Woman of His Dreams - Part XXXV
Welcome to Part 35 of "Woman of His Dreams"! If you're new to my dark little erotic tale, you can find the start here.
Stay sexy, and follow your dreams – at your own peril.
~AC
Anthony scrambled up, looking for his pants. He couldn’t believe Stephen Wentworth had blown him. He couldn’t believe how good it had felt. “We’ve got to go after her,” he cried.
“She can’t go far,” Wentworth assured him, separating the dagger from the ankh, and keeping both of them, tucking them into the oversized pockets of his jacket. “Before I’m taking you anywhere, how do you feel?”
Cynthia had the book and Cassia wanted it. If Tony didn’t bring the book back to Cassia, she would perform atrocities that would likely have him coming in his death spasms. “I feel fine,” he said, watching his cock and balls shrivel at the thought. Stephen tossed him a pair of trousers.
“So, she’s gotten to you?” he asked Tony.
“She?”
“The bitch in the book, the hag in the hagiography. What’s she calling herself now?”
“How …?” he stammered. How did Stephen know about her?
“Lucrezia, Esmeralda, Irena?” Stephen guessed.
“Cassia. She was in Carcossia’s Books. A daughter or some relative of the dead owner, I guess.”
“Oh that’s good! Have you ever heard of Carcosa?”
“It’s a place, right? Ambrose Bierce? Poe?”
“Do you know Robert Chambers’ book The King in Yellow?”
“I know the first edition is worth some real money.”
Stephen shook his hand dismissively. “You should take time to read some of the things you sell.”
I did that, Anthony thought, and look where it got me.
“The King in Yellow,” Stephen explained, “is the story of a book, a play actually, that exerts a terrible influence on the people who are exposed to it. Their worlds turn nightmarish and they die or worse. Throughout the book’s stories, Chambers scattered little bits of symbolist doggerel – a poem called ‘Cassilda’s Song.’ Cassia, you see? She’s fucking with you.”
“I don’t understand…”
“The book. Your fucking Tales. It’s like The King in Yellow, or the Necronomicon. You know what that is, right?”
“It’s not real.”
“Of course it’s not real.” Stephen’s voice turned snotty, mocking. “It’s just a story. Listen, you came in here under a magic spell, and that’s just something in a story too. She’s fucked you up and fucked you over, man! You should never let a woman do that to you.”
“Not a woman…I wouldn’t…” he started, but then he remembered when Cassia had commanded him to lick her. He’d never been so fucking hard in his life, except maybe when she shoved and hit him or mounted him on a dirty dance floor, riding his cock and tearing at him.
“See?” Wentworth pointed at the evidence growing between his legs.
Tony pulled on the trousers with a little struggle. “I’m all right,” he said.
“Good, because I didn’t enjoy sucking you off. Next time it’s a reach-around.”
Stephen didn’t talk much like a professor, Tony thought, and, come to think of it, he didn’t look much like one either now. He wore what might have been a hunter’s jacket, its pockets bulging with the ankh and Tony’s dagger and who knew what else? There was a tough squareness to his jaw that suggested sweaty action.
“Come on, Tony. I want a look at your fucking bookstore.”
“There was trouble down there,” Tony said and told Stephen about the worm, the cops, the people running in the streets.
Stephen listened and Anthony saw a look on the professor’s face like he might be adding things up. Stephen flipped on his TV monitor, and simultaneously pecked up the news on his cell phone.
“Whoa! Downtown is sealed off,” Stephen exclaimed.
On the wide, flat TV screen, a silent man in sharp clothes gestured with precise outrage in front of a police barricade. The words “CHEMICAL SPILL?” scrolled under his belt, followed by “Deformed Assailants Reported.”
“They’re calling it a riot touched off by some kind of contamination … somebody says it’s a bio weapon. The cops aren’t saying anything. Wait!” The professor tapped his phone again, scrolled and tapped some more.
“Luvs2Luv says, ‘OMG. I saw the devil fucking Wally.’ She lives downtown. SaulBellowFan says, ‘We r all coming 4 Lias.’ Oh, fuck, Tony, what have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“But you did, George,” Sir Geoffrey insisted. “You took the goat up your ass and now your children are fucking the city. Your children and his, the sons and daughter of L’ias.”
