and she rode it to the top. Percy was close, too; holding out longer here then he ever could in real life. She moaned, and screamed, and the words that came out were....

"Odalisque, odalisque..."

It was almost as if she'd blurted out the name of a car, a random farm animal, or a computer. His mind latched onto the word, to take and study it later. The name made no sense to Percy, and his avatar kept at her despite her climax; having not yet reached her own. Neither he nor the man in the mask he inhabited let up on her; if anything, it seemed angry that she had gotten there first. But angry, Percy was not.

But he knew he had an issue. Even as he got near to his climax, enjoying the feel of her body bucking wildly against his, his thoughts raced. Detached from the process as he undertook his final run against her body before his end.
He wanted her to submit. And she had revealed a secret desire to be used like this, to be taken. As much as Percy could manipulate things in this dream world, to make himself stronger, bigger, taking on attributes that he didn't have in real life...a damning thought came to him. He could make Clarice his, but that didn't make Percy her master. No matter what the dream said.

No matter what Percy could pretend to want. He wanted her obedience, he wanted her submission, to control her...but this...

His rational thought ended in a blur as he emptied himself inside of her pussy, feeling his seed spill out. Now was not the time for rational thought, Percy knew. This was still a dream, and he still had a nearly naked woman, panting on his counter, with nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

And everything to give to him.

In the logic of the dream world, Percy moved around the counter, to the other side. Where her head was panting. "Turn over." He said softly, but in a tone that booked no disobedience. Seeing her body splayed for him again, but differently. No longer reluctantly submitting to him. But doing whatever he wanted. The blood rushing to her head as she awaited her feast, an absent thought coming to Percy's mind.

I wish she'd wear heels all of the time.

It was time to let his limp cock go to her mouth, and just as he was about to feel her tongue against him for the first time-

***

-he woke up. It took Percy a moment to figure out where he was, feeling the bedsheets around him, his normal nightwear on. In the darkness of his room, the cold air of the house surrounding him. No signs of a rainstorm.

And a sticky feeling near his boxers.

"Son of a...."

***

"Come on, Perc, you'll be late."

Even more groggily eyed then usual, Percival munched down his cereal, meeting Travis' gaze squarely. "You go ahead, dude. I'll...catch up later."

A shrug. "O-okay." Well clad in a green muscle shirt and track pants, Travis headed outside. Percival always got after him whenever he cut class, but never held himself to the same standard.

Although he imagined if he could maintain a perfect GPA like Percy, his friend might let up. Travis opened the door, feeling the breeze on his exposed arms and shoulders, and walked down the pathway, wondering if Clarice would at least be there to keep him company.

Maybe together they could figure out what was bothering Percival.

Clarice awoke to find herself moist between her legs. Understatement of the century. She found her pajamas darkly stained at the crotch, and, immediately embarrassed despite being alone in her room, stood up and threw them off, into a laundry hamper that she kept. "What the hell was that?" she asked aloud. There was no fuzzy barrier between dream and sleep. She remembered it - precisely. The most intense sexual dream of her lifetime. But more than that. The most realistic-feeling sexual dream of her lifetime. And she had been lucid during it, and had no awoken.

What in the name of hell was happening to her dreams?

She went to the shower, and did a thorough job soaping herself down. Clarice spent more time than was strictly necessary between her legs, as if to scrub away the taint of her 'fantasy'. She felt uncomfortable with the role she had played out in the dream. She had become some kind of animal, a little slut frankly, and she scrubbed herself more fiercely with each memory that flashed back like a lightning bolt across her mind -

- pumping, pumping, the iron of your cock wrapped in my velvet, using me completely, filling me until it hurts, until it aches, until I wished I was deeper and broader, not so tight and small that there is nothing left to take, and my juices coating you to the balls, and your balls pressed against my entrance as you push as far as you -

Her hands on her face, Clarice sat on the floor of the shower, letting the hot water burn over her skin, then parting her hands and letting it sting against her closed eyelids. Some kind of ritual of purification. She was not a Christian, but she had a Christian's ethics, rigid and self-loathing when she felt she had sexually erred. And oh, had she erred.

She wrapped herself in a towel and padded out into her room, making sure the blinds were drawn. Drying herself off, she walked naked to the wardrobe and picked out clothing on autopilot. She scarcely noticed what she took and put on her body - though it happened to be stylishly chosen, and quite attractive. She put on lipstick and her shades once again. "Back to normality", Clarice said, looking at herself through the dark tint of the glasses. "Back to normality, and the geeky gawking guys, and class, and studying. And sleeping pills. I'm going to use sleeping pills to - to stop that thing that happened."

That thing. That -

- that explosion inside my body. I once read that it came out of a man in a teaspoon amount, but how the hell is that a teaspoon amount. It is roaring into me like rocket-fuel, hot and thick and satisfying in some crude and base way. I am your whore, and you pump me full of whatever you want. You are marking me with it. When you draw out you leave a trail of yourself down my thigh and I am to be gracious to feel it warm on my skin. If I become pregnant then you are pleased, and if I do not become pregnant then you are pleased, and it is not for me to decide. And you pace around the table as I lie there winded and tired and yours, and I only wish it had been twice as long and twice as hard -

Outside, Clarice passed by the house again, where the two lads lived. Her heels clicked against the sidewalk. Clarice in heels? This was an oddity, and the kind of oddity that men noticed. She was surprised herself, as she drew up to the house, though she naturally made sense of it. She only had one pair of high-heels, and she had worn them because...she had worn them because she had a presentation today, and she wanted to make an impression. Or was the presentation tomorrow? Yes, it was tomorrow. Then why...



Her face pursed in the frustration of faulty memories, Clarice remained frowning as she approached, coming up to Travis. With the sunglasses back in action, she still looked pretty thanks to her figure, her still confident stride, her stylish and no doubt expensive clothes, and even her frown, which had a faintly sexy edge to it somehow. Maybe it was the lipstick. Maybe it was the lips -

- pursing as you come around the table towards my face, your manhood in front of my eyes. You tell me to turn over and I do, scrambling, desperate, servile to the point of pathetic. My head is still dangling, and now my mouth is suggestive of a tunnel as my throat opens up in a straight line down my body. My lips parting and closing, shaking slightly. You are smaller than a moment ago, but still have a little extra weight in your cock than you would just any old time. My pussy has left its traces all down your length, and as you step closer I can smell myself on you and my nipples are on fire at the thought of the slickness I have trailed down you. It is such a perverted and pornographic idea, to be made to suck my own cunt's flavor off of your cock after you have just fucked me to high heaven with it. I am breathing heavily, and my tits rise and fall beneath your gaze. I want to touch myself even now. What is wrong with me - why am I horny like this, like a nymphomaniac? You move forward again and it touches my lips, hot and is it beginning to grow again? I open my mouth to give you what you want, and what I have offered.

