What Morpheus Saw (Closed for Bevatoria)

And there he was, cock pushing up against her nose, the smell of him filling her nostrils. Clarice did not think to pull away from him - or if she did, the thought quickly passed. Objects in the dream-world grow to monstrous size, to fill not only the entirety of vision but the entirety of existence, the dream that circles around and worships an object as a tribal circle circles around a fetish. All she saw, smelled, felt, and soon tasted - was Travis' hard dick jutting against her face. Much of the situation vanished for her.

Clarice, still a virgin - if the previous erotic dream was discounted - had never been in a situation like this before. Sex for her was still dangerous, mysterious, terrifying. And Travis was a well-endowed man, and clearly a strong hand when it came to sexuality, which only made the situation more intimidating. His thick cock was against her lips, sliding over her face, leaving a trail of his arousal across her bright, clear skin.

She made a low sound like a growl, turning her face away, which caused his hard-on to slide across her features smoothly, bobbing in the air when she broke contact. She thought about what he might do if she refused him, if she kept up this game, thought about his hands striking across her face, and what it might feel like if he struck her elsewhere, or harder, or with a weapon instead of his bare hands. "Fuck you", she murmured at the ground, turning back towards him. Sucking him was...less significant than other things he might do, she supposed.

Clarice sighed, turning back to the large cock strutting before her face. She made as if to hold the dick in her hand, to guide her next actions, but her hands were firmly secured behind her back. So it was to be her mouth alone that was going to please him. Clarice was not an idiot, and only so naive. She knew what the next moments were going to bring. Letting her eyes gaze only at his stomach - his toned, gorgeous stomach - she pushed herself forward, and impaled her mouth around his shaft.

Slowly she inched forward, her lips flowering around his hard-on as she forced herself forward, feeling the size of him feeling her oral cavity entirely, reaching her throat before she had seemingly even started. For a moment, she froze up, unwilling to believe this was happening. And then she began to suck him in earnest, blowing his cock with the unsteady rhythm and frequent interruptions of an amateur.

Amateur or not, it was quite a sight to see.

Her cheek bulged slightly, as her tendency was to take him into her mouth to the side, so that he would not poke against her throat. It made an obscene, pornographic shape there, and because she was not making it very far down his length, the image was more clearly sexual than otherwise - the base of his cock dry and untouched, the next inch glistening with her mouth's juices, then her pursed lips rolling along his hard last inches, and the crown of his cock pressing out against the lining of her mouth to create that rounded bulge. Warm and tight, insistent and wet. Her body, jerking with the straining effort of heavy-duty laborer, panting when she drew off of him. With the sustained effort, her saliva was beginning to mark her lower lip, then down to her chin. The blowjob might have been that given by a beginner. But it was still a blowjob.

When she drew back, a trail hung momentarily in the air between cock and mouth, breaking, a drop of spittle falling onto her bared breast, as if marking her as his object of sexual amusement. Her eyes fell to the floor once more. "This is what you want, then, pervert?"

She could taste him in her mouth, salty and yet with another taste she could not think to name, something of the wilderness, something primal and pitiless. In her mind, words flitted over one another, self-accusations and labels of self-disgust.

Cocksucker, her mind rang out, the evidence pooling in her mouth as drool kept collecting in her mouth - like some Pavlovian response - as though she hungered for the next taste. Cocksucker...cocksucking slut...

A tremor went through Travis at the feel of his dick brushing Clarice's firm lips, peeling them back from her teeth ever so slightly before popping up, all but hitting her nose. He saw her skin glistening with his arousal, his precum leaking out onto her. The growl she gave in response contrasted with her refusal to back away; pretending to think about refusal even as she gave no thought to it. It was appearances Clarice was worried about. Just like in the real world. Worried about appearing to be fine, perfectly put together, a statuesque woman with no flaws even as reality showed different. Even as she proved it different by what she said.

"Fuck you." Words said to the ground, to nothing as she slowly faced his bobbing length again. She seem to look at Travis now. Not at his eyes, though, and he smirked as he saw where she was looking. Where she wanted to reach to; the jiggling of the chain on the handcuffs reminding both of where the power was now. Not just due to toys, or stature, or size.

They helped, though.

