Welcome to Part 29 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…
by Angela Caperton
“Here,” Cassie said, indicating a glass door between two weathered metal panels that had once been deco ornamentation. She swiped a pass card through a reader and opened the heavy door. Anthony followed her in, looking around.
The building looked like any of the anonymous buildings from the city’s past, either built during the boom years of the 20s or refurbished then, plaster used to streamline the character-rich Victorian brick. The door opened into an elevator lobby with a dubious caged lift from another era. The shingle on the wall showed the names of various dentists and businesses, but none of them appeared to be remotely current.
He had the sense of disorientation again, as though the world might be shifting around him, and touched the chipped tile wall to assure himself that he was truly awake. Dreams had become dangerous, he knew, a goat potentially still lurking out there somewhere with lust in its eyes.
Cassie summoned the creaky old elevator and they boarded it together, riding it up past deserted floors. He smelled the faint odor of disinfectant and something too sweet, like rotten fruit. She hardly looked at Anthony but when she did, her face was a mask of bored contempt. She wore a black t-shirt with silver snake embroidery, her breasts full and unconfined under the thin cotton, and tight lycra pants painted her from hips to ankles. When she moved right, he could see her clit jewelry and the outline of her pussy lips against the fabric. His cock jumped and twitched as he grew hard again.
Cassie was like a living aphrodisiac, he decided. He believed he had made her come at least twice, but a sense of failure still gnawed at him that he had not yet satisfied her in any but the most physical sense. As tireless as his cock had become, he could not please her, he thought sadly.
As though she read his mind, she favored him with a flash of dark eyes and a casual stroke down the growing, jeans-covered length between his legs. “Hang on,” she said. “Just two more floors.”
They had ridden forever, he thought, the floors they passed too dark to see within and too numerous to count. No panel in the lift marked their ascent and he knew, his breath quickening, that they had risen above any hope that the building was natural and not another current in the maelstrom of dream and delusion that surged around this woman.
He remembered being here before but the building had been different, the passage upward powered by an enormous eunuch turning a winch. The tower had been crystal then, impossibly tall, and something unspeakable awaited him at the top.
The lift stopped and Cassie opened the door. Anthony found himself grounded again, the floor solid beneath his feet, the sense of dislocation replaced by the reality of musty, still air, and an ornate, paneled door lit by a pallid bulb. “My place,” she said and used her card to open the door.
He was not surprised at the décor — Victorian funeral parlor furniture, exquisite tapestries with graphic sex acts woven into fabric, a live raven perched on the headboard of a low, wide bed– but the view out the window that covered an entire wall sent him reeling to the edge of madness again.
The night sky glittered with thousands of stars, smears of light bright as the Milky Way, the spiraling arms of something like a luminous starfish, and the biggest moon Anthony had ever seen, bone-pale and smooth, not the cratered face he knew. For only a moment he tried to rationalize what he saw, a projection, a trick, but he knew better now. Wherever he was, he was no longer on the Earth, or at least on the Earth he knew.
He trembled, his legs giving out. He sank onto bed, onto a black spread that seemed to be made of thin leather. Cassie was his only hope of getting out of here and he was ready to do anything, promise anything to win her favor.
“Top floor,” she said. “A fucking penthouse. There are buildings all over the world that share this view,” she told him, “and not many people visit them and live. I want you to know just how special you are.”
He tried to speak but his lips shook too badly. Where his hand touched the bedspread, the black hide began to sweat. Cassie pushed him back, her hands busy with his jeans, skinning them off his legs so he felt the pliant, living leather under him, pulsing as she took his cock in her mouth and pulled him fully erect with her lips, her tongue wrapping him expertly. Something shapeless probed his ass, massaged his balls while she sucked and teased the glans expertly. The orgasm rose in him. He closed his eyes, terror evaporating into the imminence of pleasure.
“Don’t come,” she commanded him. “You’d better not fucking come until I tell you to.”
Breathless, crazy with frustrated desire, he fought against his own body, hardly daring to think what might happen if he disobeyed her, imagining himself out the window and in the void, at the mercy of whatever lived out there, lost forever, body and soul.
Cassie slithered out of the lycra, shed her shirt, and straddled him, letting his rigid cock ride along the cleft of her cunt, not penetrating her, rubbing her clit against the slippery head in long, slow undulations until he bit his lip hard enough to bleed to stop himself from coming. She laughed and leaned to drink the flow from his lips, smearing the blood over his face and hers as she ground and rubbed. Beneath him, the living mantle of the black spread flowed up and over him, wrapping his thighs and ribs, immobilizing him beneath her, positioning him.
He understood that the thing – whatever it was – was an extension of her will, a toy, perhaps a living, boneless creature. Revulsion mingled with desire. He wanted to fuck the monster or to have it fuck him. His mind frayed, his cock beyond any hope of control, when Cassie stopped fooling around and impaled herself on his shaft, taking him deep, gripping him with hard thrusts of her hips.
“Now,” she screamed. “Come now.”
Something more than semen and seed emptied into her, his mind, his soul, the outer realms of sensation beyond pleasure or pain, something that had no name. He screamed. Her cry joined his as the black skin beneath him and around him shuddered and bucked, and the lights in the alien sky exploded against the revealed space inside his skull, filling him with wonder and with dread.
And he knew that Cassie still would not be satisfied.
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.