What Morpheus Saw (Closed for Bevatoria)

[HandcuffHeather]

"There was also said to be a wilted elm tree in Morpheus' domain, upon which the dreams fashioned by the Oneiroi hung, with the appearance of winged phantom-shapes."

Clarice Steiner sat back in her desk chair, pushing a strand of short, light-blonde hair from her eyes. "Wow," she said. A classics student (she would say 'philology', with a contemptuous look in her eyes, if one made the mistake of asking "are you studying Greek?"), she was impressed by old legends, mysterious stories, phantasmagorical happenings. Nothing topped Greek legends for that.

Standing, she went over to her mini-fridge for a diet coke, cracking it open with a satisfying snap, and pacing over to her dorm-room window. She lived in a group dorm room, with only her own bedroom to herself, and enjoyed her solitude like few others did. Gazing out into the university avenue, she saw clusters of students walking home, some arm-in-arm, and smiled arrogantly at their little romances. Many of them were carting beers around, drinking openly in public, and this made Clarice feel more superior still.

If she were not so attractive, people would dislike Clarice immensely. She had cold, reserved green eyes under a short head of blonde hair that was light edging towards white. She wore small gold earrings, had no unusual piercings or tattoos, and would be otherwise be plain. Except that she had a slim, almost graceful body, a considerable bust given her frame, and the kind of pert ass that moved in a way to catch any hot-blooded straight man's eye. There was something about her that made men want to give chase, but they never really caught up. She would sooner turn into a tree than give herself to a man, with all that intimacy and sharing and trust. Yuck. Clarice had always felt there was something pathetic about needing, even wanting somebody else. Why were people not happy to be sufficient unto themselves?

Sitting back at her desk, Clarice felt herself growing tired. What time was it? Jeepers, getting towards 2 in the morning. When she got rolling on Wikipedia, she was a beast of endurance - but not tonight. Eyes drooping, she told herself "five more minutes". Three minutes later, she was asleep, darkness closing over her, until shape and definition came back to her mind, in the form of a dream...

 

[Bevatoria]

"Do you spend every hour at the gym, now?" From behind his rather opulent computer desk, the voice of Percival Wilker came out to tease his friend. He had taken up the 'den' as his own personal relaxation room, a bookcase full of discs and books filling up what his desk and chair didn't.

"No more then you do behind that computer of yours." The responding statement was much deeper, and had more power behind it. To most people, the friendship between them didn't make any sense, but Travis Skeid wouldn't have gotten through much of his life without his best friend. Some people probably made fun of them, but if they did, it was always behind his back. Since he'd developed a history of beating the crap out of anyone who did it to his face. Or had hinted at it. Or who'd...well, you get the idea.

Many did wonder why they were so close, the only two living in a house that could easily hold five or six college students desperate for money. But while Travis paid his share, it was Percival's family who fronted the lion's share for their talented, braniac son. They'd offered to just pay for it all, but Percy had insisted on Travis being there. Since Grade 6, Travis had been his protector, quiet but always there when they insisted on picking on him, making fun of his bushy hair, his lack of luck with the ladies, or the fact he spent most of his free time in the computer lab.

As for Travis, Percy had helped him through school. Not in the do-his-papers for him type of way, but by encouraging him, and being willing to work with him, not for him. Ever since the first day in math class, when Percy had pointed out a few things on his sheet, and then ducked back over his paper like it was nothing. Percy had made him believe that he *could* do anything, more then what his grades and his counselors told him he'd be able to. It was a gift Travis was very appreciative of, and it had forged a bond between the two friends, even as they kept to much different social circles most of the time.

As he strode in, wiping his face off from what had actually been a run in the evening (and not a trip to the gym, as Percival had suspected), the towel shielded his eyes, but not his ears as his friend spoke. "I'm telling you, this is something different!" Travis strode over to see what looked like a briefcase, filled with some sort of gadgetry that he couldn't make heads or tails of. There were three very present dials, along with a small screen, and some other switches. There were a bunch of dials in the middle. He looked at it as if it were French before turning back to Percival.

"The hell is this, Percy?"

"They called it a dream enhancer."

Travis towelled his face off again with a sigh. "Who called it that, Percy?"

"The people I bought it from."

Another hard look from Travis bought a shrug, and - not for the first time - Travis wondered what he saw his much smaller friends. "You, my friend, need to get out more."

"And you don't need to work out so much." Percy slapped Travis's bicep. "You can already run for miles, bench press me a hundred times...."

"Don't flatter yourself. It's probably more like two hundred..."

"...just saying, you don't need to work out so much. You can stretch your mind, try some other things." He pulled out a glove, meant to fit a man's right hand, and Travis could see Percy was already wearing one. "Want to try it? You just put it on when you sleep, I had to pay more so..."

"No thanks. There are dreams I want to have but not with you. " His tone was light, and they exchanged light smiles in fun. Travis walked out of the room, heading for the stairwell. "I'm going to call my girl before I hit the sack. 'Night."

Disapointed, but not deterred (as he knew how much Tom's girl loved to talk), Percival waved at him. "Good night." He spent several more hours poring over it the machine, before seeing the clock hit midnight. He carefully brought the case up to his bed with him, changing into his pajama pants and t-shirt - unlike Travis, who extremely proud of his well built body, Percival held no such flights of fancy about his much more modest and less built frame, lankly legs supporting an unimpressive, slightly flabby midsection (it wasn't that he was fat; more that he didn't work out at all), before he fell onto the bed, the right glove clasped on. He had the dials set to a minimum, in terms of duration, strength, and intensity, even if Percival didn't really know what that meant.

He remembered his eyes shutting; a weird feeling since Percival had never recalled that happening before, his focus on the one thing he wanted to dream about.

A certain blonde, voluptuous, ice queen classmate...one that nobody had ever been able to get, much less someone as awkward as him.

***********

It seemed like a moment of darkness passed, and he could see, hear, and feel nothing, although he was aware of it as it happened. Percival didn't know how fast the time was passing, even though it was. He'd never been conscious during a dream before, so this was new to him, even though a part of him realized that this meant his purchase was working. He'd have to tell Travis.

Eventually, he saw someone appear in the blackness. She was unmoving, her eyes closed, but even without details her face told him who she was.

It was Clarice. The ice queen. He struggled to keep control, simply thinking I wonder what she's wearing to bed-

-and then a simple, white, lacy nightgown appeared on her. I wonder what she'll look like naked-

-and resistance appeared to the idea, as if telling him he wasn't strong enough to control that much yet. But they needed a setting, and a scene from a movie came to mind. A full moon, a dark, old forest, its tress shattered, dark husks as the night came to life around them.

Or, around her, as Clarice was plopped into the middle of it. It was at this point when Percy realized that he was just watching, and some sort of avatar of her was reacting to it. He realized he was watching her, about to get chased in a dark, scary forest, wearing what she had on. With an internal giggle, he watched her react to her new surroundings, and what was coming after her, only wishing he knew how to insert himself into the drama that was unfolding.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Finding herself in this strange, dark, labyrinthine dream-kingdom, Clarice looked down to find herself in a strange white night-dress. Strange, both because she never wore nightdresses, and because it was a skimpy one - and Clarice certainly never wore thin, revealing clothes. In the logic of dreams, things are most often passively accepted, or felt as anxiety-provoking but unavoidable, and Clarice was the second kind of dreamer. The weirdness of what was happening felt real, and she took it as real - but also terrifying and uncomfortable.

She was lying on the ground as her eyes opened, and stood up quickly, dusting herself off. She did not speak. The night was mostly quiet around her, but there was a sense of dread and discomfort that leaked out from the very silence. Unnatural and wrong, the night's stillness caused her to breath harder and harder.