He felt her breath on him, a sigh escaping Clarice before she opened her mouth, leaning forward to take him inside of her. Travis was grateful to be able to drop his dominant persona for a moment, to lose himself in the sensations of her unwilling servicing of him. Gently, tenderly, Travis felt Clarice sucking his cock, her lips and mouth sliding up and down it. A hesitant rhythm at first, and one that Travis was content to let her maintain. There were constant stops and starts in her method, and Travis looked down on her each time. Seeing what looked like a refusal or a fear to meeting her eyes. It was a powerful image, and one Travis wanted to sear into her mind. Of her naked, bound, and on her knees, doing whatever he wanted her to.

Clarice wasn't deepthroating him. Another oversight Travis would work on correcting, even as he enjoyed the feeling and the sight of her first blowjob. The bulging of her cheek as she shepherded his length off center in her mouth, and he shivered as he felt her idle tongue brush the underside of his length.

He'd fix that, too. Clarice seemed to be doing her best to limit her submission, as if by taking less of him that she would be redeeming herself. This degrading, humiliating act would not be an end for her, but a starting point. And Travis knew that Clarice knew that.

Which excited him further.

With another draw back, Travis saw their connection. It wasn't the line of spit between them that floated in the air before falling onto Clarice's breast, lingering as if waiting for applause. She tried to deny it as she looked at the floor. "This is what you want, then, pervert?"

Darkness lingered in Travis's thoughts as his mind raced, in his eyes as he viewed her with her head bowed. Clarice did not want to answer the obvious question she had asked, even though she had to know. He just watched her chest heave, running a lone finger down the middle of her forehead, teasing her lips. Feeling her warm breast, taking it in his hand. Just to see how she'd react to it. He fondled and manipulated the giving flesh, slowly drawing back towards her nipple as he answered her.

"It's a start." With a quick twist of her nipple, he touched her face with his fingers, one word his only command. "Deeper." Travis flinched, drawing his hand back as if to strike her again if she didn't obey. The thoughts in her mind did not escape him as well, and he added one last statement as his hand stayed poised to hit her, to hurt her if she didn't obey...or maybe even if she did.

"And you're not. That. Not yet, anyways."

Clarice didn't want to say anything. She had said enough, and anyway - the bastard seemed capable of reading her mind. Thoughts and words blurred together, so that she was losing track of what was 'inside' and what was 'out'. All the son-of-a-bitch seemed to care about was how deep she could force herself down on his hard-on. Charming. Here she was, kneeling at his bloody feet, drool wetting her chin, mouth already tired -- and all he could do was suggest how she could do better?

For some reason, even though a flash of anger moved through Clarice, she was no less attracted to Travis, and no more strangely willing to comply with his demands. On the one hand, she was afraid that he would keep striking her face, or - of course - do something much worse, like beat or electrocute her. She had seen spy movies. He probably had a box of scorpions hidden somewhere; Clarice would not put it past him. And this fear made her willing to do pretty well anything to avoid further suffering, particularly as it seemed possible that he would just rape her if she resisted. How much of a fight could she conceivably put up?

But on the other hand - and it was a dirty, nasty little hand - she wanted to comply. This was part of the Secret That Could Not Be Told, and she did not consider it any further. But there was a kind of yearning to fall from grace, even now, whatever grace was left in her. And his demands to do increasingly perverse things, as she was sure were building and building in his mind like a brewing storm, sent jolts of nervous, excited energy through her.

No more words. She forced herself forward onto him, a daring action considering her hands being bound behind her, as it made it impossible for her to pull back with her arms if she over-extended. It caused her to roll forward on her knees, almost to the point of leaning on Travis, and allowing him to slip rapidly - all too rapidly, as it turned out - down her throat. Her gag reflex was not so much avoided as out-raced, so that by the time she reacted, he was already into her. She blindly panicked as she felt him fill her airway, beginning to choke hard on him, and forcing herself back with all the strength in her neck. It was a hard process, as he was almost stuck in the tightness of her throat, until she eventually wrenched herself off with a huge gasp.