And then you are gone.

Travis looked her over; a habit if, for no other reason, to ensure that he wasn't trying to walk with someone who had no idea who he was. He smiled gently at Clarice, even as she seemed to be frowning at him. Always with the shades and lipstick, and a well chosen dress and tights. Nothing he hadn't seen from her before. "Good morning, Clarice." He walked past the half gate, letting it click shut as they began their journey towards the campus. Another click lit his ears, and he half frowned; I shut that gate, he thought, before realizing the source of the sound. Much closer to him then the gate was at that point, several feet behind them.

Heels. Odd.

Travis loved them on women, but his girl, Jennifer, had always told him they were murder on her feet, but she loved how they made her legs look. It wasn't that Clarice's legs needed the help - especially not in the tights - but she'd always been the polar opposite of intentional sexiness in her dress. If the clothes flattered her, it was because of how beautiful she was, not because she ever tried to flaunt anything. Or had ever needed to, if she really wanted a guy. All Clarice would have to do is smile, and she'd get any guy she wanted.

These weren't things that occurred to Travis as he walked. "Percival will be in later. Had some project to work on or something." A shrug. "Guy's smart as hell, so I give him credit for knowing what he's doing. Spends half as much time studying as I do and feels like he gets twice the grades." Without even realizing it, Travis had slowed his pace to make sure Clarice could keep up; it was a subtle gesture, one that would lengthen their travel time. But a necessary one if he didn't want to gradually pace away from her. A silence came over him, and another stark realization of how awkward things could be in the wrong groupings. For all of Percival's faults, he seemed to somehow drive the conversation in their impromptu clique. Three was a comfortable number because in that group, they all knew their role. With the two of them, it was just a musclehead and a girl who thought her fantasies were out of control.

So, he turned to the weather. "They're calling for rain in a couple of days, but I'm not sure I believe them...never rains around here this time of year." He smirked at her. "Am I right, or am I right?"

It might not start anything, but it beat the silence.

Clarice seemed to consider this, to hold it in her hand for a moment - and then to drop it.

"Uh-huh?"

It was not exactly in an excitable tone. She murmured this out of the side of her mouth, glancing at Travis with a quick movement of her eyes. Smiling subtly, the smile of the sphinx. "You aren't very comfortable with silence, are you?" she asked in her soft voice, raising her eyebrows in a way that jokingly challenged him to contradict her.

She seemed to be considering him, holding him in some unknown court of judgment, to be subjected to some inexplicable trial and tried without the benefit of counsel. It was by no means a look of dislike or contempt, but rather one of haughty consideration - the view from above, as it were. Rather as though Travis were a funny little man, but that Clarice liked him for that very reason.

Of course, there was hardly anything 'little' about Travis, judging from his clothes. Especially next to Percy, he was a bit of a colossus. Clarice shot a brief glance down to his running pants. "I hope you're going for a run in those, later, Travis. Not trying to start a fashion revolution or something." She smiled at him sunnily from behind the shades, one of those smiles that lit up gaslights on a cold winter's night. On a day like this one, it was quite radiant. Clarice had the power to make any normal person laugh at themselves good-naturedly. Even if most people lacked the courage to try to make her do the same.

"How's Jennifer, by the way?" she carried on, wanting to do more than just tease. "I haven't spoken to her in ages. She doesn't still blush when you kiss her, right?" A little conspiratorial wink here, as Clarice lowered her voice. Clarice had taken no small amount of delight in the early days of this relationship between Jennifer and Travis, and its blush-filled introduction.

Clarice saw right through his attempt to keep the audible noise in play aside from the sounds of their walking (especially *her* walking), her eyebrows raising as she replied to him. "You aren't very comfortable with silence, are you?" Even through their veneer of being comfortable with each other, Travis was not all that comfortable with the look she was giving him. As if she was better then him, judging him. Over her shades. He found no easy reply, smiling and shaking his head. She was right, after all, and soon enough he caught her looking at his choice of clothes. "I hope you're going for a run in those, later, Travis. Not trying to start a fashion revolution or something."

Ah, there was the smile. The laugh that so few people got to hear or see. Travis finally found his and chuckled; this woman was a hard one to figure out. "Definitely running." He looked around as they started to reach the first signs of their campus, a few class buildings coming into view. "Besides, compared to what some people feel is appropriate class wear, I'm still doing pretty good." As if on cue, a younger gentleman with some sort of tweed had...and pajamas...rambled on by, oblivious to anything but his first class. He gave him a passing glance. "Not that I needed the help proving my point, fella, but thanks."

"How's Jennifer, by the way?" continued Clarice. "I haven't spoken to her in ages. She doesn't still blush when you kiss her, right?" The wink that came from her was also fairly rare, but unlike her first question, Travis could answer this with no hesitation or any shard of embarrassment. He drew himself up a little straighter, having something to be proud of.

"It takes a lot more to get her to blush now." A mischievous smirk of his own came to him, and he couldn't resist taking another dig at the still single (as far as he knew, anyways) Clarice. "At least when we're in public." His joking finally gave way to reality, and he sighed. "It's hard only seeing her once or twice a semester, though..." Although he had met Jennifer on this campus, she'd felt the need to transfer to finish her degree. And while they'd managed to keep up their long distance relationship (a healthy one), it was still tough on both of them, watching their friends mix and mingle while they tried to stay devoted to each other. It helped that she was a bombshell, meaning he had no inclination to cheat. And he...

Well, his body spoke for itself. Plus, unlike many guys who looked like him, he wasn't a jerk.

"Which reminds me." It didn't, as this was something he had planned to bring up with their mutual 'friend', but he looked at Clarice a little more seriously, even as the smile stayed on his face. "We need to get Percy hooked up with someone. Or at least trying to date someone." A shake of his head. "I understand he's a bit of a geek, and will spend a lot of his time on the computer, but he's got to start putting a bit of effort in." He looked knowingly at Clarice. "I'm not expecting you to suddenly want to be with him all the time, of course, but maybe if you could keep on the lookout for someone..." They were getting hear to his building now, and he laughed. "After all, it's not like you can get laid in a convenience store or anything."

