• Home
  • Posts Tagged'online serial'
  • Page 3

Posts Tagged ‘online serial’

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Episode 5

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6aIn Part 5 of The Psychology of Dreams, Leah and Al begin to wonder if they’re really having a Groundhogs Day, Comedy of Errors, sort of experience rather than a punishment dream.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious and I had to share it. Since then,the Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination in some pretty unusual ways, and never taking the path I’d expect, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they? Enjoy episode 5!

 

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 4, find it here. 

 

Chapter 5 In Which Nothing Happened … Again?

“Now then, let’s see if we can’t ease the pain in you lovely little bottom before we get on with the spanking, ” Dr. Clyde said before Leah could ask what he meant by his remark about them never getting out of the dream. He rummaged and rattled through the surprising abundance of the desk drawers until he came up with a tube of something she couldn’t see in her bent-over position, but as he unscrewed the lid, she immediately smelled peaches. There was the sound of something squirting, and then she felt the doctor’s large palm spreading cool lotion against her burning butt. She sighed and clenched at the pleasure of it. “There now. That feels better, doesn’t it hon? Just what the doctor ordered. We don’t want that lovely ass of yours too wounded just yet. Your punishment has hardly begun, after all.”

“Peach? Seriously?” Al said, coming closer to observe and sniffing as he did so.7401867966b49d9e25e799def0c09dae

“Yup! And it’s edible too,” Dr. Clyde said. “Taste! Not like that, Dear God, Al, put the tube down, and use your imagination. You’re in a dream for fuck sake! And you,” he turned his attention back to Leah, “you lie still. You’re being punished. You don’t get to see what’s happening. You have to trust the dream, trust that what happens next is all a part of the experience.”

“Enough of the psycho-babble, already, Derrick. We get it,” Al protested. There was a shuffling of male bodies behind her, and Leah felt a different set of hands, clearly Al’s hands. They were not quite as large as Dr. Clyde’s, but they were slightly calloused. She wondered how someone who taught courses on dream psychology got calloused hands. He gently cupped her hips, carful not to touch her wounded left ass-cheek. Then she felt the humid heat of his breath just before his warm wet tongue pressed against the place where her thigh met her left buttock.

“Oh God!” she managed, as the unexpected, but delightful, sinuous lap of his tongue up the rounded contour of her ass cheek moved inward, closer to the cleft that she knew would taste nothing at all like peaches. Meanwhile the doctor droned on that though at one point in our evolution, we liked the scents and odors of the body, at present that was less the case, and scented and flavored lubricants and lotions for sex often made the partners more comfortable with their personal smells.

“I like her smell,” came Al’s muffled reply. “It’s her I want to taste, not fucking peaches.”

“Wait a minute, you can smell me? I mean I’m sure you can smell me now, but … before?”

“I ha’ a ‘en’ative nothe,” came the slurped reply against her ass, and she Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bdecided right then and there that she was just fine with that.

“I fail to see how eating her out is going to help ease the pain at all,” Dr. Clyde observed as Al licked and slurped and nibbled ever closer to the ache at the center that had nothing to do with the spanking.

“It’s my dream.” Leah protested, wriggling and squirming to open her legs against the restraint of the panties around her knees. “If I want him to do … that, then surely he should do that.”

“It’s hardly a punishment though, is it?” the doctor said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest observing Al’s efforts from the edge of Leah’s peripheral vision.

“Who the fuck ca — res?” she managed with a little gasp as Al fingered her open to make room for his very talented tongue.

She was just getting into it, just beginning to think that maybe Al’s tongue was prehensile when she heard a grunt and opened her eyes to discover the good doctor had moved closer, and he was now observing with his trousers open, his gaze locked on what Al was doing to her bottom and his fist locked around his heavy erection, which pointed accusingly at her ass as he shifted his hips to free his balls. Not that she wanted him to stop or anything, but she was just about to comment that she failed to see what his cock stroking had to do with her punishment when the sudden absence of a warm tongue from her nether region and the sound of a zipper opening told her that, in solidarity with his fellow male, Al had just freed Simba. She pressed her legs tightly together and wriggled just enough for the binding panties to drop to the floor. Then she kicked them aside and she was free too, opening her thighs anticipating more than Al’s tongue when the damn doctor called a halt to all activities.

“Now what!?” Both she and Al growled at the same time.

“You’re not supposed to fuck her, Al. You’re supposed to spank her, punish her, make her repentant.”
“Oh I am,” she managed breathlessly. “I’m very repentant. I’ll never write down fake dreams again.”