The strain of it had brought moisture to her eyes, and she felt heat in her face. Her throat-penetration seemed to have caused a crazy over-production of spit, and his cock was now practically soaked in it, bobbing obscenely before her broken face. Again she drew forward, but more slowly this time, sucking him in stages - down just a couple of inches, then teasing forward almost to the point of deep-throating, staying at this point for some time, moving faster to build confidence at this 'depth', before pressing against her gag reflex and eventually suppressing it enough to force him down. She could not really manage all of him yet, but he would feel the almost convulsive jerking of the first-time deep-throater. Almost instantly, she heaved back again, at least keeping him in her mouth this time.

Clarice found she could only breath through her nose as she serviced Travis, and her exhalation strangely mirrored her plight at any given point. When she had forced herself onto his manhood, there had been silence, as though she had forgotten anything but the feeling of him blocking her throat. But now, as she tried to work him without a break, she breathed more and more intensely as she pushed her boundaries, a wonderfully expressive echo of her travails.

Then suddenly, as Clarice drew off of Travis for a break, letting his cock graze over her face as she turned towards the floor once again, leaving a wet trail, something happened.

She realized she was dreaming.

It took about ten seconds to put everything together again. Her hands, bound tightly behind her in clamping, cold metal; her face, stained with her mouth's juices, bedraggled by slaps and exhaustion; and the shirtless Travis, hefty erection swinging slowly in front of her face. It was another fucking sex dream.

"No!" Clarice suddenly cried out, leaning dramatically away from him, and falling onto the floor. She crawled as best she could with her legs, trying to use her bound arms to drag herself along - with about as much success as one could expect. Either the thought of standing up did not occur to her, or she did not think she would have time before Travis just knocked her over again. Pathetically, she pulled herself away from him, towards the nearest corner, desperate to escape whatever the hell this dream represented about her fantasies. "This isn't real. This is a stupid dream. I made you up. I would never...I would never do this..."

Miserably, she lay on the cold floor, face buried down against the ground, desperate not to look at Travis or continue the perversions of the dream-vision.

OOC: Lost pretty much the entire post once...but that's what I get for writing in the browser most of the time.

So if this feels like it has lost a little, that's probably why.

IC:

Travis resisted the urge to lean back and shut his eyes at the sensations of Clarice impaling her mouth and throat fully onto his meat. Instead, he kept his gaze on her, still trembling a little as she seemed to slip more then she'd intended onto him, and he smirked a little at her panic, her hands unable to bring her any sense of balance. Eventually she managed to pull back with a gasp, earning a chuckle from Travis at her learning how to deepthroat a man. He hoped it would be a skill that she would end up using in the real world, too...the dynamic had changed considerably, and Travis knew that she was aware of how much worse she looked now. The tears in her eyes, blush on her face, and his cock, which had been half lubed up before, all but drowning in her spittle from her first attempt to take him in.

She seemed to have learned her lesson as she approached him much more slowly this time, approaching his tensing member and engulfing him with her lips once again. It would go in a couple of inches, she would stop to pleasure him, and then she continued. Travis enjoyed this more, with her taking her time and trying to draw out a painful thing for her, making it more enjoyable for him, the feelings and little jolts of pleasure from her lips, her mouth, throat, and tongue when it involuntarily brushed the underside of him. She even resisted her gag reflex, asserting Travis' will over her body's basic reactions to stimuli; her only job to service him.

Her breathing got heavier, and her efforts more labored as she tried to breathe through her nose; Travis did nothing to aid or hinder her even as she pulled off of him with another gasp. He felt the brush of his length against her face, leaving another trail of moisture. Even with her under him, Travis could sense her change in mood, as if she was trying to put the pieces together...

"No!"

Well, there's some of them.

His gaze got hard as she tried to pull herself away from him, scuttling across the dirty floor with her bare legs and cuffed wrists. Clarice turned away from him, as if that would make him disappear, as if he'd simply give up if she couldn't see him. "This isn't real. This is a stupid dream. I made you up. I would never...I would never do this..." Facing the ground, she sprawled her nude body on the floor, as if she could clack her heels together and exit the dream of her own will.

But this dream's will was not hers. It was Travis', and he calmly removed his pants, leaving him as exposed as she was. It would do him no good if he fell over and lost consciousness because his knees or ankles got tangled; even if there were guards in the hall for this scenario, this wasn't about if she would escape. She never would. This about extracting information from the spy, making her reveal and submit to the one secret she was still refusing to give. Making her give a blowjob was only a step along that road.