They stopped to say goodbye at that point, and Travis took her in as she responded.

To the earlier comment, about finding Percy a date, Clarice nodded in agreement. "Hey, I'm on your side with this one. I think he's a decent guy, and I don't want to see him slip through the cracks, particularly. But look, I'm...I'm not actually a popular person. I keep my distance, usually. So I'm not sure who to set him up with. I mean, if I meet anyone who's single and looking..."

Then he made his little convenience store joke. She stopped in her tracks. Again. Another coincidence? The other day it had been - what was it? Percy had had the same dream as her. And now he made a reference to, of all things, sex in a convenience store. What was going on?

"What are you talking about?" Clarice asked, almost angrily, snapping at Travis as she turned in place. She opened her mouth to say something else, but no words came out. She remained indignantly silent, looking as though she might slap Travis, trembling with anger. Behind the shades, it was hard to read her eyes, but he felt that she might be more than just angry - perhaps more disturbed or really upset.

There was an awkward pause.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I don't know what...forget I said anything. I have to go." She walked away quickly, heels clicking, having lost her cool entirely - at least for the moment. Those long legs of hers were still a sight to see, as her hips swayed away.

------------------------------

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm just not understanding. Perhaps you can take me through this again."

"Okay."

"You're here because you've had troubles sleeping?"

"That's right. Because of the dreams."

"Now I don't mean to act as though your problems are unimportant. That isn't it at all. But you've only mentioned having had two of these dreams."

"They were very..."

"Yes, don't worry, I understand. Very horrifying. Dreams can be very upsetting. But when I asked about the nature of the dreams, the first one sounded like you were being chased, but the second one sounded like a sexual dream. Now, I can certainly understand your not wanting to go into details, and skip this question if you prefer, but do you mean that you were...erm, sexually assaulted in this second dream."

"No, that's not it. I just don't want to have dreams like that again."

"Okay, I see. Ma'am, I just want to assure you that there is nothing unhealthy or abnormal about having sexual dreams. It doesn't mean that there is anything wrong with you. Most women do experience..."

"Not like this."

"Very well. Please do keep a dream log for the time being. In all honesty, I cannot prescribe a medication at this time..."

"PLEASE, doctor!"

"...because of the short and inconsistent nature of the dreams. We are only working with a sample size of two, here. Perhaps tonight you will have an ordinary dream again. Everybody has occasional nightmares, and I would be acting on bad conscience if I prescribed meds to everybody who woke up in a sweat once or - ma'am? Please sit down. Ma'am? Can you come back next week?"

------------------------------

Clarice was sitting at the edge of her bed with a coffee, sipping it slowly, eyes slightly red-rimmed. It was three in the morning, and she was beat. She had come home at an ordinary time, but avoided her bedroom all evening. Hanging out with her awful room-mates.

She hated her room-mates for unique reasons, each based on the first letter of their name. Fate had spoken, and she could pull this trick for each of them:

Olivia for her Odor,
Daniel for his (almost undeniable) Drug use,
Cole for being Clingy,
Sarah for Smoking (she did it outside but she still smelled of it)...

Still, she had spent all evening with them. Cole seemed to think that his salvation was upon him, and at one point asked Clarice if she wanted to go to his room to "talk some more". Clarice had stood up without further comment and gone to her room with a coffee.

The coffee was cold and dark and smelled oily. She rolled the liquid around the cup. She was being stupid. Everybody had to sleep eventually, she began to reason, the urge, the need to sleep conquering her defensive measures. At least it would be a shorter sleep, she justified to herself, setting her alarm. Only four hours.

Forgetting about the logic of dream-time, she did the mental math. Then she lay her head down and fell asleep instantly, sinking into her mattress in the ecstatic release of a repressed need.

What could possible go wrong in four hours?

Travis had said a lot of stupid things before. While he was much better with the fairer gender then Percival was, that wasn't to be confused with being smarter in what he said around them. Jennifer had gotten used to that aspect of him, though, and usually made sure he meant what he was saying when they were alone. However, even he was confused to holy hell when Clarice seemed to stop dead. Or, more correctly, when she snapped back at him. "What are you talking about?" Her mouth hung open in something resembling shock, but instead a rather uneasy silence permeated the air. Even through the shades she wore, Travis could swear she was glaring at him.

So, he decided point by point was best. "I was...um, you know, convenience stores are easy to buy things from, but not everything...like a date." Travis inclined his head. "Didn't know that'd offend you so much..."

Apparently, it either wasn't meant to or she seemed to feel guilty at Travis's shock. "I'm...I'm sorry. I don't know what...forget I said anything. I have to go." The surrealness of the moment was lost on Travis as he stood in place, watching her strut away. Not walk away. Strut, with the click of her heels and the sway of her hips. A little more then usual.

Even attached, Travis noticed things like that. He shook his head, heading off to class. That was weird...

**********

He didn't think that when he finally caught up with Percy at home. His friend *had* gone to some classes that day, but only after hurriedly studying his mysterious new 'device'. Travis had half listened, still cooling down from his jog, hearing more then he had ever wanted to know about Percy's first dream, almost considering breaking out a line he'd head before: Do you know research has shown there is no less interesting topic then someone else's dream? He wanted to just lay back, take a nap, let his body recuperate from what had been a long, exhausting day of classes followed by an intense workout for him.

"And then my dream...last night..."

Travis' body was splayed back on the couch, his arm draped over his eyes. "Dude, tell me about it tomorrow, I'm wiped and just want to turn my brain off."

"It was raining..."

"What the hell is it about you and water?" He peeked out from under his forearm only to say that.

Percival ignored him. "She was there, in a nice jacket and dress, and heels...."

"Huh. Just like today." interrupted Travis. "The heels, I mean." He flopped back. "Seriously, please, I just want some shuteye..."

"I had a mask on...." He continued, unabated, from a chair far too near to Travis's current place of rest.

"Not listening."

"I was manning a convenience store, and..."

Travis's forearm left his eyes, meeting his friend's eager - and now somewhat curious - gaze. "Hold on. Did you just say convenience store?"

"Yes."