Tony shook his head to clear the story away, and he clutched at Stephen to steady himself. “Who’s L’ias?” he demanded, his face an inch away from the professor’s.
“He’s the Procurer,” Wentworth whispered, breathing a little harder.
“What’s that mean?” He realized Stephen was about to kiss him and he found he didn’t mind at all.
“He collects … souls, you might call them, personalities and bodies too, and uses them like fuck toys for the amusement of his masters and mistresses, though those words imply a gender, when I don’t think the Great Old Ones really have gender, or maybe they have dozens of sexes. I don’t really know.”
“Great Old …?” And, yeah, Stephen kissed him, smothering the last word.
The professor reached into Tony’s tented jeans and wrapped his cock in a strong hand, then turned him around and bared his ass.
Sir Geoffrey explained patiently, lubing George’s bottom, “They live infinite and free and timeless, but they grow bored with infinity. L’ias weaves stories for them out of the things we offer him. You’re fortunate, George. L’ias has chosen to make a demigod of you, to bless you with his spawn.
The lord slipped his rod of office smoothly and efficiently up George’s bum, his hand working George’s cock, pushing deep, touching the root spot of hidden pleasure, rhythm perfect, painful, and divine.
George came just as he felt Sir Geoffrey pulsing inside him, hot skin to skin, scattering the shadows into shards of broken screaming.
“Shh, Tony. Easy.” Stephen held tightly, stroking to calm him. Spunk dripped down the cleft of Tony’s ass, and his spent cock filled the Professor’s hand, but he didn’t mind. He knew Stephen was only doing what he must. Yes, of course. What he must…
“You have to fight it,” Stephen told him. “This chick Cassia has fucked you up. The only way for you to think straight is to come often and you’re looking a little raw down there…Not sure how much more of that you can take. Now come on, we need to save Cynthia.
“And then we need to save the world.”
Continued in Part 36
Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Stay sexy, and follow your dreams – at your own peril.
~AC
"Woman of His Dreams"
Part 35
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2011
Part 35
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2011
Anthony scrambled up, looking for his pants. He couldn’t believe Stephen Wentworth had blown him. He couldn’t believe how good it had felt. “We’ve got to go after her,” he cried.“She can’t go far,” Wentworth assured him, separating the dagger from the ankh, and keeping both of them, tucking them into the oversized pockets of his jacket. “Before I’m taking you anywhere, how do you feel?”
Cynthia had the book and Cassia wanted it. If Tony didn’t bring the book back to Cassia, she would perform atrocities that would likely have him coming in his death spasms. “I feel fine,” he said, watching his cock and balls shrivel at the thought. Stephen tossed him a pair of trousers.
“So, she’s gotten to you?” he asked Tony.
“She?”
“The bitch in the book, the hag in the hagiography. What’s she calling herself now?”
“How …?” he stammered. How did Stephen know about her?
“Lucrezia, Esmeralda, Irena?” Stephen guessed.
“Cassia. She was in Carcossia’s Books. A daughter or some relative of the dead owner, I guess.”
“Oh that’s good! Have you ever heard of Carcosa?”
“It’s a place, right? Ambrose Bierce? Poe?”
“Do you know Robert Chambers’ book The King in Yellow?”
“I know the first edition is worth some real money.”
Stephen shook his hand dismissively. “You should take time to read some of the things you sell.”
I did that, Anthony thought, and look where it got me.
“The King in Yellow,” Stephen explained, “is the story of a book, a play actually, that exerts a terrible influence on the people who are exposed to it. Their worlds turn nightmarish and they die or worse. Throughout the book’s stories, Chambers scattered little bits of symbolist doggerel – a poem called ‘Cassilda’s Song.’ Cassia, you see? She’s fucking with you.”
“I don’t understand…”
“The book. Your fucking Tales. It’s like The King in Yellow, or the Necronomicon. You know what that is, right?”
“It’s not real.”
