Woman of His Dreams – Part XXIV

Welcome to Part 24 of “Woman of His Dreams”!  If you’re new to my dark little erotic tale, you can find the start here!

Enjoy, and remember, dreams often have a life of their own…


“Woman of His Dreams”
Part 24
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010

Surprised by Cynthia’s sudden violence, Stephen barely managed to raise his arm, enough to deflect her blow but not to stop it. The stone loop struck his temple with a sound like a hollow crunch. He dropped moaning.

She considered hitting him again but the ankh warmed her hand and sent a pulse directly to her pussy.  The sensation was much different than the raging lust that had consumed her in recent days, but she understood the feeling sprang from the same dangerous magic.

But the ankh’s heat almost comforted her and she breathed easier as she clutched the stone between her breasts.

In that moment of clarity, she remembered more of what had happened when Stephen left her alone with the human fucking machine that had been Derrick Hung-cock. Her mind tipped back toward the abyss as the memory smothered her.

Insistent clicking and the tap of hard talons, a shape she could not hold in her mind, mandibles and too many eyes. It had penetrated Derrick even as he penetrated her, injecting something that made him cry with joy and ecstasy even as it infected him.

She shot a glance at where Derrick had fallen and watched as shadows coiled around him like smoke, growing out of the dripping black ooze on his head and shoulders. Stephen had wanted to use the ankh to help Derrick somehow. As the big man convulsed and weakly struggled against what she thought must be the suffocation of the shadows, she embraced her instincts, and kneeled beside him.  She laid the stone tentatively against the leaking wounds, fear and exhilaration pounding her pulse through her body.

Derrick shuddered violently, but then breathed more evenly. Cynthia’s lips formed words, nonsense syllables that invoked forces within her self and beyond, whipping power she could not name. From beneath the couch, something began to click and whirr in agitation and she felt the book plucking at her again. She held the ankh high in the air and let its power flow freely through her.

Something long, black, and segmented probed the air, rising from behind the sofa and she chanted harder, feeling the wicked tide crashing against her, like the ocean of destruction on the rocks of life.

“Give us the man.”  She heard the voice, not in her head, but words as real as Tony’s or the bus driver’s as he called out the stops.  It wasn’t even particularly sinister, just a matter-of-fact demand, but the intonation terrified her. She cringed at the jagged sound, like human speech simulated by a power saw. “Give him to us, and we will let you go.”

N’oha fn’isti brk,” she chanted, aware that she had become only a puppet.  She opened to whatever spoke through her, knowing it was her best chance. She saw herself multiplied across time, a naked priestess armed with words of power.

The couch moved, as something behind it began to emerge and she knew if she saw the thing, she might go mad. “N’oha!” she cried. “Begone!”

She sensed the thing cringing. “Give us the book,” it buzzed. “Keep the man. Give us the book.”

She considered that. The book had caused all of this horror. Why not give it to the thing?

Brigitte. The book might be the only way to bring Brigitte back. Sudden regret at hitting Stephen filled her. He might know what to do.

As though her will touched him, Stephen moaned and began to rise. Distracted, she lowered the ankh and turned toward him.

The lights snapped off and in the sudden, complete darkness, she heard a rush of clattering legs, the angry snap of mandibles.

N’oha!” she cried again and the ankh bloomed with a pallid green light. In the eerie illumination, she saw the shape of the thing that had emerged into the room, insectoid and human in a hideous hybrid tangle, a form that could not possibly function in the material world. She closed her eyes, nausea washing through her.

Too weak, she thought, to stand against this. No human could.

Someone caught her and held her, strong hands wresting the ankh from her grip. She recognized Stephen’s touch, his scent, and she let him take the stone implement and she clung to him, waves of lust and fear and madness drowning her as he began to chant.

The words rolled like waves and she heard the insect thing scream in a voice that echoed beyond the room, across dimensions, shredding the walls of her skull into splinters as she fell away from the world.


When she opened her eyes, she saw Stephen bending over her, his hand warm on her face, his eyes concerned but calm. He had covered her with a blanket, but it did nothing to warm her.

“Where is it?” she asked him, her voice cracking with panic.


“Did it get …?”

He shook his head. “It left empty-handed. I’ve called EMS for Derrick. He’ll be fine, I think. We still have the book, may all the gods help us.”

She clutched at him. “Thank you,” she started. “I’m so sorry…”

He touched his head. “Don’t. I know what you were feeling. I underestimated its power, thought, will. I shouldn’t have left Derrick with you. This is much worse than…”

“Than what?”

“Than the other time I saw something like this. That…” He gestured at the book where it still lay on his desk. “I think I know what it is.”

She heard a siren approaching outside.

“Can you get up?” he asked her. She nodded.

“Going to move you to another room while the paramedics work on Derrick. I’m going to have enough questions to answer without them seeing you. There are likely to be cops too. Unless you need…?”

She understood and shook her head. She rose, wrapping the blanket like a robe around her. “I’m all right. I’d rather not talk to anyone now.”

He helped her down the hall to an empty office where she stretched out on the sofa.

“I’ll get you some clothes and be back as soon as I can,” he assured her and then went to meet the emergency crew.

She tried to relax. Lust still buzzed in her blood, but it was different now. As silly as she knew the thought was, she just wanted to lay down with Stephen, fuck slowly, and then cuddle.

Blue and red lights penetrated her closed eyelids.  Her knotted body slowly uncoiled and she felt herself melting into the cushions, one thought following her into troubled sleep.

Maybe later, when the EMTs and cops were long gone, maybe she and Stephen could do exactly that.

Continued in Part 25.

Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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