Not understanding why, she began to run.

She felt her mouth opening to scream, but no sound came out. Her feet pattered over the ground, which was rough at some points but did not sting although her feet were bare. Branches whipped against her, brambles tugging at her flimsy little dress. Here and there, they tore small nicks out of the fabric, revealing a flash of stomach, a half-inch of her firm ass, but to her unknown voyeur these details were hard to notice precisely as she ran. The eye was more naturally drawn to her barely-cupped breasts as they shifted under the slim fabric across her bosom. She did not find herself out of breath, but she did breath harder and harder, anxiety breathing, eyes wild and panicking. Her hair was too short to become very chaotic, but even at its length it was mussed about by contact with the over-hanging foliage.

Eventually, she found her way to some kind of clearing. Clarice decided to run across its diameter, and hide in the bushes on the other side, in order to see what was pursuing her - assuming that it followed her out into the open space. Whether she would make it that far was yet to be seen.


Character appearance:

The nightdress:

 

[Bevatoria]

He watched, the unseen voyeur, as she stood up, seemingly confused. As anyone would be in a dream. As he would be. Hell, as he was, all things considered; Percy still couldn't be sure that his mind was completely cooking this up on his own. He'd fantasized about her before, wearing outfits like this, but the one thing that seemed different was the ease of her reactions. The way it was natural, it not being staged, her unease apparent. Her hands moved to brush herself off, and he could swear he felt himself getting hard despite his non-corporeal state, the flimsy nightdress shifting with every movement she made. Her breathing was not easy, the sight of her breasts heaving in the skimpy fabric driving him further.

Then, he thought only one thing. Run. And she did, her bare feet carrying her fast down the paths, the twists and turns on the dirty ground, little blades of glass poking her feet. And then, the branches seemed to grow at his will, getting minds of their own as they teetered and hemmed just sow, enough to grasp at her, to claw. Not as obtrusively as he wanted; the image of the gown being torn to shreds apparent in his mind, as clear as day. But hinting, teasing at what he wanted, little scraps of fabric being torn off as she ran not for care of her covering or her body. He wanted her to stop, to let him ogle more then her bouncing breasts, to leer at her body unseen, unknown.
A clearing appeared; a place of safety for her, or so she thought. He watched her consider, the barest of her thoughts being hinted at in his mind. Percival tried to reach for more, but could not; something blocking him, not his limits, he knew. But the boundaries he'd set. The ones he'd left in place to 'test' this device. The power was intoxicating, but he knew the mind was not to be toyed with, he'd have to be careful.

Still, he knew she wanted to make it to the other side of the clearing, so he let her. To the bushes, to hide from what was threatening her, their identities becoming apparent as he let their footsteps and running become audible to her; a choice of the dream, not his, as the bushes gave her cover from their eyes, but not from their howls.

Wolves. A pack of them, running through the forest; three of them meeting at the clearing, looking for their hidden prey. Percival let his focus drift to her, and her barely covered body as she tried to hide from them. His mind wandered; to let them find her, or not? An outcome formed for him, but he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to force it on this scenario.

To force it on her. For everything he wasn't sure of in this dream world, Percival knew now that this was her. The fear was too real, her shame was too real...and it was like a drug to him.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

She knelt in the bushes, not caring that her knees were growing dirt-streaked and tired, still not aching from the run. This struck her as strange. All of this struck her as strange.

And then realized. She was dreaming.

Clarice Steiner was not a lucid dreamer. Not ordinarily. But now she was 'awake inside the dream'. She knew very well that the wolves were dream-wolves. And yet...lucid was not quite the right word. She still felt fear. And this was a strange paradox. Knowing the wolves were phantoms ought to have made her feel relieved. Yet no powerful wave of relief came to her - only an increasing sense that she wanted to escape.

Willing herself to awaken...
Pinching herself...

But nothing worked. She remained within this dark, fairy-tale world of wolves that hunted in threes, and eerie woods that were now beginning to creak and moan in their own occult chorus. Shivering, she knelt - a young man's fantasy, as in her stillness her flesh became more clearly visible beneath the tears in the fabric. A gash over her thigh revealed the creamy skin beneath, unwounded. Yes, if nothing else had made this clearly a dream, it would be the lack of blood from all these scratches. All of them were precisely enough to rip the cloth, yet none of them left so much as a mark.

Strange. Well, impossible. Anywhere but a dream it would not have happened.

A long cut over where her breasts were contained, long enough to slide over her left nipple, which now was exposed to the cool air of the woods. Kneeling, terrified, heart pounding, she pushed her knuckles into her mouth to contain her breathing. The wolves slipped about in the clearing, pacing, hunting.

The air teased over her nipple until it hardened slightly. Ashamed, nervous, Clarice shifted slightly to cover the opening, the bared skin, as though somehow aware that someone was watching. Then remembering it was a dream and that she was being silly. She began to back away from the animals, slowly, one step at a time.

Arms feeling behind her, brushing against leaves and twigs, rough textures, but mercifully secure. Anything that was not a wolf pelt would be a comfort, at this moment. She eased back. Five feet away. Ten.

And then a snapping sound, of a twig broken underfoot.

Again she ran, without even pausing to question 'did they hear'? In a dream, to break a twig is to give oneself away. She ran without pause, eyes wild once again, stumbling over what seemed like miles, again and again saying out loud now:

"It's only a dream. It's only a dream."

Hearing something behind her - knowing this was a dream, she knew that the menace was not limited to wolves. It could be anything that her unconscious could conceive of. Her words slurred together: "It's-only-dream-It's-only-dream-dream-dream..." until the foliage somehow, suddenly gave way and she was falling off of an unseen ledge, crashing into a body of water below, thrashing, an excellent swimmer in reality but in the dream all tangled in the irritating garment, floundering towards what might be shore.

The wolves' howling in her ears, everywhere.

 

[Bevatoria]

Percival - no, Percy, here - watched her as she hesitated, taking solace behind the shrubbery, the scene being set for her. Finally, a chance to watch, to take in her body's movements aside from what he could catch while she was running. The light in her eyes as she seemed to realize that this was a dream. If it wasn't the surreal setting and the lack of realism, it was probably the fact she wasn't feeling tired. She hadn't stopped at all during the run; if Percy could have felt tired, watching her would have made him feel it.

But he did know he was getting worked up. Watching her shiver, from the cold, the fear, but in his mind, it was due to arousal. Everything was as he wanted it, even if he didn't, as he watched her on her knees. Her dirty, aching, exposed knees in the mud of the dream world. The rips and tears in her gown; ones that should have left more than a openings for him to peek through, leer through, to imagine through...a teasing glimpse of her thigh, hinting upwards at more. One near her impossibly smooth stomach, as Percy hoped that her real body looked like that. Another near her breasts, the air co-operating as it shifted the covering just so her nipple was exposed. Hardening it ever so gently, as Percy felt another part of him hardening, too...

Or so he imagined. She hesitated, starting to cover, until a NO!!!! from him seemed to stop her. Or maybe she stopped herself. He went back to the wolves, ever present, looking for their prey in the clearing. Maybe it hadn't have been her. Percy wondered at that, long enough to miss her standing up and backing away.

Until she stepped on a twig. Then the wolves, and Percy, turned to her and watched her speed away. If he had the choice, he decided he'd put her in heels next time so she couldn't run. He hoped he'd remember this all in the morning. More then that, he hoped that she would.

He wasn't sure where that came from. Sure, he lusted after her, but...