And if she wouldn't talk, Travis was perfectly content to use her mouth for...other things, instead. He paced towards her slowly, giving her a chance to look at him before he grabbed an arm, turning her to face him and lifting her so her face was level with his abs, quickly pushing her into the gritty, slimy walls that made up the room.

"You made me up because you wanted me, Clarice." A slap to her face. "Because you wanted this body, this person, here in this place." A cruel twist and yank of a nipple, followed by the same process on the other one, lingering just a bit longer. "Because you want someone to master you, to dominate you and force you." Strong hands kept her up by her shoulders even as he lowered her back to the level she'd been at before, her head level with his groin once again. "To make you confess your secrets." Travis kept her pressed into the wall even as he backed away to let his cock poke into her.

"But if you don't want to talk..." He gripped the back of her head tightly, his hand winding in her short blonde hair tightly enough to make her yelp, to open her mouth so he could force his way back in. "...that's fine, too." With a sneer and a glare down at her, she had time for little response other then whatever she could get out while he forced himself back down her throat, no longer content with her ministrations as he thrusted himself in and out of her. His balls slapping her chin, and his urgent, desperate motions bruising his hand as he started to facefuck her against the wall.

Clarice had done well enough to get him close, even if that would be little comfort with the pounding she was taking now.

"N-no, wait - " Clarice was saying, realizing from the strength of his grip that something was about to happen. Then the sudden tug in her hair made her cry out, and he slipped inside again. Again, her instinct was to become savage, to bite and claw and him, to get away. Another sex dream? Another sex dream about these guys? This was insane. What kind of deranged whore was she, to dream about fucking people every night? But she didn't.

She knew she would not be able to make herself wake up. Which meant that for all intents and purposes, this dream was real. The fear was real. The sense of his towering presence; of her sad, huddled submission. The sense that he wanted to use her body like a toy for his pleasure, and that she would have to comply - lest he do something worse.

And the heat in her lower belly, the fire there, burning no matter what he did. No, growing hotter every time he twisted her nipple or forced his cock into her throat.

She spluttered hard, trying to catch a breath between the constant thrusts. Clarice was making gasping sounds every time he drew back a space, every time she was given a chance to make a noise at all, and gulping sounds whenever he drove forward, exaggerating the sense that she was literally swallowing his sword, taking him fully into her body. He would feel some give in her throat, then a little more as he drove in repeatedly, as though she was learning to give up resistance and control over time. A kind of looseness within the vice-grip of her throat, so subtle that only something as sensitive as a cock-head would feel it so acutely, so majestically.

Her head was pressed back against the hard, cold wall, and her handcuffs clinked against the surface behind her with each push forward. There was now no space between the hugeness of Travis and the hugeness of the wall, so that Clarice had very much a sense of entrapment, of being caged. And slowly, it was breaking her down. Her eyes, which had been on the floor, now rolled slowly up to look at Travis, to try and meet his own gaze, not with any challenge - but rather to plead for air, for a break. Like two flashes of water-life moving under a pond, her quick eyes turned up beneath a film of moisture, large and staring, pleading, begging. She was wincing slightly - not with every thrust, but whenever Travis ventured deeper, or pushed with exceptional power, and she was guessing that gazing at him with surrender might at least lower the intensity of his assault.

Choking out her words through a thick fleshy barrier of cock, Clarice tried to splutter out "please". It came out as merely "pl-", as the plosive emerged just as each renewed thrust that Travis made cut off the word, cutting off the rest of the sound. Every five or six seconds she tried again, never making any progress, eyes still sweeping above for a chance to guilt-trip him into lightening up. The feeling of his testicles dangling over her narrow chin was so humiliating, that Clarice could hardly breath a word. But if necessity is the mother of invention, then desperation is its other, unloved child.

Her gaze did move him. Seeing her desperate look, the gradually breaking spirit in her heart as he continued to force his way down her throat, feeling his hand banging against the wall, her head banging on his hand, his balls and length slamming into her mouth. Travis felt a pleasant tingling sensation every time she tried to speak, and so he persisted in stuffing her with cock to try to deter her from speaking. To break her will into what he wanted it to be, into something he could use in this fantasy world that he...and Percy..had created. From the hell that Clarice found herself entrapped in.