Dr. Clyde ignored her. “Look, in the dreams, you’re both being punished. No
one gets satisfaction until the punishment is complete.”

“Seriously?” Leah said, and Al cursed profusely. Under different circumstance to hear such foul language from the mouth of her mild-mannered instructor would have shocked her, but at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him completely.

“Well, I suppose I could have some satisfaction,” the doctor added with a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and the movement made his dick look like it shrugged too in its anxious agreement. “After all it’s not my dream and I’m not being punished.” Cock in hand, he insinuated himself between Al and Leah and with a quiver of anticipation, Leah wriggled against the table as he fingered her open.

“Wait a minute,” Al said. “This is Leah’s dream. What if she doesn’t want you to fuck her? What if she just wants to get on with it?”

“No, no! That’s all right. I’m good with it. I’m fine.” Leah just wanted someone to fuck her and soon! Since it was her dream, why not the good doctor? He was Dreams image 2IMG_0351certainly ready.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t put your cock in her mouth if you want,” Dr. Clyde said to Al. “I suppose that could be considered punishment. It could certainly be considered humiliation in most BDSM circles, if done under the right circumstances, or so I’m told,” he added quickly.

“What if I put my cock up your ass instead,” Al said, shocking both Leah and Dr. Clyde as he yanked at the waistband of the man’s expensive trousers.

Before the doctor could protest, Leah added her own bit of profanity to the blue language hanging in the air. “It’s my dream, damn it! So just put your fucking cock in his fucking hole already! I don’t see how that can affect my punishment. And when you do, I want to see, so Doc, if you’ll just hand me the mirror.”

“Wait a minute, Al’s the Dom, not you.”

“Shut up, Doc!” both she and Al said at once.

“It’s my dream,” Leah repeated, “Besides,” she added quickly, “I’ve never seen a man fuck a man before.”

“Come to think of it, neither have I,” Dr. Clyde said. “Do you think you can angle the mirror so I can see too.”

And just like that! They were all back in the shrink’s office again. “Nothing happened! Nothing the fuck happened!” Leah said, slamming both hands down hard on Dr. Clyde’s ginormous desk.

“What the hell’s going on?” Al came to her side, limping slightly. “If anything the situation’s getting worse.” He nodded down to the enormous erection putting serious strain on the fly of his jeans and making him walk like he’d had a rough day at the races.

“He’s right,” Leah said. “You left us in a terrible state, both ready to explode, both bent over the damn desk with our pants down, and you …”

“You were sandwiched in the middle,” Al finished her sentence breathlessly.

“Oh my!” Dr. Clyde laid his pen down on the legal pad and tugged at his paisley tie, then he leaned over the desk giving them his full attention. “Well that was a very inconvenient place to call a halt to proceedings, wasn’t it? But I certainly didn’t do it. While I appreciate your high opinion of my abilities, believe me, if I were about to be the jam in a sandwich, well I certainly would stuck around for that. It all sounds rather delightful to me. “ He picked up the pen again and wrote on his legal pad in enormous block letters, NOTHING HAPPENED! “It sounds like you’re getting farther and farther off track. Tell me,” he said, rubbing his hand over his clean-shaven chin, “is it possible that you’re both still dreaming?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re not still dreaming or we wouldn’t be here” Leah said, plopping herself down on the sofa, then standing quickly with a yelp, rubbing the stinging flesh of her left butt cheek.

“What’s the matter?” the doctor asked.

“It’s just that Al spanked me in the dream and you said it was too hard and there was a welt shaped like his belt and …” she fumbled open her jeans and bared d21d10b7afd3ca521ab7d563891fc7a7her ass-cheek from its snug position in transparent red panties, both men leaning anxiously toward the southern exposure. As she very gingerly slid aside the panties, the room was suddenly awash in the scent of peaches.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Forgetting himself, Al reached out and traced an index finger over the stinging buttock, and in spite of the pain, Leah clenched and wriggled and swallowed back a little moan.

Dr. Clyde shook his head and offered a smug chuckle. “Sorry you two, but you can’t put the blame on me when you’re obviously still dreaming.”

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Part Three

Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020In Part 3 of The Psychology of Dreams, Leah and Al decide to take their punishment dreams to a hypnotherapist.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, has in the second instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious last week, and I had to share it. The Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination again, so today I’m back with another instalment of a new serial.

The Psychology of Dreams 101, is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

Part 3 of The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a quick and dirty today, finished hurriedly after I sent a mega-manuscript off yesterday evening, so please excuse any typos, as I’m out the door and will hopefully give one more read-through when I get back home.