She seemed to be speaking as she ran. He strained to hear it, but the din of the world, the howling and growling of the wolves, the wind, whatever it was, conspired to keep him from her. But he persisted, the words coming out near the end of her run. He could see it coming, even if she couldn't.

"It's only a dream. It's only a dream."

And then, something else appeared. A hooded figure. Directing the wolves? Aiding them? Percy wasn't sure, but as he tried to manipulate the figure, he couldn't. But it was making excellent time behind her, trying to reach for her, to grab and trip her.

"It's-only-dream-It's-only-dream-dream-dream..."

Her fear fueled him, unseen, as she slipped off the edge, having been running full steam into the air, into nothing. Into the water, the liquid blemishing her gown excellently, in his mind; what was once little covering was now literally nothing at all. The wet garment was plastered against her skin as she struggled against the current; what was usually simple could be complicated in the dream world.

The wolves howled at the cliff's edge, and maybe there were more. Percy wasn't sure. The sound was a cacophony, and near a shore, where she was inadvertently thrashing towards, a figure waited. He extended his hand to her, even if his face - if he had one - was obscured by darkness. The hand was gloved, and it waited for her. The water grew restless, rougher, thrashing at her, struggling in her gown to make it to shore, her body scandalously exposed.

He backed away as she reached it, letting her reach into the ground...where something else started pulling at her. Something unseen, a vine that had no signs of visual being, only in force and feeling as she was yanked by her wrist, onto the shore, to a rock face nearby. Her arms, lashed out, spread eagle while her legs were spread as well. Percy was getting excited; seeing things happening to her, as the figure moved towards her, gloved hands reaching for her. The moment stopped as the wind started, seeing her tight against the rock face, restrained by an unseen force while her 'captor' moved to her. To her gown, grabbing it, beginning to pull it-

-and then nothing. A blackness, which eventually gave way to Percival waking up.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

And in the middle of her horror and trembling, there was the angst of arousal. Limbs pulled in each direction, utterly at the mercy of something powerful and shadowy and dreamlike. The fabric of her nightdress, torn and ruined, but in many places intact - yet transparent - clinging over every square inch of her. An erotic image: its smooth, flat whiteness mirroring her ivory skin, emphasizing where her body was more darkly shaded beneath. Two nipples clearly defined atop two full, plump breasts; her pussy with its small triangle of light hair on obvious display. These were particularly emphasized, as the only darker points beneath the creamy confluence of fabric and skin.

Clarice felt herself wet, not just from the water, but from a sudden flood of fantasy-fed libido. Her cheeks flushing. A masculine presence restraining and toying with her, arranging her as it wished, fear giving way to a strange relief that she would not be torn apart by wolves but 'only' sexually used. And somewhere, in the pits of her unilluminated depravity, the thought I want it.

Waking.

Jerking from sleep, Clarice fell out of her chair onto the floor, her chair rolling crazily over the floor and colliding with her bed. "Fuck me!" she cried out angrily with the rude shock of meeting the hardwood floor, then blushed as her own words reminded her of the dream. As with most dreamers, the question of whether her dreams would be recalled was a question of the moments immediately after. Two little words here could jog her memory enough to let the memory settle in. And the last thing Clarice wanted to think about was what she had just been dreaming.

She stood up, feeling a sting in her knees. "That's going to bruise", she muttered, hearing someone knocking at her door. She cracked it open, explained to the mousy brunette Lisa that everything was okay and that she'd just slipped, and went to the bathroom to wash her face. She found that she was actually quite sweaty, which was definitely an oddity given her usually quite vanilla dreams. There was definitely other kinds of moisture going on between her legs, which she found humiliating to think about. "Jesus, I thought it was meant to be guys who had wet dreams," she thought to herself.

Showering, she changed into her ordinary clothes for wearing around campus:

Not knowing any better, having no reason to think anything of it, she took her usual route to her first class of the day. And as per usual, this took her past the home of Travis and Percival, where she ordinarily exchanged a few words on her way to class. They had met one another during the college orientation, and while they were not strictly speaking friends (not really a Clarice trope, 'friend'), they exchanged superficial chatter from time to time.

 

[Bevatoria]

"You look like hell, Percy." Travis said those words to him from behind his breakfast, his usual troupe of yogurt, fruit, and juice in front of him. Another quirk between the two friends was how different their eating habits were; as Travis kept everything in balance in order to maintain his metabolism and sculpted body, Percival was...somewhat less vigilant in determining what he ate and drank most of the time. It showed in his lanky frame. The same lack of preparation and thought was shown in their dress; where Travis had a form fitting black shirt that exposed his arms and a pair of track pants (covering shorts to go jogging later), Percival had thrown on whatever was in his closet; a loose sweater over a shirt, and jeans which barely fit.

Percival did look it; he hadn't shaved in the morning (or for a few days now), signs of stubble and an emerging mustache on his face. Still, he had enough focus to look at Travis with a goofy grin as he reached into the cupboard, the last image from the dream seared into his head, still making him hard.

Her body under the transparent gown. Her tits visible, the nipples pushing against the flimsy fabric, and the sight of her pussy-

"What's that look on your face about?"

"Travis, it worked! I saw her in my dreams." He poured some cheerios carelessly into his bowl, followed by an all too large helping of milk as he brought it to the table; realizing that his friend would likely need clarification on who 'she' was. "Clarice was there, and I-"

He held up a hand in gentle mocking; for as many things as Percy kept to himself, his wanting after Clarice had not been one of them, although Travis figured nothing would ever come out of it. "I really don't want any more details, man. I don't tell you about my dreams with Jenn."

"No, I'm telling you, the device works!" Percival was getting in whatever he could between large spoonfuls of cereal, and Travis shook his head; carefully finishing his meal with plenty of time to spare before they had to leave for class.

"It's all in your head."

"What if it's not?"

Travis looked at him with the same skepticism he'd shown earlier. "One dream doesn't prove that." He let Percy wolf down his cereal as he continued. "For all we know, it could be random. " He frowned in thought. "What's that saying. One is a coincidence. two could be-"

"What I did wasn't a coincidence."

Percy's emphasis on the word did stopped him, and Travis looked at the clock before looking back at him. "All right. You can tell me about it later, though; it's time to go for class." Without another word, Travis reached for his backpack, deciding to go without a jacket to show off the 'guns'. It wasn't that cold, Percy's loose wear notwithstanding.

He was out the door before Percival had even gotten up from the table.

As if by some unseen force, he saw 'her' on his way out. Even though he had a girl, Travis had to admit Clarice was pretty well put together, and that he had admired her ass from behind more then once. But she seemed to resist the advances of the many single guys (and she was all but oblivious to Percy's restrained lust for her), which suited Travis just fine. He was attached, but he could still look.

That, and he was pretty sure he'd caught her looking at him more then once, too.

"Morning, Clarice." He started with an easy smile. "How's the day looking so far?" Travis would have matched her pace had he not been waiting for Percival, and she seemed to prefer walking alone anyways.

"Good. Just waiting for Percy." He smirked. "Poor guy never leaves on time, but that's okay." As if on cue, he heard the door being slammed behind him, and he took another peek back at her. "He didn't sleep well last night, apparently, so he's a bit sluggish...weird dreams or something..."

Travis wasn't a huge reader of facial expressions, but he could have sworn that got just a bit of a reaction out of her. Still, he shrugged it off as he heard Percy catching up behind him, all but running down the walkway.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Travis' intuitions were not entirely wrong. Clarice Steiner might have built up a comprehensive philosophy about the pathetic-ness of co-dependence, but that didn't mean she never felt that one guy or another was cute. Travis was one of those male-god builds, and Clarice was not sure about that, but he had a cool, composed confidence about him that Clarice admired. Perhaps it mirrored her own more constructed confidence.