Travis sat up, his full interest on his friend now. "Tell me everything." Now it was Percival's turn to incline his head curiously, but he sat back, laying out every exquisite, naughty, brutal detail of his dream. Of how Clarice had 'paid' for her tickets with her dress, confessing to some unknown sins. Of her draping herself over the counter, letting Percy's avatar fuck her relentlessly. Of her shouting out for him to 'fuck his slut, his slave...' . Her shouting out the word 'Odalisque', which Percival had been looking into during his spare time today; not sure what to make of it, but somehow sure it was important. And the exact moment when Percival had realized that he might have a problem.

When she called him master.

"This would explain why she reacted so weirdly to my comment about you getting laid in a convenience store."

"Yeah."

"Okay...so even if this *is*, by some act of god, her..." It wasn't as much that Travis wasn't believing it anymore, but more that he was entirely unsure as to how this could be happening, and was attempting to maintain some semblance of disbelief.

"We're wired into her now. The system would need a total reset to link into someone else's subconscious."

"...if it is, or it isn't, I don't see the issue." Travis smirked at him. "Your brain clearly wants you to go wild on her. To act out everything you've ever wanted on her, willingly or unwillingly."

"It's not me, though." Percy stood up, showing some passion as Travis eyed him curiously.

"It's just a dream."

A bitter sigh escaped him, as the much smaller man struggled to explain himself. "I mean...seeing her do what I wanted was a huge turn on." A small smile escaped Travis at his own memories of doing that to Jennifer. "But even if I could fool her, and fool my brain....I'd know." He looked down. "I'm not a master, Travis. And even as much as I'd enjoy it...and she'd enjoy it...manipulation isn't mastery." He clenched his hands, wringing them out. "It's like cutting the puzzle pieces instead of just throwing them off of the table."

Travis looked at him. "I...think I see it?" He stood up slowly, a knowing look at his friend. "You don't want the responsibility. For her to rely on you..." His eyes went skyward, lost in his own thought for a moment. "Like a dog chasing a car, now you've got one, and you don't know what to do."

"Not a perfect metaphor, but sure."

Travis looked down for a moment, before his eyes met Percy's again. "What were you going to do tonight?"

"Actually, I was going to lay off of her tonight...she might be getting a little confused by everything, and maybe letting her have a break might be best."

"Assuming it's her." Another pause as he folded his arms. "There's two of those glove things, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Give me the other one for tonight."

"I thought you weren't interested?"

Travis shrugged. "I kind of am now that I know it could be legitimate. But look at it this way. I get to find out if you're on crack-"

Percival's glare didn't move him as he continued.

"-and I get a feeling I can help you with your problem." Travis's eyes went just a bit dark for a moment, even as Percival's hopes raised while he continued.

"Just give me a crash course on how to use it and I'll be good to go." As he slapped Percy's back, he looked down on him intensely. "Not a word of this to Jenn, though."

They found out that night that setting it to the maximum control level was not possible; apparently a limitation of having only one user at a time. Still, Percy set it as high as he could; Tony had insisted on that for his scenario. Every time he tried to press his friend for details, Travis smiled back at him. "Just trust me, P." Considering they'd been pondering sharing dreams before this, it seemed unlikely they would back out now.

He felt falling asleep for the first time, and then, a world coalesced around him, even as it's main participant would take longer to arrive....

***********

In a nameless country, an abandoned, crumbling stone building, in some middle of nowhere warehouse. Something you'd ignore ten ways to Sunday if you were driving by it. Travis wasn't sure where it was, and he didn't really care, quite frankly, since it was what he wanted.

Which was all that mattered. A door that didn't look like it could hold up against a dog leaning against it opened to a blank, desolate hallway. Which led to stairs leading down into its basement, hinting at its true purpose. Old metal stairs, to another door. One much more secure. One that two guards had just opened, their prisoner in tow.

A spy they'd just caught. A blonde woman familiar to nobody but the man waiting outside the interrogation room. She was defiant, yet listless as they all but dragged her; their hands on her coverings, her hair, her wrist while they showed no care in taking her to her destination. A room, with a one way mirror. A metal chair that had seen better years, bolted to the floor, flanking a table that had been shown no kind of mercy over the years. Yet judging by the still intact, adjustable leather restraints on each of its four corners, it had dispensed less mercy then it had been shown.

A single light bulb hung in the room, even as the fluorescent tubes provided all the lighting the room needed. But not what some wanted of it. That was the only light on in there right now as the guards dragged her in, slamming her into the chair, cuffing her arms behind her. Tying a chain to keep her in the chair. The only words they said were:

"He'll be coming for you soon."

Leaving her alone in the room. The only light was the singular, hanging bulb, which seemed to idle a little, illuminating the dust, the dirty, the mold in the walls. Contrasting with the perfect sheen on the mirror. A camera hung in the corner, recording everything that was about to happen. Travis hadn't seen her yet. He had no mask, and he was dressed only in a pair of tight, black jeans. His entire torso was bare, and he passed the guards stationed outside the room. He didn't notice any changes to his body, but being as buff as he was meant he never really needed to.

After what felt like a few minutes of solitude for his spy, he entered the room. Letting her gaze latch on him. Admire him. Be scared by him.

By what he would do to her. Or could.

To get the information he 'needed'.

"You don't scare me."

It was not a statement, but a hope. Still, the look of defiance in Clarice's eyes was sincere. She was not going to make this easy for this son of a bitch, whoever he thought he was. This torturer.

Okay, he had a body on him. If he was trying to show off, it was working. In the dark jeans, his body was toned and sculpted. There was something about a bare chest and dark, tight jeans, that had been known to appeal to Clarice. In...private moments. And this man was the living embodiment of that masculine ideal of hers. In the flesh. And somehow he looked...familiar.

She had been taking in the room when he came in. The table, with its obvious restraints and the general feeling it evoked of torture and pain. The sputtering bulb, which had always seemed to Clarice to be one of the grimmest symbols of human suffering. She was chained and cuffed and, naturally, tested her bonds, feeling the cold metal against her warm skin, feeling it press in tightly, how easily it could cut into her if she fought too hard.

Her clothes were not those of a spy, but in her mind they were. They were the fantasy image of a spy: intricately laced stockings, quite a short little black skirt with frilly bottoms, a pocketed - almost masculine - shirt which was open to reveal the tops of her breasts, and dark red lipsticks. And heels. Naturally, she was wearing black heels. Her lips pursed at him in early resistance.