“Of course it’s not real.” Stephen’s voice turned snotty, mocking. “It’s just a story. Listen, you came in here under a magic spell, and that’s just something in a story too. She’s fucked you up and fucked you over, man! You should never let a woman do that to you.”
“Not a woman…I wouldn’t…” he started, but then he remembered when Cassia had commanded him to lick her. He’d never been so fucking hard in his life, except maybe when she shoved and hit him or mounted him on a dirty dance floor, riding his cock and tearing at him.
“See?” Wentworth pointed at the evidence growing between his legs.
Tony pulled on the trousers with a little struggle. “I’m all right,” he said.
“Good, because I didn’t enjoy sucking you off. Next time it’s a reach-around.”
Stephen didn’t talk much like a professor, Tony thought, and, come to think of it, he didn’t look much like one either now. He wore what might have been a hunter’s jacket, its pockets bulging with the ankh and Tony’s dagger and who knew what else? There was a tough squareness to his jaw that suggested sweaty action.
“Come on, Tony. I want a look at your fucking bookstore.”
“There was trouble down there,” Tony said and told Stephen about the worm, the cops, the people running in the streets.
Stephen listened and Anthony saw a look on the professor’s face like he might be adding things up. Stephen flipped on his TV monitor, and simultaneously pecked up the news on his cell phone.
“Whoa! Downtown is sealed off,” Stephen exclaimed.
On the wide, flat TV screen, a silent man in sharp clothes gestured with precise outrage in front of a police barricade. The words “CHEMICAL SPILL?” scrolled under his belt, followed by “Deformed Assailants Reported.”
“They’re calling it a riot touched off by some kind of contamination … somebody says it’s a bio weapon. The cops aren’t saying anything. Wait!” The professor tapped his phone again, scrolled and tapped some more.
“Luvs2Luv says, ‘OMG. I saw the devil fucking Wally.’ She lives downtown. SaulBellowFan says, ‘We r all coming 4 Lias.’ Oh, fuck, Tony, what have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“But you did, George,” Sir Geoffrey insisted. “You took the goat up your ass and now your children are fucking the city. Your children and his, the sons and daughter of L’ias.”
Tony shook his head to clear the story away, and he clutched at Stephen to steady himself. “Who’s L’ias?” he demanded, his face an inch away from the professor’s.
“He’s the Procurer,” Wentworth whispered, breathing a little harder.
“What’s that mean?” He realized Stephen was about to kiss him and he found he didn’t mind at all.
“He collects … souls, you might call them, personalities and bodies too, and uses them like fuck toys for the amusement of his masters and mistresses, though those words imply a gender, when I don’t think the Great Old Ones really have gender, or maybe they have dozens of sexes. I don’t really know.”
“Great Old …?” And, yeah, Stephen kissed him, smothering the last word.
The professor reached into Tony’s tented jeans and wrapped his cock in a strong hand, then turned him around and bared his ass.
Sir Geoffrey explained patiently, lubing George’s bottom, “They live infinite and free and timeless, but they grow bored with infinity. L’ias weaves stories for them out of the things we offer him. You’re fortunate, George. L’ias has chosen to make a demigod of you, to bless you with his spawn.
The lord slipped his rod of office smoothly and efficiently up George’s bum, his hand working George’s cock, pushing deep, touching the root spot of hidden pleasure, rhythm perfect, painful, and divine.
George came just as he felt Sir Geoffrey pulsing inside him, hot skin to skin, scattering the shadows into shards of broken screaming.
“Shh, Tony. Easy.” Stephen held tightly, stroking to calm him. Spunk dripped down the cleft of Tony’s ass, and his spent cock filled the Professor’s hand, but he didn’t mind. He knew Stephen was only doing what he must. Yes, of course. What he must…
“You have to fight it,” Stephen told him. “This chick Cassia has fucked you up. The only way for you to think straight is to come often and you’re looking a little raw down there…Not sure how much more of that you can take. Now come on, we need to save Cynthia.
“And then we need to save the world.”
Continued in Part 36
Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Posted by Angela Caperton at 2/5/2011 9:48 AM 
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: Woman of His Dreams Angela Caperton dark erotica Lovecraft
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: Woman of His Dreams Angela Caperton dark erotica Lovecraft
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