Woman of His Dreams - Part XXXVIII
Welcome to Part 38 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
Cynthia wanted to punch the Goth chick in the mouth as much as she wanted to kiss her. Had she tasted Rascal? Yes, years ago, when they’d both been real, part of the conundrum of life that now seemed so distant and…unreal.
She looked at the imp between Rascal’s legs and saw the cheap ribbon of continuance that vibrated in the air around her like dust in the motes of light through dirty stained glass windows. It wasn’t real – Suck Queen, Tales, Cynthia’s very presence in her own apartment.
No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that they weren’t real, it was more complex than that. They were real, but they were…wrong for this place and time.
But she wasn’t in this alone; she couldn’t just walk away. Tony, Bridget, now Rascal and even Stephen - they all belonged to this…this woven patch in the tapestry of existence. Whatever the picture, she and her friends had been part of the same strands for a long time. Everything strange had started only days ago.
With the book. With Tales.
She looked at the dark cover, glared at it really, the machine of so much…. What? Lust for certain, but also fear, pain, degradation, submission… All she’d experienced had a place in her soul. What was it then? A magnifier, a whip to bring a sting to life?
A shuttle.
She and her friends were the threads, the book…the book was the shuttle, pulling them to mash against new colors on the tapestry, the vile master of whatever threads they would wend over and under, what pictures they would make together.
So close. So close to the truth.
“Are you done, bitch?” Cynthia challenged the devil girl, tired of running, tired of being swept about by the currents of this twisted stream she’d been pulled into. Maybe her overzealous eighth grade environmental science teacher could finally rest in peace – she finally saw the odd bit of fluff, long spinning in a nameless eddy, suddenly free to strain against the current and find true land.
Goth only grinned and looked at Rascal, stroking his glistening cock to new life. “Cassia, but you can call me Cass. And, um, hardly. See?” She lapped at Rascal’s cock. “Neither is he.”
“You doing that? Some glittery fairy dust keeping him hard? That’s what it is, isn’t it? All this fucking and ecstasy. It’s not real.”
Cass spat out her laughter in destroying waves, the timbre and weight shaking Cynthia’s confidence. “You didn’t feel those orgasms? You didn’t savor those cocks in you? Tony’s? Stephen’s? Derrick’s? Tell me straight up you didn’t like them, you didn’t feel them, and I’ll be out of your life, just like that.” She flicked Rascal’s balls with a black-lacquered nail. He jumped and groaned happily.
Her fingers stroked Rascal’s cock, the silky skin stretching over the growing erection.
“We don’t walk, Cynthia, we spread. We cover time and space, we collect in places and give color and excitement to drab corners of the universe.”
“So, what? You’re cosmic paint taggers?”
The girl laughed, licked the purpling head of Rascal’s cock as his hand fell on the Cass’s head, guiding her mouth along the thickening length of him. Didn’t he hear Cynthia and his sucking lover? Didn’t he realize something wasn’t right?
Cynthia looked again at the book, felt the shimmer of its pull, but something countered it, cool and calm. Opposition opened its arms and welcomed her – a cool breeze to tame a misery of summer heat.
Cass withdrew her hand from Rascal’s cock, smiled wickedly at Cynthia and sat on the couch beside him. “Hardly. More like…a cosmic poetry slam.”
Cynthia shifted, a steady flow of anger surging upward from her knees. “I think you owe at least someone an apology.” She moved with singular purpose and sat on the other side of Rascal. She wrapped her own fingers around his wet cock – her fingers, real, warm, true. Without thought she began to pump.
“Rascal, do you feel me? Do you know?”
He groaned, nodded, but Cynthia didn’t believe it. The book still owned this space. Could she break its spell?
Flesh was real. Flesh held true. She moved from beside him to straddle his lap, her near nudity useful now.
“Feel me Rascal.” She murmured as she controlled his cock in her fingers, guiding the length along the wet folds of her pussy.
She fucked him, hard, fast, violently – she wanted to, needed to – but would it be her? This moment, this delicious stroking and teasing, her pussy and thighs nearly vibrating with the sensation even as the guilt of betraying Tony whined against her ears.
“Fuck me, Cynthia. Come on, slip it inside, fuck me, and know reward.” Tony’s phantom hands stroked inside her folds, teased her clit and aroused her even as Rascal’s flesh slid deep inside her pussy.
“I’ll give you everything you want.” Rascal’s words were so hollow they practically echoed but Cynthia knew his words – their words – held promise. She’d do just about anything if she could return to this level of ecstasy she’d known before.