If you missed episode 2, find it here.

 

 

Chapter 3 Prepping to Dream

“When I wake up,” Leah said, “well, I’m always so … aroused, I can’t do anything until I … touch myself. And then, after I’ve gotten some relief, I feel guilty, oh not that I’ve masturbated,” she waved a hand to negate any comments he might make about her guilt. “I’ve masturbated since I was eleven, and being on my own, working from home as I do … well, it’s an outlet.”

“I understand,” Al said gently, “as one practitioner of self-love to another.” He said it with a sympathetic smile and not a trace of a blush, but Leah reminded herself that the man did have a PhD in some obscure branch of psychology. She wondered how he ended up teaching a class on dreams for an obscure adult education program, but that was a thought for another time.

She continued. “What I do feel guilty about is … well it always feels like there’s a disconnect, you know? Like maybe if I’d let you finish punishing me, if I could have slept through to that point, then maybe I could dream better, you know, do it right, see what’s supposed to happen next.” She quickly added, “I know that sounds absurd, like dreams are a series on TV and you can get them in a box set once the season finishes.”

He chuckled at that, but made no comment. For a moment they sat in silence with him nodding his agreement. Then he cleared his throat, once then again, and tugged at his open shirt collar. “I sometimes feel like if I could just stay in the dream until after the punishment then, I don’t know, then something really important would be revealed, if that makes any sense.”

“Me to!” She scooted her chair closer and lowered her voice, ‘like if I take my punishment, the reward will be the best dream ever. I suppose that sounds silly, because how can a dream be a reward? But that’s how it feels, that I can’t get to the dream, the really important dream, until I can make it through the punishment. Do you think maybe I should try some lucid dreaming techniques?”

“Wow! I see that you have read way ahead,” he said. “While many people find lucid dreaming an intriguing possibility, and I always encouraged my students to play around with lucid dreaming, it’s been my experience, even when I have a lucid dream, even when I’m aware that I’m dreaming, I’m never able to exert any control.”

“I had a great aunt who used to make a tea of valerian root, passion flower anise and several other Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bherbs whenever she wanted prophetic dreams.” She gave a little shrug. “She was Wiccan back before it was cool, and she was a bit scary at times.”

He chuckled softly. “Magic mushrooms, hallucinogenic drugs, vision quests, all those sorts of things, are often tools used for enlightenment. Certainly forms of physical abuse, deprivation, fasting, even flagellation, were all in an effort to reach the divine or the deeper self. Do you think we’ll find enlightenment if we get through our punishment dreams, Leah?”

“Maybe just the perfect orgasm.”

“Well who wouldn’t want that?” he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

There was another silence, and more staring down at their feet, then he looked up at her. “Perhaps it’s all the same thing.”

When she only offered a blank stare, he rubbed his palms against his trousers and squared his shoulders. “I mean your aunt took a mix of herbs, some people take drugs, others take beatings, but all with a similar end in mind.”

“So?”

“Leah,” his gaze from beneath the glasses felt almost physical, “you said you knew a little bit about BDSM. Do you know what subspace is?”

Leah felt her pulse jump. “I know a little, what I’ve read is all. Isn’t it sort of the altered state where submissives go in their heads, sort of a separation from their bodies after prolonged pain or pleasure?”

He nodded still holding her gaze.

“You think that our dreams are trying to get us into … the equivalent of subspace to access the mega-dream or whatever it is?”

“It’s a possibility, isn’t it? I mean we never get there in the dream and we always wake up unsatisfied with the distinct impression that we would have understood if we’d only stayed with it.”

“And what about the notes?” She said. “They seem to be saying just the opposite. They seem to be assuring us that we’re doing it right, and yet we get nowhere.”

“But a part of reaching that altered state is letting go. We both come back from the dream because we’re so desperate for an orgasm. We don’t stick around long enough to get to subspace or whatever the dream equivalent is. I took a meditation class once and the instructor told us that the more we think about getting it right when we’re trying to meditate, the less likely we’ll ever actually meditate. There’s something about letting go, about giving up expectations and giving oneself over to the experience. I understand that subs give over the control of their orgasm to their Doms, and that they can maintain that state of heightened arousal. That the orgasm isn’t the end all, but a part of the whole journey, and sometimes not even that. Of course my knowledge of BDSM is limited,” he added quickly.

“But isn’t that what falling asleep is essentially — the giving up of control to the unconscious?” Leah gave an embarrassed little laugh. “I’ll admit I find the spanking both arousing and frightening, but I want what’s at then end of it, not the spanking itself.”