A hell masquerading as heaven to her confused mind.

The way her gaze moved him, however, was in the wrong direction, his wanton need for release growing more and more urgent as his pistoning motion became less and less focused, more and more primal, his bulge often hitting the sides of her throat before going all the way in, bulging her cheeks as he pumped faster and faster. Travis grunted both at the effort he was exerting and at the endorphins he felt building, eventually pulling back one last time to gaze down at her. Enough time for her to say one word, and start a second.

But his dick was rock hard, veins bulging out and he only needed the tiniest of openings to force his way back in, gripping her hair tighter and tighter as he neared his climax. His hand started helping, forcing Clarice's mouth down further then she'd ever been, ignoring her pleas, her struggles, any signs of dissent from her. Travis was too close to getting off to care about a little thing as her needing to breathe, ignorant of her choking, her pleas, and then he felt it. What he'd been trying to make her do for him.

One stream went down her throat. The second started before either he pulled off, or she did, and it seemed to get partially swallowed before spraying all over her face. The third and fourth streams of cum, while less potent, were not as...contained...

While he stood over her, a dark shape blocking out all light, Travis only saw the external signs of Clarice's distress and humiliation - her stretched-wide eyes, her spluttering and choking, and her body trembling each time he forced himself deeper. But within Clarice's mind was indeed a surreal mixture of heaven and hell. The heaven of utter capture, of complete surrender. Just as Clarice shared a Christian's sense of sexual morals, she shared a Christian's wish for oblation before a god, before a higher power - surrender into hands of a loving god. The difference was that Clarice did not care about the morals of the higher being, so that some perverse streak in her wanted just as much to be thrown into the mouth of a wolf, as the tender hands of a lover. In some ways, then, this point of wretchedness, this moment of extreme slavery, was heaven.

And then, of course, it was hell. Spluttering, coughing, choking - the sense almost of drowning, almost the panic of a drowning swimmer - head banging against the wall more severely now, so that her head was beginning to ache - hair pulled sharply, especially as Travis grew overwhelmed in his own kingdom of pleasure. It was awful, in every conceivable way.

Together, the experience confirmed what had always stirred in some dark place inside of Clarice, the belief that sexuality was a terrifying place, a nightmarish hidden place where power crushed weakness, and torture accompanied every spasm of pleasure.

Sometimes people want what would 'obviously' be desirable; they want pleasure. Other times people hunger, on some darker level, for the confirmation of their most secret and treasured beliefs no matter how painful the lesson might be. It is the pleasure of knowing that there is no longer a need to scrabble between hope and disappointment - it is a baptism of dolor. In this moment, Clarice was halfway to martyrdom - she shared the martyr's exultation in suffering. She only lacked the reverence.

Though she certainly received the deliverance. Travis shot down her throat, and she sensed only a sudden warmth in the depths of her, before the second squirt filled her mouth with a cloying, salty taste that she knew was his cum. Thick in her mouth, heavy on her lips, Clarice felt herself marked inside and out, and that was before he pumped more onto her, an explosion coating her left eyelid, and another spraying neatly between her breasts, dribbling down to her torso. Like an animal marked as the bitch of the alpha, Clarice felt herself claimed by this, felt her cowering more acutely as she crumpled back against the wall.

Now that he had presumably released her, she sat down hard onto her backside, legs out, knees burning too much to remain kneeling. She looked down with shame at herself, seeing the white streak down her pearly flesh, the still-peaking nipples standing sharply at attention. Clarice coughed hard, and then swallowed without thinking, resenting the decision a moment later as she felt his fluids sink down her throat. She could not wipe her face, as her hands were bound, and kept her left eye closed - then felt stupid, and closed both, for the sake of scraping together the remnants of her dignity.

Finally she spoke, her tone of voice clearly humbled, but her words still holding some fragment of challenge. "If you think I'm going to talk now, you've got another thing coming. If you'd stopped...I was trying to...I was trying to talk." Her voice was choking, on the edge of sobbing but unwilling to be that vulnerable. Even now, she would not completely open - the way he wanted - the way he was willing to hurt her, to make her become.