At his mentioning 'weird dreams', Clarice naturally did not 'connect the dots', but she looked at him in a slightly ironical way, raising one eyebrow. "You're telling me", she said cryptically. Seeing Percy bounding up behind them, Clarice rolled her eyes. Towards him she felt a friendly kind of scorn. It was a sort of conditional acceptance: as long as he worshiped her like a goddess, she got along with him fine. A bit teasing, yes, but basically she treated him nicely.

This pair was one of the closest things she had to friends.

"What's going on, Percy? You have a little companionship in your bed this morning?" She winked at Travis, smiling in her incorrigibly catty way.

Popping off her shades, she smiled at the pair of them as they walked, her scarf fluttering around her neck and behind her. She looked more radiant than ever in the bright morning light, as it filtered through her short blonde hair, making it seem almost white. She walked like a model, long confident steps that made some men even walk double-time to keep pace.

And she turned to look at Percy, long neck turning slowly - and time seemed to freeze for a moment as their eyes met. Hours ago, she had been all but naked and wriggling beneath his gaze, and now she was dressed austerely and neatly, a perfect image of self-control.

Had it been a dream? A delusion? Nothing but Percival immersed in his own perverse pleasures? Judging from Clarice's nonchalant demeanor, who could say?

 

[Bevatoria]

Her eyebrow raised as she slowed a bit. "You're telling me."

"Yeah." replied Travis. "Too much time in front of the computer, I think, and not enough time...." He smirked.

"H-hi." stammered Percy; even the brief sprint had worn him out, making his lack of height even more pronounced next to Travis, who towered over him between his posture and build, and Clarice, who was in decent shape and walked simply and straight while Percy huffed and puffed besides them.

"What's going on, Percy? You have a little companionship in your bed this morning?" Travis smirked as she winked at him; it seemed like she was being more outgoing to Percy, the scenario already playing out in his mind of her being changed by the dream. From Travis' more rational perspective (two words that one did not often associate with him compared to Percival), she was acting normally. He watched her pop off her shades and flash the angelic smile she was known to have; the light flashing off of her teeth and her hair as she walked. Even though he was 'attached', Travis admired her as she moved, the way she carried herself like someone to be admired.

As usual, Percy was somewhat less subtle, all but leering after her just before their eyes met. He did have the tendency to act nervous around his dream girl, but Travis still saw something different in their gaze. Not in hers, obviously; the normal look shared between someone unobtainable and a geek just hoping for a moment here and there. But something in Percy had changed to. He wasn't just wanting after her.

That was the first thing that convinced him that whatever Percy's dream had been last night, that it hadn't just been a typical dream-of-a-hottie type deal. He'd talk to him about it later, he knew. But now with more concern and curiosity.

The moment was only a few seconds as Travis recovered.

"Nah, Percy's got no time for company in bed. Always got his nose buried in the books." He ruffled his friends' hair good naturedly. "It's not easy work tutoring me."

"You know, Clarice, if you ever need help I'm always available..." His voice had the same semi-desperate tone to it he always had, and Travis rolled his eyes, making sure Clarice saw it. He was incorrigible. "You never know when you might need a hand with things."

"Always a gentleman, Percy."

 

[HandcuffHeather]

"Always a gentleman", Clarice echoed, smiling distantly. Her eyes drifted between the two young men, as though comparing them - though it would seem to most that there was little to compare. They seemed different in every possible way. It was amusing to her that their friendship seemed based on all these reversals and oppositions, somehow contrary to common sense. "You know, you two, bantering...you make a nice couple. Really. Very cute."

She had a good, quiet laugh at this, slipping the shades on again as if to say 'too cool for this situation!', and was silent for a time.

Not glancing at them as she asked this, she said, "so what was the dream about, Percy? I mean, if you can share. If it's not rated R or anything."

The wind was crisp and carried a pleasant smell from the groves of trees around campus. Some sort of flower that Clarice could not identify but loved nevertheless was sprouting somewhat late into the floral season, and one could practically see the little clouds of odor hanging over the grass. Naturally, she could not help thinking about her own dream when she had asked, and there was an odd tone to her voice. Again, having no reason to connect the dots to the pair with whom she was walking, she did not notice the faintly tense tone in what she said.

 

[Bevatoria]

"Always a gentleman." she echoed Travis' words; he smiled for what it was, a gentle tease, but her statement seemed to sull Percy, who walked along silently as she continued. "You know, you two, bantering...you make a nice couple. Really. Very cute." Her laugh was met with a chuckle from Travis, and nothing but a look down from Percival, still lost in thought, wondering how much of his last night he had imagined.

"I've got a woman. Thanks for looking out for me, though." chuckled Travis as she slipped on her shades; again showing the reserved part of her that guys seemed to detest. The distance she kept from others, keeping herself wherever she wanted to. They made most of their way to the campus in silence; eventually, they'd get swallowed up by the crowds of people, the three of them indiscernible from the random folks walking to their classes. They'd be splitting up soon for their first class; Percy, to a Computer science class; Travis, to Geology.

"So what was the dream about, Percy? I mean, if you can share. If it's not rated R or anything."

Travis quirked an eyebrow; not at her question, but at Percy's reaction to it. Or his lack of it. Only a brooding silence, and Travis shrugged. "Guess you got up on the wrong side of the bed, huh Percy." He slapped him gently on the shoulder. "Don't worry dude, you can tell me all about it later. I'll buy you a beer." He looked over at Clarice. "Always free to join us, by the way."

She'd never accepted his overtures before, so he wouldn't be surprised by her answer if she said no again. What did surprise him was Percy's response as he started to break off towards another building while Travis kept Clarice's pace.

"Wolves. And water." He looked at them. "That's all I remember." Travis could see he wasn't telling him everything, but it didn't bother him. Maybe the dream *had* been r-rated and he didn't want to offend Clarice. He just stood there a moment, watching his friend go.

"Huh." He just shook his head, rejoining Clarice for the last leg of their journey together; gradually more people were filling in around them, and he knew they didn't have a lot of time before they split up. "I remember him saying that nothing is less interesting then hearing about someone else's dream, so maybe he didn't want to talk about it..."

 

[HandcuffHeather]

If Percy had been looking for a reaction from Clarice as he looked at her and Travis, he would have gotten it. She turned suddenly, her head moving in an awkward jerk, mouth set for a moment into something like anger...slowly turning into a frozen, composed look that refused to betray anything further. Just in case...

In case what? Now she was angry at herself. In case what? In case they had had the same dream? Nonsense. So he had dreamed of water and wolves. And so had she. They were popular elements in many myths, in the collective unconscious. Clarice loved mythology, and so it was not surprising that she thought of dreams as important - but also as containing tropes. Water and wolves were among them.

Finally, they parted ways. Normally Clarice liked Percy in an accommodating way, but in this case she found herself relieved that he was heading in his own direction.

When Travis started speaking to her again, she was lost in her own thoughts. She didn't respond for a long time, and then finally mustered a rather pathetic "what?"

"I'm sorry, I was just - thinking - yeah. Did you say let's meet up later?" She looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, managing to look attractive even in doing this. He got the picture that she was off of her best game, given that she was ordinarily very sharp and alert. "Look, text me if you guys want, alright?" She seemed to forget that they had never exchanged numbers.

Her lips tightened. Suddenly, nothing felt right. Before her normal turn, she split off towards her first class down a different route.

Note: you can reply if you want! But she'd be heading off, so I figured I'd post the start of the next night in the meantime.

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

That evening, Clarice returned home. She had books under each arm, looking absurdly studious. She laid them out on her desk. They depicted dream-like images, surrealist, mythological, symbolist...