"You're meant to, right? Scare me, I mean? Nice room you have set up, here. Must scare the average person. Trouble is..."

She didn't finish her sentence. Her eyes took on a steely look. Somehow, this dream was carved to resemble her own personality structure. In some ways, Clarice was this dark little room, with its flickering bulb and iron table. She was the resistant look on this woman's face, and this thug sent to interrogate her was as much as the world had ever amounted to, for her. And so here the world was, ready to threaten and cajole her as it always did. And she was prepared to make her resistance, as she always did.

And just as in real life, she used what she had. She was sexy, and she knew the power that could command. She tried to relax, calm herself. She drew her head back, to gaze at him as if in contempt, smirking at him as though he was the one bound and chained.

"You don't scare me." Travis - the interrogator - only looked at her blankly, evaluating her statement. Measuring how much strength she really held to that conviction, whether it was merely words or something that would define her. It did not matter to him. It never did. Even as he knew who she was, he looked her over. Not just what she was wearing - black shirt, opened just enough to tease. A tight black skirt, flared over her legs which were spread in the chair, though not restrained. The stockings, indicating that she had probably been out and about when she was captured. The lipstick, indicating the same. And then, the heels. The shoes that indicated to Travis that something much deeper was happening to her, not just in the dream world...but in reality as well.

"You're meant to, right? Scare me, I mean? Nice room you have set up, here. Must scare the average person. Trouble is..." Clarice's eyes steeled, much liked Travis' did, as if measuring a response. And then, her eyes talked for her, looking back at him with an idle smirk.

It irritated him. But it didn't surprise him. She was refusing to finish her sentence, so he slowly paced towards her. Travis could feel his veins bulging on his arms as he clenched, letting her do more then see the power he could wield. He'd let her imagine it. The mind was a terrible, powerful thing, more powerful then any tool the body could wield. And even as Travis lost himself, envisioning what he was about to do to her, he knew how exactly to start the breaking of Clarice. The molding of her into what Percival and he wanted her to be. He'd start with her imagination. Let her anticipate what was about to happen, conjure up terrible things and outlandish apparitions so horrible, so terrible...so delicious...that what really happened, even in the dream world, would seem like a relief to her.

To make Clarice accept what was coming. "..the trouble is, you're not an average person." His voice carried soft, incredible power as it came clearly through the dark, dreary room. Only illuminating her body softly, and what she could see of him. Travis's chest heaved in the air of the interrogation room, and he let her watch it before he continued. "I know that, Clarice." He knew her name, and she would probably know he knew it. But still, he could feel that the revelation that this interrogator knew who she was carried incredible power to her, as he strode over to her restrained body in the bolted chair, kneeling a little so he was almost face to face with her. "And that is why you are here right now."

He ran a strong hand over her shoulder, teasing her exposed neck and chin, a finger running over her red lips. Teasing the wetness of them before he stroked her hair, as if a lover examining his partner. Right before a quick movement moved his hand to her hair, and squeezed it roughly, yanking her head over the back of the chair. "Because it wouldn't be any fun to break you if you were just average."

Travis ignored her sounds, her pleas...any movements she made until he let her head go, allowing it back to its normal 'resting' position. "Before this night is done, you're going to give everything to me." Even as he whispered it, he knew she heard it, as he turned his back to her.

He could feel her resistance, too. And it made him smirk.

As his hand traced over her face, paying particular attention to her lips, Clarice did not move. She became like a statue, perfectly still and cold and perfect, letting him do what he wanted - although he would feel her lips braced together, as if afraid he would try to push his finger inside. She considered biting at him, but resisted the urge, thinking it would only do her harm to put up such a pathetic show of resistance.

After all, a bite would not get her out of the chair.

Then he played with her short blonde hair, running it through his fingers and seeming to evaluate her. As if deciding if she would make a good lover. Her frown became more pronounced, turning slowly into a scowl - unfortunately for her, Clarice was one of those women whose glares are actually sexier than their smiles - and turning away from him in disgust.

This movement was almost perfectly timed with his sudden jerking of her head, and she let out a brief word - "oh!" - as her neck was suddenly exposed, and her head painfully held back over the top of the chair. Again she became silent, letting him hurt her if he wanted. He wouldn't break her! Never! She felt a slight trembling come into her legs, knew he would see it but somehow could not stop herself. Her foot tapped against the floor nervously until she stilled it, but still her legs were shaking slightly, all too aware of how pathetically helpless she was.

She was going to give everything to him, was she? She watched as he coolly walked away, and put on a stony face of resilience. "You're going to have to do more than strut around like a fucking peacock," she suddenly snapped at him, as if to deflate his ego. Anything to poke a hole into a big black balloon like this one. She felt the room was too full of him, and desperately wanted to make him falter for a moment.

In this world, it seemed as if he was more aware. Travis wasn't exactly the stereotypical dumb jock in real life (even if he acted the part more often then not), but still he found himself aware of things here that he wouldn't notice normally. The subtle way her foot convulsed against the ground after he yanked her neck back; as if it was some involuntary loss of control when he hurt her. The sound she made, how heavy she seemed to be breathing. How amazingly intoxicating her glare was, how he wanted to see so much more of her green eyes meeting his. Be it in defiance or submission. He knew that Clarice was beautiful, and that the dream was making her more so, but even as Travis had been somewhat expectant of her becoming so much more inviting for him, it seemed as if he was inheriting some of Percy's lust for her as well. As if the device was giving him some of his friends' characteristics.

For her part, Clarice claimed to want no part of him. "You're going to have to do more than strut around like a fucking peacock." A statement befitting both a spy looking to keep her ground, and her own persona, as well. Travis didn't fully comprehend the subtle metaphors in play here, even as he played his role in reinforcing that to Clarice. He flexed his arms slightly, as if tensing to grab her, hit her...but not letting her see the power he could wield. But letting her imagine it, instead. To think about it, instead of actually see it, in a dream world. One's mind could still be used as a powerful weapon, the fear and anticipation of something greater then its actual event, and Travis wanted her to think about what he could do to her. Not what he would do.