Clarice crumpled to the floor in front of him, a gesture of defeat, an outwards sign. Inwards, Travis could tell she still had some resistance left, even with the degrading position she now found herself in. Worse then naked now; marked in his cum. Worse then cuffed; restrained and confined. Worse then hurting, he could feel the desire on her. See it in her nipples which refused to not do anything but wave a flag as to what her body wanted. To what her mind and soul were hinting at, even as she tried to pull herself together. Travis wouldn't smile, though, as he was still playing the part of her torturer, trying to drag the secret out of her.

The secret he still desperately wanted to hear her admit to.

"If you think I'm going to talk now, you've got another thing coming. If you'd stopped...I was trying to...I was trying to talk." The uncertain voice, betraying the undercurrent of strength beneath it. Travis only shook his head, slowly making his way back towards her again.

"Tsk-tsk-tsk Clarice. This isn't about giving you what you want." He took a look around, as if taking the scene in again - the interrogation room, the dirty, drab walls, one way mirror, chair bolted to the ground, and the table which looked like it would be pressed into service. "You're trapped here until you tell me what you're hiding from us." An unintentional mistake which betrayed the truth of the situation; even as Travis was in this dream alone, he was serving the interests of both himself and Percy. "Until you admit who it is you really are, and relish it." Another long look at her, taking in her beautiful body marked by his seed, before he angrily grabbed her elbow and pulled Clarice to her feet.

At the will of his mind, the door opened, and a guard came in, carrying a large gym bag. "Thank you." said Travis, undoing Clarice's cuffs and sliding them off even as he gave no hint of letting her go with his grip around her elbow. As if Clarice's body being on display for a guy she'd never met was no big deal. "You may leave."

The guard took one last look at the two of them before leaving, and Travis snarled from behind her. "There are things in that bag I can hurt you with, but I don't need them to punish you." His voice dropped to a menacing whisper as his manhood started growing as he pressed into her again, feeling the cheeks of her mostly unblemished ass. "Now, talk."

Clarice stood, cold, shivering against Travis' firm body. She felt like a small child pressed up against an adult, like a vulnerable creature huddling against a brass statue. His grip on her arm made her angry, made her want to tear away from him towards the temporally opened door, or at least cover herself as the guard came in, taking his time leaving as he caught sight of Clarice's uncovered nudity.

Feeling his hardness press against her ass, Clarice shivered hard, jerking away a few inches, before she was no doubt just tugged back again, then resisting no longer as his cock nuzzled against her taut but gorgeously rounded buttocks. What was the point. He had her, and there was little enough room to fight. She had tried to get away from him, and within seconds ended up with his cock pummeling her throat. In other words, he had just abused her harder, and made her submission to him all the more apparent.

Was this really a dream? The psychology of the situation was so acute, so deliberate, so methodical. Travis seemed so well-defined, so visually accurate (well, she wasn't so sure about his hard-on's appearance as this was their...first time, so to speak...but the rest of him...his face, his upper body). What kind of trippy situation was this, anyway?

Clarice tried to focus, despite what was going on.

It was a dream. Just a dream. Just an incredibly detailed dream.
So it wasn't real. And Travis wasn't Travis, just an internal idea of what Travis would be, sexually.
And so this wasn't sex. It was just a fantasy.
And what she said was not "between her and Travis". It was between her unconscious and her conscious mind.

And what was so bad about confessing to her conscious mind? It was nothing but recognizing a point of view, a perspective. In other words, just because "Clarice" confessed to "Travis", all that meant was that one part of Clarice was talking to another part of her. Her libido was talking to her higher, more moral mind. Or was it the other way around? In any case, this whole dialogue, this whole space, existed purely within her own mind.

Suddenly, Clarice straightened up. Despite the streaks of cum on her face and body, she seemed to be unabashed. This little line of reasoning had given her - well, at least a moment of courage and dignity. She began to turn to Travis, then decided not to bother, as he might just force her back to her former position. But instead of trying to scramble away from him, she pushed back against his re-hardening manhood, as if teasing him, or at least responding in kind to his advances.