As she gazed at them, Clarice knew she was seeking answers, but she did really know the questions. Perhaps it was simple: What was going on in her dreams? Perhaps it was more complex and impossible to immediately answer: What face to give the desires that the dreams implied?

In Collier, Bougoureau, Stanhope, she found what first seemed like answers - but ended up being more cryptic and mysterious. Snakes and women, poison trees and demons. These were powerful images, and not really ones to take in before bedtime, if one favored an untroubled sleep. But Clarice demanded the clarity her name suggested. She had no tolerance for ambiguity, which matched poorly with her chosen field. The dancing shapes and faerie stories of Greek myth did not mix well with the iron mind of a logician or mathematician.

She needed a mentor, or perhaps two, to guide her through the underworld, the places of paradox, the kingdom of Dionysus. For now, she stared at the images of women bent and pulled by occult forces, and found sympathy without comprehension. And the sleep of reason, as always, birthed monsters...

 

[Bevatoria]

"What?"

Another one of Travis's weaknesses was that he wasn't the keenest of observers; he'd walked alongside her calmly, not even considering that she wasn't paying attention to him. Admittedly, it wasn't something he was used to, so it took him a moment before he realized she was asking for clarification.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink later." It was an offer Percival usually made, knowing Travis would come with them and also only if she came along.

"I'm sorry, I was just - thinking - yeah. Did you say let's meet up later?" Travis turned to her as she spoke, frowning a bit; she seemed a little off center for some reason. Again, them being split up hurt them, as Percival would have been able to read into it more, but he just took it as nothing to pay attention to. "Look, text me if you guys want, alright?"

"Can do." He waved at her as she split off, not even noticing that she wasn't taking her usual route. It wasn't something he needed to pay attention to now; Percy would be so happy that she'd finally acquiesced to meeting up with them later.

All they had to do was text her.

*********

"You dumbass."

Percy's condescending statement was met by a rather sheepish grim from Travis as they were lounging on the couch; Travis, with his bottle of water, and Percy with a laptop in front of him merrily typing away. Travis had never been able to figure out how one person needed a laptop, ipad, iphone, and computer in the same house, but he didn't question it. "We can't text someone if we don't have her number."

"Yeah, well if you hadn't bailed so early-"

Percy looked at him accusingly. "Come on. After the dream I described to you, I could barely look her in the eye."

"Everyone dreams about a girl sometimes, Percy."

"But this was different." A passionate fervor showed up in his voice as he spoke. "I know it was. It was as if her reactions were...organic."

Travis finally turned to him, a skeptical look on his face. "Don't say it. I know you're going to say it was the device."

"I think it was."

A sigh escaped Travis. "Look, if you really want me to believe that...it'll have to be more then one night of dreams. Isn't it you that's always telling me that one instance isn't enough of a sample size to base anything on?"

Still, Percy met his gaze squarely. "If something happens tonight, will you at least agree to try it out?"

Travis finished his water, getting up from his seat on the couch across from him without saying a word.

Sigh.

Before Percy went to sleep that night, he turned all of the dials up to about 2/3rd of maximum power, and then found himself unable to sleep quickly, as if the anticipation was too much.

*************************

Not all monsters were literal. Some only had to be imagined, or figurative. Those in the mind could be more powerful then those that could be seen.

In this case, Percy was no longer wanting to contain a monster that lurked within him. So as he set the scene - another dark night, a lonely street - he set very few parameters for what he wanted her to wear this time. A jacket, dress, and heels. Let her keep the underwear this time, if she wanted.

But she was walking home. Alone, of course. Because alone she was vulnerable. As the scene came into view, Percy could see some broken street lights, a few beat down shops...and then her.

It had to be her.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Like most people, whenever a dream began, Clarice believed it to be real. So she was walking, alone, in a dark place. This was not uncommon for her. But what was uncommon was the nature of the place: unknown, slightly seedy, and with creepy stores that looked mostly closed down for the night, or closed up entirely. She was not aware of her clothes, although her unconscious had stapled together several articles that she had once seen in a fashion magazine. It left her looking surprisingly fashion-forward. She still had shades on, although they made no sense in this kind of lighting.

But something in her would not let her remove the shades. She felt strongly that she had to keep her eyes covered. Nevertheless, this made the night even darker, and left her feeling as though she were walking through a dark tunnel rather than a city street. She felt a fair hairs go up on her arms.

Clarice wore glossy stockings and a pair of heels. Again, she barely registered them herself, but they did clop like a horse's hooves on the pavement, and she heard her own foot-steps echo around the area un-nervingly. She hated the sense that she was sending out a signal to any weirdos or drug dealers in the area that said HERE I AM! At one point she put her hand to her mouth in alarm, as a shadow suddenly flickered. A long, sinuous cat moved into the light of the streetlamp.

As Clarice watched, it turned into a snake, which was what caused her a second bout of alarm. Worse, when she recovered and let her hand fall away, she thought there was blood on her hand, which made her panic again. It turned out to be lipstick: she was wearing a generous portion of red lipstick, which she generally rejected as 'whorish'.

The snake slithered away into the shadows. It was probably a product of the images she had seen before bed, although she did not make the connection. Reality seemed tremendously far away, as the light of the sky must seem to a deep-sea diver who is returning to the surface from far below, as the oxygen runs out, as one is beginning to thrash and panic...

 

[Bevatoria]

He didn't have the same view this time, which surprised him, until he moved around a bit, twitching. Figuring out that he could move at all, that he had a form, a body. Lifting his hands, he was wearing the raggedy sweater, pants that had clearly seen better days...and in a mirror, he saw the oddest thing on his face. Namely, that he had no face at all, but a formless white mask. Like he was at a costume party, except he didn't have that stupidly long nose that certain people liked to compare to other parts of one's anatomy. His body looked like his own, as formless as it was under his clothes; for a moment, he wished he could be like Travis, with a body that would be clearly recognizable to anyone.

Recognizable to her. Desirable to her. Or maybe that was the point? He wanted to be able to force her to do things that she couldn't in real life, to make her accept him as he was. Listen to him. Obey him.

He was in convenience store. One of those 24 hour deals. A lowly cashier, stuck with the night shift, as he looked outside, seeing the night, the dark streets. It was calm outside, his only company inside the humming of the air conditioner, the idle shelves of magazines that hadn't been updated in months, candy bars that were likely past their expiration date, flat soda. Milk that was good only because it had to be, and lottery tickets that looked like they'd just been printed. The floor was dirty, dungy, and a mop in a bucket stood behind him. One of the duties his character would have to attend to before his shift was over.

But not one he would have to. As he limped to behind the counter, he thought, 'she's supposed to be here....if this is what I think it is.'

And as if on cue, even though he was a distance from the door, he could still somehow make out the first drop of rain. Then another. Then a half dozen more.

Which quickly built into a blinding torrent outside. I must need to go to the bathroom, he thought idly as the rain came down in buckets. He'd seen an awning just outside his door, and swore he could see a figure trying to hide in it. He moved slowly towards the door before opening it just a tiny bit; his store was the one source of light on these streets.

"Miss? Miss, do you need to come inside?" She seemed to resist the idea, so he merely thought his intent for her, and it seemed to become real as he spoke again.

"You really should come out of the rain...." Even as his voice sounded the same, it was as if he could feel the dark, commanding undertones that came with it.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Dream logic.

Ordinarily, Clarice would have given some mildly insulting rebuttal to the prospect of entering this man's establishment. He seemed weird, and his bossy tone was not exactly her idea of good company. The awning might have been modest comfort, but it was cover - to some degree - from the rain. Getting up close and personal with Mr. Dumpy was not exactly her idea of a great plan.