But it would be different – how could it not be, knowing that her actions, her lust, were being watched?
She leaned over Rascal, nipping his ear. “I want more.”
Rascal gripped her arms and pushed her away, staring at her like an angry lover. “More? What the fuck more do you want? Cyn, I could have your ass in a cell, the cameras turned off, and I could fuck every hole you got with a broom handle. No one would know it ever happened – except you and me.” The voice was his, but the words came from somewhere else… maybe from a story.
Her heart iced, but self preservation trumped horror, disgust and outright disbelief. She squirmed atop him.
She thought, you never did know when to shut the fuck up, Rascal. She ground down, bucking, violent, his cock a jagged flame within her, tearing and heating.
Rascal groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Keep that up, baby.”
“Baby? Baby?” Cass practically screeched it. “Sweetie, you can’t call her baby and me baby. There’s no fucking equivalence.” Cass melted and flowed, a drop of ink in water, then her heat was behind Cynthia, pressing against her, forbidden and frightening. She bit hard at Cynthia’s nape, blasting sensation through her until she nearly came. Rascal’s cock inside her, Cass’s teeth on her neck, the nerves in her belly and cunt became the battlefield.
“Rascal, dear, I think we need to fuck her together,” Cass growled, “until we’re satisfied. Until she’s finished.” Her fingers parted Cynthia’s pussy lips, found her clit, circling.
Cynthia fucked him hard, demanding, and selfish, even as her mind filled with Tony, needed him, sought to help him out – no, through – the weave.
She didn’t hesitate to push Cass away even as the black-haired woman bit Cynthia’s nipples and tried to drive her to screaming orgasms. No, this was about her and Rascal, and oddly, Tony too.
She cringed and thrilled as the orgasms blasted her sense of self into a million shards of light. Tears of desperation mingled with those of triumph as she shattered and saw with too much satisfaction the venomous glare that flashed in Cass’s cold, dark eyes.
The howl from Rascal heralded his orgasm and, as his hot load filled Cynthia’s pussy and began to run down her thigh, she knew one fact for certain. They weren’t finished.
Curling talons flashed in front of her eyes, aiming for them, and Cynthia caught the demon’s hands just before contact. Cass’s face was no longer pretty, but a mask of outraged horror.
No, they most certainly were not finished. Things were only getting started.
Continued in part 39.
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 38
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2011
Part 38
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2011
Cynthia wanted to punch the Goth chick in the mouth as much as she wanted to kiss her. Had she tasted Rascal? Yes, years ago, when they’d both been real, part of the conundrum of life that now seemed so distant and…unreal. She looked at the imp between Rascal’s legs and saw the cheap ribbon of continuance that vibrated in the air around her like dust in the motes of light through dirty stained glass windows. It wasn’t real – Suck Queen, Tales, Cynthia’s very presence in her own apartment.
No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that they weren’t real, it was more complex than that. They were real, but they were…wrong for this place and time.
But she wasn’t in this alone; she couldn’t just walk away. Tony, Bridget, now Rascal and even Stephen - they all belonged to this…this woven patch in the tapestry of existence. Whatever the picture, she and her friends had been part of the same strands for a long time. Everything strange had started only days ago.
With the book. With Tales.
She looked at the dark cover, glared at it really, the machine of so much…. What? Lust for certain, but also fear, pain, degradation, submission… All she’d experienced had a place in her soul. What was it then? A magnifier, a whip to bring a sting to life?
A shuttle.
She and her friends were the threads, the book…the book was the shuttle, pulling them to mash against new colors on the tapestry, the vile master of whatever threads they would wend over and under, what pictures they would make together.
So close. So close to the truth.
“Are you done, bitch?” Cynthia challenged the devil girl, tired of running, tired of being swept about by the currents of this twisted stream she’d been pulled into. Maybe her overzealous eighth grade environmental science teacher could finally rest in peace – she finally saw the odd bit of fluff, long spinning in a nameless eddy, suddenly free to strain against the current and find true land.
Goth only grinned and looked at Rascal, stroking his glistening cock to new life. “Cassia, but you can call me Cass. And, um, hardly. See?” She lapped at Rascal’s cock. “Neither is he.”
“You doing that? Some glittery fairy dust keeping him hard? That’s what it is, isn’t it? All this fucking and ecstasy. It’s not real.”
Cass spat out her laughter in destroying waves, the timbre and weight shaking Cynthia’s confidence. “You didn’t feel those orgasms? You didn’t savor those cocks in you? Tony’s? Stephen’s? Derrick’s? Tell me straight up you didn’t like them, you didn’t feel them, and I’ll be out of your life, just like that.” She flicked Rascal’s balls with a black-lacquered nail. He jumped and groaned happily.