<<It's not really Travis. It's an idea. This is my world.>>

"You want to hear my secret?" Clarice asked, turning her head slightly back so that she was speaking over her shoulder, suddenly flirtatious and suggestive, instead of angry or scared and bullied. She let her lips glide over the words as if amused, as if Travis were a contemptible object. "Well, it's not such a terrible thing."

Still, she hesitated, as though some part of her knew that she was crossing over into dangerous territory, into terra incognita. Then started again:

"You want to hear my secret? Well, I suppose you have to - if you are going to do what I want! How else will you play the role I want you to play? I want you to make me your bitch."

There it was - out at last! And having said it, having broken through, Clarice had an easier time continuing on. That is the way of things with confessions. First a crack, then a mounting pressure, and then the dam bursts and the once-contained water crushes everything in its path, an enormous flood, destructive as it is awe-striking.

"I want you to own me." Those last two words with incredible emphasis, almost melodramatic, spoken slowly, each word an island unto itself. Again. "Own. Me."

"My secret is that I want to be your pet. I want you to make me do things, to tell me what to do. I want you to bend me over and fuck me like a little bitch, to take over my life, to make me your slave. Your...odalisque."

Odalisque. More than a slave, in the heated, hot, fucked-up parts of Clarice's mind. That was why she did not just say 'slave' or 'pet', or leave it there. A word charged with mystery, with seduction, with the eventual mastery of slavery itself. The Grande Odalisque of Ingres does not just lie there, waiting to be fucked. She stares back, wanting to be dominated and owned just as much as her potential buyer wants it.

A male fantasy? Yes. In 99.9% of cases. But Clarice was an oddity, and she spoke now from the heart.

The odalisque was not just a sexual performer. She was a slave in every sense. She performed for her owner - she sang, and danced, and sex was an art far more than a physical action for the simplistic aim of pleasure. The odalisque was more than a whore; she was more even than a mistress. She was an odalisque: no other word sufficed, awkward as it was on the tongue.

Maybe awkward. Something of the third syllable. Lisque.
Risk. Whisk. Frisk...

She pressed back against him harder, if he did not pull away, so that his dick, however hard or long it might now be, would stand up to nudge between her cheeks, an indelicate thing to do. How unladylike.

Then she completed her thought, as she had hinted at before. "But you see, since you are my dream, you are really doing what I say." She smirked, and even this was sexy, the amused slant of her lips, her cheek-bones suddenly sharp and almost cruel in the expression of victory (or what felt like victory). "The reality is, I make you to satisfy my sexual desire. So who is really the master?"

She paused, as if to let her logic sink in.

"So dominate me. Bitch."

The feel of Clarice shivering against him was delectable to Travis' dream mind. It was her body's instinctive response to a lack of warmth, sure, but there was so much more to it then that. To him, it represented fear, both of the overall situation and of him. Of being so exposed to a guard she didn't know, a man who's name she didn't know, but who was looking at her, exposed and restrained. It reminded him that she was naked, and wanted to get away from him; a thought reinforced by her trying to inch away, ever so slightly. He jerked her back in response, his cock brushing against her delectable ass again. His gaze lingered on it for a second, wondering how it would look just a bit reddened, blood added to it after a slap or two...or a dozen. How would it feel with her over the table, or over his knee-

His train of thought was interrupted as Clarice straightened up. Travis almost frowned, except it seemed like she wasn't trying to get away; merely repositioning herself against him. Part of him wanted to smile, to leer, but even with that one movement, the entire dynamic of the room had changed. She was under his palm still, with Travis' iron grip on her upper arm, but Clarice was definitely not acting like that anymore as she turned to him, daring to meet his eyes.

Large man or not, Travis felt just a bit smaller in the room as she started to speak, subtly brushing her bum against his length. He couldn't help but hiss just a little as she spoke, daring in her actions and her words.

"You want to hear my secret?" A tease over her shoulder, and Travis was intrigued by the expression she wore now. Almost a smile came from her, continuing suggestively. "Well, it's not such a terrible thing."

Clarice's hesitation in clarifying the statement suggested something entirely different; that she was putting on a front. Still, something in how she was behaving made Travis' reply just a little less cutting. "And what is your secret, you naughty little spy?"