Still, he leered at her from his closer position. The dream seemed to almost paint a caricature of how much bigger he was then her, how much stronger...how much more powerful he was. The cuffs and chain on her wrists didn't change anything. Silence was his ally, even as time was not. He didn't have infinite time, as much as he wished to draw this out. "By the time I'm done with you, I won't need to strut." He bent down, now almost below her eye level as he crouched, one hand on a knee, extending the other towards her. Travis ran his hand down her face again...into the skin exposed by her shirt, teasing the lapels ever so slightly. Her skin smooth under his touch, down the center of her shirt. Clearly showing what she wasn't wearing beneath it. Over the gaps of skin exposed between the buttons, down to her skirt. He put two hands on her thighs, spreading her ever so slightly as she sat in the chair. Both enjoying how little she could do to him, and tasting a preview of what he would be having later as his rough palms ran down her stocking covered legs.

"The things I'm going to do to you....." He smirked. "Unless you tell me what I want to hear." Which would get me what I wanted anyways. "Are you ready to give up your secrets, little spy?" Travis crouched, staying eye level with her. "To tell the world what it is you don't want them to hear?" He gazed at her intently, awaiting her answer.

His hands running over her body, Clarice shuddered slightly. He would feel every subtle movement of her body, every little motion, as she shook at one point or exhaled suddenly at the next. She was full beneath the clothes; they were tight on her, and the lack of a bra had a unique sensation to it, as though her shirt was not even there, and the fullness of her breasts could be quite easily held in his hands.

His hands sank lower, and Clarice was aware that she was wearing nothing under the skirt. It was a faint air current that began to slide under the fabric like invading fingers, and a sudden coolness against her opening. "Oh," she murmured quietly, not quite forming a word, though it would be hard to place what she was reacting to. A look of innocent victimhood came into her face as she realized how naked she really was, despite her clothes.

His hands parting her legs made it feel all the more apparent. The slightest motion of his body forward, and he would be able to touch her if he wanted, feel her lips already moist for him. Because she was. Perhaps it was because Travis was more appealing than Percy. Perhaps it was because he was showing off more, not just trying to scare her. Perhaps it was the slow effect of each successive dream, making her more primed for sexuality. But she felt a slipperiness between her legs, a now-familiar heat, and knew that she did want him. That this was a desire, fantastically spun into reality.

His hands...his hands...his hands...

His hands dominated this entire story, from his stroking of her lips and hair, to his grip on her shirt, to his slowly edging her legs apart. The tools of arrangement and ordering, of construction and destruction, of domination and cruelty. Hands could give hurt or give pleasure, or give hurt through the torturous giving of pleasure. She had an idea of where his preferences lay.

His hands would feel her soft body under their hard grip, the pathetic flimsiness of her clothes under the bareness of his toned fingertips.

Then she felt something flash into her mind. There was a truth. There was a fact she had to keep from this man at all costs. Clarice thought about it, and then recoiled in horror from its implications. Yes, she would keep this from this torturer at all costs. He would have to break her body and soul to drag it from her. Her eyes hardened again, narrowing into an almost cruel expression. Under any other circumstance, it would have been intimidating. Of course, chained to a chair, there is only so much intimidation that one can produce.

Clarice's answer was silent. It wasn't really what Travis had expected - the look of fiery defiance, as if she was trying to intimidate him from the chair she was now captive to. An admirable attempt. Even in that fire, that act of aggression against him, he could see something else, something more subtle...as if she had learned something. Came to realize something she hadn't before. And whatever it was, that something troubled her. A fact that pleased Travis greatly, and one that would likely please Percy, if he knew about it. He decided that that he'd get it out of her, no matter what it took. Travis knew he had all the tools he needed here in the dream world, he'd just have to use them. Whether it was right or wrong.

He turned around, folding his hands behind his back, letting her get a view of him from behind; to his muscled behind and tight buttocks. "You'd best start thinking yourself as an equal to me, spy." Travis' voice sounded gravelly, as if the dank and dark room itself had infected it. "We've seen how you carry yourself. How you merely indulge us with your presence, toy us with glimpses of your real persona here and there, as if you yourself carry a much greater importance then the rest of us." Again, the switch between 'him' and 'us', as if he was speaking for more then just him. "But deep down, I'll prove to you what it is you really want. To make you willingly give up every one of your dark, dirty secrets that you want to hide from us." He turned back to look at her.

"And from yourself."

Again, Travis used the lack of audible sound as his ally. Only the swinging light bulb, the sound of the air ventilating in the room, a slight hum from the power running through the building. Her heavy breathing, and his own chest heaving while he went back towards her. Examining her. Deciding that he'd looked at her enough.

As she was now.

Still standing tall, he stepped forward with purpose, two arms straining as they reached towards her. Grabbing the lapels of her shirt with a couple of fingers, running up and down them as if preparing her for a photo. A slight pulling motion 'accidentally' popping one button. Travis' eyes deliberately met hers as he did it, seeing the line of flesh widen down the middle of her shirt.

Before he grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled as hard as he could. The sound of popping buttons and tearing fabric resounded through the room, a ugly, hideous sound that did not let up. Travis tore the shirt until her entire torso was exposed, her garment now reduced to a scrap hanging off her arms and back, leaving her entire torso bare. Her heaving breasts, smooth stomach, and defined neck and collarbone visible to his gaze. Giving him something else to look at.

And something to play with.

Clarice's face would briefly express what she felt - humiliation, shock and horror - before it settled again into her face of resistance, that expression that refused to budge no matter what Travis might choose to do. Well, almost 'no matter what'. He seemed to have something knowing about him, something masterful and cruel, something that could pull her apart and put her back together again any way he chose.

That, and his raw physical power. This was no shadowy blackmailer in the dark. This was a tough, brutally-sculpted man, a man with strong hands and hard eyes, a man who seemed to intend to break Clarice by any means possible. That he could smash her on the floor and break her bones, this seemed certain. And Clarice was no extreme masochist - perhaps something stirred between her legs at the thought of being slapped and dominated by a strong man, much as she might hate to admit it, but she was not into being seriously injured. Instead, it was the knowledge that he could so brutally injure her reminded her of his ultimate power, and her ultimate submissiveness to him.

And now her breasts were exposed, she shivered, some excitement mixing into her fear. Those nipples, small and extremely sensitive, were somewhat hard for him already, though they never became very hard at all. They were like small berries, always smooth and giving, sensitive to the slightest touch. The large breasts behind them were different - able to be slapped about and struck without much suffering. Not that Clarice knew from experience. These were less feeling, and more a visual addition to her profile.