Her fingers stroked Rascal’s cock, the silky skin stretching over the growing erection.
“We don’t walk, Cynthia, we spread. We cover time and space, we collect in places and give color and excitement to drab corners of the universe.”
“So, what? You’re cosmic paint taggers?”
The girl laughed, licked the purpling head of Rascal’s cock as his hand fell on the Cass’s head, guiding her mouth along the thickening length of him. Didn’t he hear Cynthia and his sucking lover? Didn’t he realize something wasn’t right?
Cynthia looked again at the book, felt the shimmer of its pull, but something countered it, cool and calm. Opposition opened its arms and welcomed her – a cool breeze to tame a misery of summer heat.
Cass withdrew her hand from Rascal’s cock, smiled wickedly at Cynthia and sat on the couch beside him. “Hardly. More like…a cosmic poetry slam.”
Cynthia shifted, a steady flow of anger surging upward from her knees. “I think you owe at least someone an apology.” She moved with singular purpose and sat on the other side of Rascal. She wrapped her own fingers around his wet cock – her fingers, real, warm, true. Without thought she began to pump.
“Rascal, do you feel me? Do you know?”
He groaned, nodded, but Cynthia didn’t believe it. The book still owned this space. Could she break its spell?
Flesh was real. Flesh held true. She moved from beside him to straddle his lap, her near nudity useful now.
“Feel me Rascal.” She murmured as she controlled his cock in her fingers, guiding the length along the wet folds of her pussy.
She fucked him, hard, fast, violently – she wanted to, needed to – but would it be her? This moment, this delicious stroking and teasing, her pussy and thighs nearly vibrating with the sensation even as the guilt of betraying Tony whined against her ears.
“Fuck me, Cynthia. Come on, slip it inside, fuck me, and know reward.” Tony’s phantom hands stroked inside her folds, teased her clit and aroused her even as Rascal’s flesh slid deep inside her pussy.
“I’ll give you everything you want.” Rascal’s words were so hollow they practically echoed but Cynthia knew his words – their words – held promise. She’d do just about anything if she could return to this level of ecstasy she’d known before.
But it would be different – how could it not be, knowing that her actions, her lust, were being watched?
She leaned over Rascal, nipping his ear. “I want more.”
Rascal gripped her arms and pushed her away, staring at her like an angry lover. “More? What the fuck more do you want? Cyn, I could have your ass in a cell, the cameras turned off, and I could fuck every hole you got with a broom handle. No one would know it ever happened – except you and me.” The voice was his, but the words came from somewhere else… maybe from a story.
Her heart iced, but self preservation trumped horror, disgust and outright disbelief. She squirmed atop him.
She thought, you never did know when to shut the fuck up, Rascal. She ground down, bucking, violent, his cock a jagged flame within her, tearing and heating.
Rascal groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Keep that up, baby.”
“Baby? Baby?” Cass practically screeched it. “Sweetie, you can’t call her baby and me baby. There’s no fucking equivalence.” Cass melted and flowed, a drop of ink in water, then her heat was behind Cynthia, pressing against her, forbidden and frightening. She bit hard at Cynthia’s nape, blasting sensation through her until she nearly came. Rascal’s cock inside her, Cass’s teeth on her neck, the nerves in her belly and cunt became the battlefield.
“Rascal, dear, I think we need to fuck her together,” Cass growled, “until we’re satisfied. Until she’s finished.” Her fingers parted Cynthia’s pussy lips, found her clit, circling.
Cynthia fucked him hard, demanding, and selfish, even as her mind filled with Tony, needed him, sought to help him out – no, through – the weave.
She didn’t hesitate to push Cass away even as the black-haired woman bit Cynthia’s nipples and tried to drive her to screaming orgasms. No, this was about her and Rascal, and oddly, Tony too.
She cringed and thrilled as the orgasms blasted her sense of self into a million shards of light. Tears of desperation mingled with those of triumph as she shattered and saw with too much satisfaction the venomous glare that flashed in Cass’s cold, dark eyes.
The howl from Rascal heralded his orgasm and, as his hot load filled Cynthia’s pussy and began to run down her thigh, she knew one fact for certain. They weren’t finished.
Curling talons flashed in front of her eyes, aiming for them, and Cynthia caught the demon’s hands just before contact. Cass’s face was no longer pretty, but a mask of outraged horror.
No, they most certainly were not finished. Things were only getting started.
Continued in part 39.
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 2/26/2011 7:22 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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