Another moment passed before she spoke again. "You want to hear my secret? Well, I suppose you have to - if you are going to do what I want! How else will you play the role I want you to play? I want you to make me your bitch."

Travis' cock hardened, and he felt the endorphins pumping through his body at that statement. Here Clarice was thinking she was admitting something to her subconscious when she was falling further into the role that had been manufactured for her. The more Travis thought about it, the more he realized that, as much as he'd tried to push her, that this was Percy's doing. He'd set the stage, putting her on the run in the first dream they'd had, starting to break her in the second...and letting Travis play his role in the third. Percival was the architect of this endeavor, and Travis the builder who would push it to life.

For the first time, Travis was fully certain that this was Clarice in the dream. That it was her reacting to him, responding to him...

"I want you to own me." As if her focus on the last two words hadn't been enough, Clarice repeated them to him. "Own. Me. My secret is that I want to be your pet. I want you to make me do things, to tell me what to do. I want you to bend me over and fuck me like a little bitch, to take over my life, to make me your slave. Your...odalisque."

As hard as he'd been getting, the last word didn't really do anything for him. Travis cocked his head at that, even as he gasped just a little as she pushed back against him. Clarice had wedged him into her ass, as if she was daring him to do something. To push back against him despite the punishment and the force he'd hinted at using at her if she didn't break. But here she was, throwing herself well over the boundary he'd been trying to pull her towards all of the time.

It was unexpected enough to confuse him.

"But you see, since you are my dream, you are really doing what I say." She smirked at him, Clarice's expression showing the arrogance, the confidence she felt now as she was stating the terms she imaged was happening in her dream. "The reality is, I make you to satisfy my sexual desire. So who is really the master?"

A moment passed; Clarice's mood rising, and Travis'...not exactly going down, but holding steady, mostly due to confusion. Masters weren't used to slaves stating that they were running the show.

"So dominate me. Bitch."

What intellect and thought had never done for Travis, action did. He wasn't a guy who thought a lot about what he was doing, even with as much as he tried to avoid the stereotype of being the dumb jock. Yes, he was ripped, and yes, he did tend to not get the best of grades, but he wasn't just a caveman. Travis just felt his strengths were in different areas. Ones that enough girls had found attractive in him. Still, very often he didn't think about the long term consequences about what he was about to do, only about what felt good or seemed right in that particular moment.

It hindered him during his academic writing (or at least what he'd called that). But it helped him in sports.

And during certain...other physical activities.

Which was why very little thought went into it as he spun her around, less then a second having passed after her uttering the word 'bitch'. Pinning her arms back above her head, no longer cuffed by restrained by something harder then metal; his grip on them. Unrelenting. Punishing. The back of her hands pressed into a grimy, rough cement wall as he positioned her just so, pulling her up enough by her wrists and neck so his length was poking at her center. Maybe her legs would wrap around him for leverage, or not; Travis didn't care either way.

One way or another, she was getting fucked, She'd asked for domination, and Travis backed off every so slightly, his long, strong arms still holding her before he pushed into her in one stroke. Her body felt exquisite pressed against the wall, now being punished by two unrelenting forces. It was probably bruising her, scraping her, but he didn't care. Travis had snapped. And he pounded her. His cock was brutalizing her pussy, and he pushed in closer, harder. He squeezed her neck a bit, feeling her gasp for air as his mouth smothered her demands for air. The taste of her lips was exquisite even in this dreary, dreadful place. The way he wanted it. A spy being made and used for something else entirely.

"Uh, uh, uh...." Travis sputtered between thrusts, the slap of their bodies joining together, the smack of her body hitting the wall. "I'll fuck you senseless, and then you can sleep. Sleep naked for everyone to see. For me. The guards. The other prisoners...." His mind lost in the fantasy, he let one other words slip out. "For Percival to see...."

Where did that come from? His hands groped along her sweaty body, twisting her nipples savagely as they got close...as he got close to showing the slutty spy who was boss and-

*********

Luckily, Travis didn't seem to dream as 'intently' as Percival did, and he woke up in a haze. He felt his cock, rock hard as he'd failed to get off, his head hitting the pillow in frustration. Still, he turned to the clock, his arm draped over his eyes.

Wait till I tell Percy about this...