But dream logic had its own axioms, its own laws. Where to go but forwards? Dreams have a linear pathway; to stray from it is to invite chaos beyond imagining. But Clarice was always the kind of dreamer not to even notice the alternative. She did what was immediately before her, like following a trail of breadcrumbs.

All the way to the cottage of the witch. Or warlock, as the case may be.

Clarice did not verbally respond. She seldom spoke in dreams. Instead, she just walked ahead, towards the shop, and stood before the door. For a while she paused, staring without thought. The finally "yes", she said in an almost hypnotic tone. Inside, she could just make out the man and the nature of the shop inside. It looked run-down and awful. But somehow the rain had become for her That Which Was To Be Avoided. Inexplicably threatening and ominous. A force to avoid at all cost.

It had not touched her clothing, except for a few small wet-marks. She still stood in her fashionable jacket and dress, stockings and heels, although she finally removed her shades and let them fall to the ground without seeming to think of their fate on the pavement. The motion of pulling off the sunglasses was exactly as it had been in vivo, when they had met the day before. Her eyes were as crystal-clear and polished green as they were in real-life. There was a kind of fog over her mind, not unusual for someone asleep, but it was clearly her underneath. That was what was exciting. It was not just a part of her. It was the entirety of her self, physical and mental, just seen through a glass darkly.

"May I?" she asked the man, gesturing towards the shop's interior.

 

[Bevatoria]

He frowned at the dream - inside his head, of course. Outside, his mask a calm presence, motioning Clarice inside to his shelter. The place away from that which had to be avoided at all costs. Percy had willed it that way, his control further in this zone now. The device's power increased, and yet still not entirely as he wanted it. He had a form now, as he had asked, but he was not all seeing, all feeling. A part of him ached for the view he had before, where he could watch her from whatever angle he wanted, and when he tried to reach for it, it wasn't there. As if by making one choice, he had cut off another. A limitation of the dream world, or the device he was still learning about?

"I'll take your jacket, miss." A request that wasn't one; a starting point for what he really wanted as he slipped the jacket from her shoulders, either his hands or hers unclipping the obnoxiously large belt that held it on her. Even with him in power, his unconcious mind was still influencing his speech patterns as he led her into the store. Nowhere for her to sit, as the storm raged outside, getting more present, louder, as he took his time admiring her body. Less revealed then it had been in the last scenario, but still just as beautiful. Not that she seemed to him looking, of course. Percy wasn't really sure what she was seeing, although what he really ached for was to know what she was thinking.

He knew that what he wanted would soon happen. But the how? No matter how he pushed, he couldn't seem to affect the how; something he resolved to test tomorrow night. Or the night after, if Travis wanted to try it out.

"Do you want to buy anything, miss?" He asked. "Just ask if there's anything you want...all purchases are final." Why did I say that? As he struggled to piece together what exactly his mind was thinking, he couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence of a cash register. Something that even in a dream world he should know would be present.

Oh.

Beyond them, the lighting and thunder rumbled outside.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Was there anything she wanted? "Oh," she said, puzzled. Immediately, Clarice felt that she wanted something. But what, exactly - that was unclear. There was nothing in this store that she wanted. Was there? She glanced around. Chocolate bars. Milk. Your basic convenience store 'luxuries'.

She looked down at the glass counter underneath which were a large number of tickets for the lottery. Gazing at them, Clarice leaned slightly over the counter, and just the tops of her breasts became visible from Percy's point-of-view, creamy and white, sizable beneath the fragile garment she wore. She looked up again, face in a mask of anxiety. What was she anxious about?

Normally she would have asked for the lottery tickets with words. This would have carried the additional benefit of limiting how many Percy gave her, thus limiting her bill - which seemed impossible to pay given her lack of purse. She did not seem to connect these dots. Dream logic was bad logic. Instead, she merely pointed down at the tickets with a slow, dramatic gesture, and then looked at Percy. It was unclear which ones, or how many, she wanted. However, given how this was actually to Percy's advantage (he could give her whatever ridiculous number he chose), he might have done well not to question it.

As if too impatient to wait to see him give her the tickets, Clarice suddenly reached her hands towards the tickets -- and found her hands went straight through the glass, scooping up the tickets and gathering them into her snatching hands. An odd sense of possessiveness and greed came over her. She began to scratch away at them excitedly, one after another.

The first one revealed a sad face and the large letters YOU LOSE! in bold red. The next one showed the same. Several others followed, but Clarice persisted in scratching the tickets.

YOU LOSE!
YOU LOSE!
YOU FAIL!
YOU FAIL!
YOU FAIL!

This continued for some time, with Clarice slowly beginning to feel sick. Time and time again the little sad face appeared, gradually growing uglier and more gruesome, finally even cruel, as she kept testing the tickets. A slow clarity came back to her mind, and for a moment she came close to realizing she was dreaming. But for the time, she still felt that this was real, and felt her usual feeling of dis-control.

However, she gave up on the tickets. Sadly, she let them fall to the ground, staring down at the sad pile they made as they fell. Almost by instinct, she reached for the purse that - in real life - she tended to carry. Instead, her hand merely brushed at her side. "What the hell?" she muttered, and looked up at the cashier. Without addressing the elephant in the room (her having not paid), she simply asked, "can I have my coat back, please?" She wanted to leave.

Yes, suddenly she wanted to leave very powerfully.

 

[Bevatoria]

He watched her puzzle; seemingly unimpressed with the fare around her, the chips, treats, and drinks which were clearly past their prime. Had this just been a dream, he might've been fooled himself, but as the store's 'proprietor' in this scenario, he could tell she was thinking clearly. Not clearly enough to ponder the view she gave him as she leaned over the counter; and he felt himself enjoying just the slightest look down her dress; the tops of her breasts visible. Less then last night, yet somehow more enticing because he knew things would go farther now. Farther then just restraining her and teasing her by some unseen force, and as if on cue he saw the worry on her face. As if she knew what was coming. Not see into his mind, but to glean hints at it.

No words came from her as she merely pointed at the tickets. Whether she was capable of speech or not, Percy felt himself losing control for a bit as he was unable to move, to get her as many tickets as he could, to force her price higher. Why was he not moving? Why was he not taking advantage of her?

His answer came as she reached through the glass, the dream world letting her hands simply grasp as many as she wanted like it wasn't there, yet not shattering it. She started to work at them, scratching them quickly, much like the people Percy had seen once who bought a ticket, played it, and then tried another one once they lost. It was sad, a little tragic in the outside world. And yet, here he was letting her do one after the other, as if she had a time limit to finish them all in before losing the chance. He saw her expression change; first in a fury to work through the tickets she'd grabbed, gradually getting more downcast and discouraged as she lost.

He caught the picture on one of them; it was as if their collected subconscious wanted to put her down further, humiliate her in her defeat. It was the feeling most people got when they played the lottery. The odds weren't in their favor, and there was no reason she should have expected anything different. But this was a dream, and in a dream one did not subscribe to logic or rationality. They just did what they were told.

Eventually, a considerable pile of them littered the ground, not that Percy saw it from behind his counter. He saw her instinctively reach for something, although he couldn't think of what it was. Another limitation of the dream, not having full control of his faculties as he heard her speak. "Can I have my coat back, please?"

He thought, NO. And the click of the door latch was audible throughout the store, the storm raging even more outside. It wasn't safe for her out there, to be in the rain, where she could catch cold, be found by all manners of terrible people. No, it wasn't. Safe.