Which, sitting there in nothing but a skirt and stockings, was considerable. Clarice did nothing to hide herself, not that she really could anyway. She did not twist away or act coy. She made a mask of iron to wear over her feelings, and let him gaze at her. Or touch her. Whatever he wanted. 'I don't care' was the face she showed him.

Despite herself, she found her eyes drawn to his pants, to where his manhood might lie...or stir. Yes, despite herself this was as much a fantasy as a nightmare, and she was grower slowly more aroused. And the thought of this violent, ruthless torturer drawing out his shaft and...doing things to her...was making Clarice think terrible, terrible thoughts.

Almost as terrible as the ultimate secret, the reason they were both there.

He had to give her credit. Not that he would. But Travis begrudgingly admired Clarice's show of strength. There was not a single word willingly uttered from her at his destroying of her shirt; buttons gone and parts of it ripped from her, it now hanging from her shoulders and back like a useless rag. It would be removed totally when he wished it, but for now, her exposure was satisfactory.

Not where he really wanted it. But it would suffice. The only things Clarice were doing was breathing; the sight of it making her chest heave much more considerably then it had under her shirt. Or maybe he was focusing on her naked upper body more now. Her nipples, hardening in the air of the room, budding out now at being seen. At being watched by him. Lusted after by him. As if she knew what he planned on doing to them. On doing to her. She probably suspected. But she didn't know. Couldn't know. Couldn't believe.

Her eyes glared back at him. Defying him, as if this didn't scare her at all. Trying to keep up the lie that seemed to be sustaining her in this world that didn't exist except in both of their minds. Her face was impassive, much like Clarice was to most of the world. To Percival most of the time, and to Travis whenever it suited her. Still, Travis didn't need the powers embedded into him by the dream world to tell him that she wasn't telling him everything. A certain gesture by her gave it away fully, to what her mind was truly thinking about right now.

It was the brief glance at his groin. The hardening presence beneath it. He smirked the second he caught it, letting her know that he'd seen it without any words. Just the arrogant, damning smile on his face.

"All you have to do is tell me, Clarice." It wouldn't end or change what was about to happen to her. Or make her enjoy it any more or less. But it still represented the victory he sought in this dream world. Travis stood up, reaching behind her to grab something, his toned chest inches from her face, all but rubbing against her forehead. Close enough to bite...or lick it, if she so desired. Close enough to smell the sweat from it, the musk of his body.

Not that he was aware of it as he grabbed what he was seeking. Kneeling back in front of her, he let her see it. It was a knife, and Travis saw the images of what he could do to her with it...let her see them, imagine them. Not that he had any intention of harming her with it. Still, he brandished the knife, letting the flat edge of it rub against her nipple. Knew it was cold to the touch, knowing she'd shiver against it. Repeating the process on the other nipple, before he pointed it at her face, the bridge of her nose...about as close as it could come to her without cutting her.

"Don't move." He breathed, and he knew he was close enough to her that she'd feel that, too. He was concentrating as he drew it down the middle of her body, laboriously careful not to touch her skin. He did not want her marked, even as he knew she'd probably have to breathe in to avoid him cutting her. This would start the process of genuinely scaring her now, making her imagined fears a reality, as he stopped the knife at her navel. Never having touched her skin with it, although Travis was fairly certain she'd felt it at certain points.

He aimed it between her thighs now, to the middle of her short skirt. Knowing there was no skin beneath it was he stabbed the troublesome garment with it, pulling the knife towards him in a practiced motion as he created a tear in something that was probably too touch for him to rip with his hands.

Not without at least giving him something to start with. Wanting her to know what was next as his eyes met hers, as he slowly cut further up the middle of it. Ignoring the fastenings for it on the side, much like he had the buttons on her shirt, his destruction of her clothes a sign of his domination of her. Eventually, the knife had done its work, a slit created that left only the tiniest of lines left holding the skirt together. A question asked with a look, and his answer another harsh pull. Another sound of tearing filling the room, and another covering made into nothing as he tossed it aside.

Travis looked at her. Her eyes, and her glistening sex. Seeing if they both were asking for the same thing.

Fragments of her shirt, fragments of the skirt lying on the chair, and fragments of her dignity barely held together. Clarice sat with a look of heavy resistance chiseled into her features. The remnants of her clothes emphasized her essential nudity, multiplying her exposure a hundred-fold. Her breasts and her pussy were starkly on display, their arousal equally apparent, as she sat with her arms shot painfully back, chest jutting forward accordingly. Her face fell into alternative light and dark as the light flickered into and out of life, as in some noir film in which the heroine is always a creature only half-illuminated. Of course, most such films did not involve the heroine's sexual features in plain sight, and glistening with moisture. Nor was the sexual atmosphere common to these films so obvious, so pornographic. Clarice felt her breathing catch suddenly, and a tightness in her chest would not loosen. His body was so close, so large and powerful, his scent strong in her nostrils, making her head spin. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Suddenly, an idea came to her. She would tell him...a half-truth. She would not give him the everything he wanted. The Tremendous, Reality-Shaking Secret that had compelled her into this seat. Instead, she would tell him just enough to throw him off, just enough to make him think he had it all. "I want you," she whispered, mumbling down towards the floor. "You have a...good body," she went on lamely, not wanting any passion to come into her voice, and still miles away from the Ugly Reality.

"It's not worth all this drama," she went on, trying to act as though she were exasperated, bored by the fuss. Something was moved in her, and she went on at length, a little speech, surreal in any place but a dream, but eloquent considering she was dreaming. "Sorry to have wasted your time. It's just a feeling I have, that our bodies would be beautiful together, a kind of beautiful image, the two of us clasped together. It was only a thought, and now you're all but beating me over it. Christ, men! All this sound and fury, over something so simple and...all I see is the possibility of a few scattered moments of beauty."

Travis smirked inwardly at her fear. The way her breathing was shallow, and slow; the way her chest refused to loosen from the virtual grip that this dream had put on it. Her nipples, as they put it, 'hard enough to cut glass', and he hadn't even touched them yet. The wetness leaking from her, leaving a mess on the dirty, muddy chair she was placed on. He inclined his head, a move meant to ask a question rather then to signal acquiescence. Eventually, she gave him an answer.