And yet, in the depths of his mind, Percy knew it was safer for her out there then in here. "All sales are final." He said simply, reinforcing his point. Anything she bought, took, or even thought about, she had to pay for here, in his domain. Under his control, but not his absolute rule, as he stared at her, willing his next thought to be her action. It took no visible effort as he stood there simply, hands at his sides, his mental capacity focusing on one single statement.

TAKE OFF YOUR DRESS AND GIVE IT TO HIM.

Percy knew why he didn't ask for it. It was because he wanted her to think that the thought came from her, a dream world solution to a dream world problem. Nothing to barter with except what she had on, right?

He'd soon prove that wrong, too. There was and would be more to pay for, even if she didn't know it yet.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

TAKE OFF YOUR DRESS AND GIVE IT TO HIM

With her belt and coat already absent, Clarice already felt too exposed and cold to remove more clothing still. She didn't want to strip for this man. It was perverted. He was perverted, she could tell. The way he looked at her. He had ideas about what he wanted to do with her. This made her nervous, and instinctively withdraw from him. She turned 180 degrees, and began to walk away.

Only a few steps later the thought returned: TAKE OFF YOUR DRESS AND GIVE IT TO HIM.

There it was again. A thought that was like a roadblock. It could perhaps be challenge and even overcome, but it had to be encountered. It was too large and filled the path ahead of her. Thought-reality fusion. It you thought it, it had to be so. If you fantasized about it, woe to you! And now the idea of dropping her dress to the ground and standing before him naked, or almost naked, filled her mind like a stormcloud.

She was still standing there, frozen in place a few steps away from the counter. Her arms were folded across her chest. She seemed almost virginal, not her usual confident, powerfully assertive self.

Suddenly she ran for the door, grabbed it, shook it hard as it became clear that it would not open. She did not even consider unlatching it or trying to ask for the key. THE DOOR WAS CLOSED. It was as final and unavoidable as the demand edging through her thoughts, rippling towards actuality: to take off her clothes for him. Sexual favors - yes, even something as mild as dropping her skirt was such - in exchange for the unpleasant lottery tickets: not exactly a great deal.

Slowly, she began to step back towards Percy, but she walked in reverse. It was like an old horror trope become real - if she didn't look at him, perhaps he was not there. In her childhood, Clarice had been imaginative. This was her old remedy sprung back to reality in the dream - don't look and it isn't there. Of course, as we all know, not looking makes the horror worse - we are most afraid of what we avoid perceiving. Slowly, she backed up towards the counter again, as though the door was an angry bear from which she was retreating.

Finally, she stopped - immediately before the counter. Still not looking back. She reached back and grasped a tiny white zipper on the back of the dress. And in the longest ten seconds of Percy's life, she drew it down. Her long, toned back came into view, the part of her body in which Clarice took the most pride. Revealed for the first time to any man - to lucky Percy. A bra strap came into view - something that Clarice probably never wore in reality, but that she definitely wore in her sexual fantasies. And then her little white, flowery panties, encasing her taut ass-cheeks in gauzy fabric. The dress fell away entirely, around her ankles. She kicked it away, back towards the counter. If this was 'giving it to him', then it was in the most minimal possible way, consistent with how willingly she was doing this.

Her stockings still rolled up to the tops of her thighs, but there was a large patch of bare flesh between panties and stockings that was smooth and hairless and vulnerable. Her short blonde hair did little to obstruct the almost statue-like neck, which bent slightly as her head knelt forward almost submissively. Clarice's body seemed sculpted, statuesque more than organic, a Vitruvian woman to match Da Vinci's Vitruvian man. Her shoulders were rounded like a polished stone, surprisingly toned for a university student who seemed like a light-weight. Who knew whether this was in some part Clarice's ideal body rather than her real one? She did not exactly walk around in her underwear in real life.

And then she stood there. She watched the turning of a fan in the corner of the room, watched the blades slowly grinding around. She felt cool, as the room's air drifted over her. She felt exposed - on display - an object for the store-keeper's admiration and enjoyment. Like a toy. Her arms fell down to her sides, and Clarice stood like a soldier, straight back, hardly breathing.

Not looking back.

Finally she said, in a voice suddenly quiet and nervous, almost mouse-like, "it's an expensive dress. It should pay for the tickets." And then, without particular explanation, "I'm sorry."

Note: sorry for the big picture - but this one is at least not large horizontally, so it doesn't stretch the screen again, I think?

 

[Bevatoria]

OOC: No Italics in dreamworld anymore. I'll just use it if I reference the dreamworld in the 'normal' world.

IC: A part of him tired itself as he tried to impose his will. Whether it was a complication of the device, his own weakness, or just a limit of the dream world, he could feel a considerable amout of effort go into his command. The barest hints of her thoughts were availble for him to look in on, and she seemed to be resisting it, both in mind and in body as she walked away. Percy thought it again as she folded her arms in front of her; shielding her even as she turned away.

Another hesitation. A dash for the door, trying to open what would not be opened unless he allowed it. The door rattled, the storm raged, challenging her even if she could get outside. He tried to make it unpleasant; the rain was terrible, the rain was bad, she wanted to avoid it. She would be willing to do anything to avoid it. The moment continued as Clarice finally stopped shaking it, trying to open it. Would it be so hard to give in? Just to do one little thing, in a world where nobody was watching, where nobody would know. What was so bad in indulging in a little playing?

He watched her step back towards him; keeping her back to him as she got to the counter. As if seeing his eyes made it not real to her, as if it would hide her shame. The barest reflection of her eyes showed in the window; willed by him. To keep her from being able to hide anything from him. He watched it as if in a trance; the zipper on her dress travelling downwards by the will of her perfectly manicured hand. He gulped at the sight of her perfect back, the line of her spine, blocked only by the strap of her bra. It fell past her hips, the entire garment slipping off of her shoulders and down to the floor.

He leaned on the counter to get a better view, to take in her body. Not marred by water, by a torn nightgown; perfect in its innocence, taking in every detail of her skin from behind. He was mesmerized by her. The perfection she had in his mind, in his dream. In their dream. Her reactions were too unscripted, too natural for it to be anything otherwise. Percy knew damn well how she'd be acting if he had total control. But it was better this way, to be able to fight her, to tease her, torment her here instead of just being able to form her how he wanted.

It was a contrast to him, in his dingy clothes. He willed it to get just a bit colder inside, and he watched her shiver a little as her arms fell to her sides; accepting her exposure.

Not enough.

Her voice was almost too quiet to be heard. "it's an expensive dress. It should pay for the tickets." And then, she added something strange.

"I'm sorry."

Percy didn't recognize what he said next. It was his voice, and it was him who said it. But there was something else in it. Something darker. Something more primal. He took in her beauty from the back, her choice of garments - very flattering. The floral patterns hinting at innocence that she probably wanted to have. That he thought of her as having. BUt his reponse to her, even as it was him, wasn't him.

"Turn around and tell me why you're sorry." It was menacing, gentle, comforting, scary...and it seemed to resonate. A moment passed, and he spoke slowly, as if explaining it to a small child.

"I can't tell if you're sorry if I can't see you. Turn around, Clarice." At the mention of her name, the store darkened briefly, the lights going out as the thunder clapped outside, coming back on again shortly after. And it was then he thought it. Manipulating her thoughts was one thing, but her emotions were easier; maybe that was the avenue he was to pursue, as he made her fear the darkness. To be crippled by it.

To do anything to avoid it.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

The stranger's voice rolled like thunder through the store, as the rain and wind bashed against the window from outside. Clarice shivered. The air was cooler. What the hell was this place? It was like a nightmare. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Unanswerable questions. She did not try to form answers, merely felt the pain of amnesia washing over her, hating her own ignorance but too trapped to find a way to enlightenment.

Why was she sorry? She didn't know. Had she said that? She didn't remember. But he wanted to know why she was sorry.

Clarice turned around slowly. She was not showing off - quite the contrary, she felt self-conscious and judged - but the slow turn had the effect of showing off her curves, her elegance, her almost refined bearing, though her head currently hung in shame. Her long hips turned gradually, and slowly the more floral front of her lingerie came into view. Her breasts hung as if on display, encased in clinging silk, more or less visible through the fancy but revealing fabric. Her nipples, as in the previous dream, seemed dark through the fabric, where they peeked out slightly, partially obscured by darker parts of the fabric, over-hanging flowers to hide her own little buds.

As though unaware of it herself, she made no effort to hide her lower body. Her pale, soft belly was exposed and clear-skinned, without an apparent fleck or defect. Below, the panties were quite sheer, and a small patch of pubic hair was just visible through it, along with the top part of her mons, a dark ripple below the surface. She did not seem to be wet, but again the white fabric revealed what was beneath, as if asserting her sexuality through the little pieces of her underwear.

Hands still stapled by her sides, her eyes were lowered to the floor, now bringing into her sight the pile of insulting lottery tickets. "I'm sorry I don't have any money. I'm sorry I'm stupid. I'm sorry I don't like people." Her answer had somehow become a strange confession, her anxieties bubbling up and out of her in the dream. Her eyes became moist, so that the green irises shimmered like gems in the dark wells of her eyes. She was not crying yet, but seemingly on the brink of tears. "I'm sorry I stole from the office. I'm sorry I stole money from their pockets. I can't help it, I'm a bad person. I'm diseased. I just have to take things."

This last passage was ambiguous. Was it mere dream anxiety? Or was Clarice really some kind of thief or even kleptomaniac? Her guilt seemed authentic.

"And I'm sorry I took your stupid tickets, okay? I paid you back already. Why don't you just leave me alone, you asshole? What more do you want? You freaking pervert."

Finally her eyes flashed up at him angrily, before seeing the white mask. As though she had not seen it before, it clearly alarmed her. It was indeed a terrifying image, associated with serial killers and villains in countless films. Her eyes shot down to the floor again as though startled back into submission.

 

[Bevatoria]

Percy took her in as she turned around. Her back, perfectly formed ass, and legs were exquisite, but the real treasures were hinted at in her front. She turned around meekly, letting him see what she had been trying to hide. He'd seen it from a distance the previous day, but this was so much better. Her nipples were hidden by the flowery lingerie, but little else was truly kept from him. Her body was visible everywhere through the translucent fabric, and he drunk it in greedily even as he wished for it to be gone. Alas, he was not that strong. Not yet. Clarice's short blonde hair framed her eyes as Percy watched her gaze go down, not daring to meet his behind his mask. Or enraptured by the lottery tickets. Either one.

"I'm sorry I don't have any money. I'm sorry I'm stupid. I'm sorry I don't like people." He tilted his head curiously, as this was not what Percy had been expecting from her. Clarice's eyes bubbled with tears, her green eyes shining at him as she continued. "I'm sorry I stole from the office. I'm sorry I stole money from their pockets. I can't help it, I'm a bad person. I'm diseased. I just have to take things."

Curious. Percy hoped he could remember that in the real world. Useful to come to the root of later, perhaps. There would be no reason just to make it up for the dream...clearly she was hoarding guilt about something.

"And I'm sorry I took your stupid tickets, okay? I paid you back already. Why don't you just leave me alone, you asshole? What more do you want? You freaking pervert."

And also a little erratic. Her eyes glared at him, daring him to defy her...just as a white mask with simple black eyes started back at her. Percy felt his own anger and ire rise up, but the mask did not show any of it, although it seemed to do something to Clarice's gumption, as she looked meekly at the floor. His voice was overpowering, again. Calm, melodic, angry, menacing...everything it needed to be.

"It's not about what I want. You want to stay in my store, and stay out of the storm." He motioned to the window. "You don't want to face the music, Clarice. You want to repent, to apologize for everything you've done."

Her dress appeared on the counter, like magic. "Besides, what about the things you were trying to steal from me?" A quick pat down of her dress, and from a hidden pocket, a ring. One she'd never seen, of course. But one that matched a set of jewelery in a glass case at the back of the store. One she'd never seen, of course, because it hadn't been there until a few seconds ago. But one that now had a rather big gap where a corner of the case was supposed to be. Had she been trying to steal it? Or did it represent what she would have done had she not had the chance. Had she not been under the manipulative guise of Percy in this dream world.

"Tsk tsk, Clarice. Naughty girl." He stared at her again. "Up on the counter. Now."

 

[HandcuffHeather]

The storekeeper accused her of theft, and Clarice immediately felt a stone form in her stomach. No! It wasn't possible! Except that she immediately accepted it as reality. So, she had stolen from the store. That much was clear. The hows and whys could wait. There was a consequence of her actions that demanded payment, once again. She was a bad girl, a sinful girl, and the man was rightly judging her. How pathetic and wicked she was. A couple of small tears rolled out of her eyes and down her nose, and she approached the counter. Her little hands gripped the counter, and she swung herself up slowly, so that her legs hung off the end further away from Percy. For a moment, Clarice sat there in indecision. Was this what he meant? She grew confused. Her posture felt wrong.

"Why did I steal the ring?" she asked Percy as if genuinely curious. She looked at him with slightly moist eyes, just beginning to redden slightly. Then she slowly lay down across the counter, with her breasts pressed down against the glass of the display, and her feet over-reaching the far end of the counter. Her head hung slightly off the other end. This left her body essentially under Percy's grasp, at roughly waist height. She let herself go essentially limp, and the angle of her head over the counter made it seem as though it was still hanging guiltily. Her muscles relaxed despondently.

At her height off of the ground, she almost seemed presented to Percy, as though some god had placed her on a platter for his enjoyment. The buffet of her body was lain out neatly over the surface, breasts crushed down against the glass as though they were themselves 'on display', for sale. She shivered slightly, feeling the cold of the counter against her warm body. A slight perfume clung to her body, Angel by Thierry Mugler, a sweet perfume that was something like a dessert - sweet, known to have tones of vanilla and caramel. Like a dessert for Percy to taste as he desired.

"Please don't hurt me" she pleaded quietly, her voice directed towards the floor. She seemed to be struggling to maintain her posture on the table, as it was rather too short for her, with her legs hanging off of the ends. To compensate, she drew them up towards her body. This left them doubled-up, which in turn left her rear end slightly raised. Her legs parted slightly to maintain the position.

From Clarice's point of view, this was a simply practical measure to prevent her legs cramping as they dangled off the counter. But from Percy's point of view, it would seem like a rather more erotic pose, both because her legs were slightly spread, and because her doubled-up legs raised her bottom up to the height of his sternum, basically a comfortable resting-place for his hand. In addition, the fabric of the stockings stretched as she moved and re-settled, and were drawn an inch or so down her thigh, making more of her flesh bare to the room. Naturally, she was in too awkward of a position to adjust them back to normal.

Never in a thousand years would Clarice have imagined this in real life. She was down to her panties, bra, and stockings, splayed out submissively on a counter-top for the amusement of an overbearing and creepy store-keeper, seemingly about to surrender her body in exchange for some theft she had committed. "Don't hurt me," she said again, more meekly than before, her voice in a hushed and silvery tone that was far more arousing than she realized.

Note: this looks nothing like her, but it more or less demonstrates the position that she is striking. Sorry for the clumsy description; it's hard to explain.