"I want you." But not the right one. Not the true one. She looked at the floor as she said it, as if by doing so she would not have to admit its truth to anyone, her voice almost too small for him to hear her."You have a...good body." Her tone indicated it was a statement of fact for her, and not a statement of acceptance. As if she knew something was true but hadn't been convinced of its veracity. Thinking that a compliment or two would throw him off of his game.

"It's not worth all this drama," A poor attempt at a distraction, to feign disinterest. "Sorry to have wasted your time. It's just a feeling I have, that our bodies would be beautiful together, a kind of beautiful image, the two of us clasped together. It was only a thought, and now you're all but beating me over it. Christ, men! All this sound and fury, over something so simple and...all I see is the possibility of a few scattered moments of beauty." Travis took it all in; not reacting, barely moving. He took a moment to take in the smells of the room. Of the want coming off of his body, the desire from hers. Sensing her nervousness, drinking in it as he smiled softly. An attempt to distract, to make her think her ruse had worked even as she likely knew it hadn't.

"Thank you for saying that." He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder, as if to comfort the all but naked woman in front of him. "Let me tell you what I'm seeing, Clarice." Grabbing the upper hem of her stocking, he started to draw it gently down her left leg, talking as he did. "I see this as something not simple at all; and much more then a...'few scattered moments of beauty'. That implies your willing enjoyment of it, and that is not what I have planned for you today. We would be beautiful together, but I have...something else in mind for you to do with your body for me." The words were his and yet not his, coming from a mind much sharper and more focused. It was what he had intended, and yet not how he would have said it.

"Something very much worth all of this...well, whatever it is I want to do to you. It's worth it because I'm doing it." His eyes met hers then as he slid the stocking off of her leg, taking the hell with it before refastening the footwear. To hinder any potential escape, he told himself, even if his real desire was much darker then that. To set her up for the next stage of her dream, to associate certain things with what was about to happen. He started to repeat the process on the other stocking; much more faster and urgent then on the other one. "I can see in your eyes how much you're lusting after me; your refusal to admit what it is you crave. Which brings us to our last point." The stocking removed and heel reset, leaving Clarice exactly as he wanted her.

Well, almost. A quick reach behind her to undo the chain holding her cuffs to the chair (although not the cuffs themselves), giving her a sort of freedom and leeway. If such a thing could be had wearing only cuffs and heels, as he slowly drew her up from the chair. Letting her stand awkwardly in front of him, to be towered over by his muscular body. "You don't want me." With a speed that even surprised him, he slapped her across the face, even as he held her to ensure she didn't go sprawling. "You need me. Lust after me. Crave what I will make you do more then anything." Another slap to the other side of her face, to balance it out, although not at his full strength. He didn't want to send her to the hospital, after all.

One strong hand went to her shoulders, to force her down, her head to his navel, and her onto her knees. The other, to the button on his jeans, as he drank in the sight of her. Nude, bruised, and subservient in posture. Travis had no doubts about making her body submit. Now it was time to work on her spirit, her mind, her soul.

Now on her knees, Clarice gazed up at her tormentor, glaring with hateful eyes. "No, I don't. Male - fucking - ego. Girls don't just have passing fantasies like men do. No, they crave men, are consumed by their desire. Sexist bullshit." Hands behind her back, she felt her breasts pushed forward uncomfortably, pushing out against Travis' knees. Clarice pretended that she could not draw back further, although she could break contact if she wanted with a little effort; there was some pleasure with her nipples brushing against the firm texture of his denim. As she was comfortably lost in the dream-space, uncomfortably bound, her shame was eased up, loosened.

She was perfectly aware of why he had left the heels on. It was to fashion her even more into his sexual ideal: the tall, buxom woman on her knees, cuffed, wearing only heeled shoes. Aphrodite bound.

There was moisture against her inner thigh, and she could feel it cooling in the air of the room, making her shiver slightly. She breathed as slowly as possible, but her breasts still rose and fell appetizingly at Travis' feet. Her eyes burning up at him, accusing - too accusing.

From this position, Travis' hardening manhood was a little too obvious not to be noticed. Clarice could see it through the jeans, and her eyes glanced down, not breaking away immediately this time, taking in its size highlighted by the tight pants, realizing she could smell his arousal. Swallowing hard, she looked over at the floor instead, no longer wanting to meet his gaze.

Travis glowered at Clarice's continued defiance. Admired it, in some way, that she was continuing to show strength against him. What had been mostly his words so far, according to him. Stripping her naked had been mere symbolism, removing barriers that only existed in her mind. As if her clothing had hidden her from him, as if seeing her body could tell him something that her mind hadn't already. As if he needed to feel her nipples against his knees, or see her heavy breathing and lowered eyelids to tell that she continued to hide something. To see the visible gulp in her as she tried to hide from his arousal; both in sight and smell. Of course it was sexist bullshit, spun from every man's fantasy of what he had in front of him. But it didn't make it any less true.

He didn't need it, but he would admit to anyone that this sight of her was intoxicating. Overwhelming. The mere idea of her submitting to him in body and mind was starting to fill the room, much like he had in overwhelming her. In driving her to the precipice to where she couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Clarice seemed to think looking at him would be admitting defeat, but Travis knew it wouldn't be. Even so, his hand lashed out with speed that surprised him, coming across her face again, her soft skin feeling a familiar impact of a rough hand against it.

"Look at me." He hissed. Another slap to the other side, to balance out her pain. "Look. At. Me." Travis reached down to stroke her gently, to give her false comfort, build up false hope as his other hand reached for the button on his jeans.

"Last chance, Clarice." A soft, gentle tone. "You can make this all go away..." What a lie. What a transparent, awful, hopeless lie. They both knew it wasn't going away. That he wasn't going anywhere, that this scenario would only end one way. Whatever way he wanted it to.

Whatever way they wanted it to. Travis could smell the odor in the room changing, and he knew it wasn't just him, either; her thighs provided evidence to support the theory that she wanted it, too. How things would start might be a little more unsettling for the naked, bound blonde on her knees in front of him. In her last dream, she had never seen the manhood that had violated her, only felt it, and caught a glimpse right before the ending of it. But in this one, the hard length in front of her face, bobbing violently as Travis let it out, would be much more poignant, much more intimate....much more insisting on how it permeated her senses.

Close enough to smell him, touch him...to taste? Travis's hard look made it clear what he would do if she did not take him into her mouth.