“But what if you didn’t? What if you decided just to go along for the ride? What if you were to go deep into the spanking, the experience of the sting, of the pain, of the tingle? What if that in itself was the whole of the experience you were looking for? Then what?”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know how to do that, does it? For me, it’s never been
a lucid dream. I never know I’ve dreamed until I wake up. I suppose we could try herbs. I’m not comfortable with drugs. There’s hypnosis, maybe.”

“I know a psychiatrist who does hypnotherapy. It might be worth a try,” Al said. “Let me talk to him.”

 

Dr. Derrick Clyde was a big man, several inches taller than Al and much broader of shoulder. While Al had a lean endurance athlete’s build, Dr. Clyde could have been a body builder. He was deep-chested and, though he wore a sports jacket when they met him in his uptown office, there was no disguising the man’s physique.

“Let me get this straight, the two of you want me to hypnotize you to stay in a recurring dream, a recurring, kinky, erotic dream until it finishes so that you can both have some mega-dream that you
believe will follow if you take your punishment?”

“That about sums it up,” Al said, patting Leah’s hand reassuringly. “I know it’s a strange request, but –”

“All right,” Dr. Clyde cut him off at the pass. “I’ll do it.” Before either of them could offer their thanks, he raised a hand. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

“Which is?” Al shifted on the sofa and his spine stiffened.

“That you tell me about these dreams first.” Again he raised a hand to silence their protests. “If I’m going to hypnotize you because of such an unusual request, if I’m going to hypnotize you for any reason, I want to know and understand as much about the circumstances as possible before I do it. If anyone would know this, you would, Al.”

Leah didn’t miss the twitch of the muscles along Al’s jaw in response and the sudden rush of color to his cheeks, but he said nothing, only squared his shoulders and offered a nod of agreement.

“Good.” Dr. Clyde offered his best analyst smile and glanced down at his watch. “I have a free hour now, if that would work.”

“Now?” Leah said. “But we won’t be going to bed for hours,” then she blushed. “I mean I won’t be going to bed for hours. I don’t know what time Dr. Foster goes to bed.”

To this, Al sniggered and Dr. Clyde shot her a quirk of a smile. “Oh that won’t matter. I’ll just give each of you a word you say when you turn off the light and crawl into bed – at whatever time that may be, in whatever location – and the word will represent the command that you stay with the dream until it’s finished.”

After the uncomfortable experience of rehashing the dreams again, while Dr. Clyde listened and nodded without comment, they both got comfortable – as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, seated at opposite ends of Dr. Clyde’s Cordovan leather sofa and, the next thing Leah IMG_5339
knew, the psychiatrist snapped his fingers. “All done,” he said when she gave him a confused look.

“Seriously? I don’t remember anything,” Leah said, feeling like only a second had past. “What about the word?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right there.” He gently tapped her temple with the tip of his index finger. “The suggestion should help you stay in the dream until it reaches its natural conclusion. It won’t keep you asleep if, for instance the phone rings, there’s a knock on the door or the smoke alarm goes off. It’s designed only to work under normal REM sleep conditions. From what you’ve told me, something in the subconscious is keeping both of you from finishing the dream, and while I think that you’d be much better doing a few sessions of therapy before we do try hypnosis, you’re not my clients and I have no reason to think either of you unstable. And besides,” he offered a broad smile. “I’m way too intrigued not to be curious about where these kinky dreams are leading.”

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Part 2

Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, has in the second instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I dot get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious last week, and I had to share it. The Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination again, so today I’m back with another instalment of a new serial.

The Psychology of Dreams 101, is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

 

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Chapter 2

Blank Pages and Punishment 

“I’m not pleased with your dream journal, Leah.” It was so much like the dream, that it took her breath away. She stood before Al Foster’s desk in the empty classroom, him offering her a concerned look over the top of his glasses. It was so much like the dream, in fact, that she gave a quick glance down to make sure she still wore jeans and a pullover and not transparent red underwear.

“I don’t understand,” she said, clasping her bag to her chest to hide the press of her nipples, which didn’t really care if she wore red underwear or not. They seemed more interested in the close proximity of Al Foster.

“Why are you writing down made-up dreams? I can tell when you’re making it up, Leah. I can always tell. Is the technique I shared with you not working? If not, just tell me and we can try something else.”

“I haven’t been using the technique,” she blurted. “I haven’t needed to.” Fuck! That was an unfortunate slip.

“Oh?”

She tried to recall if she’d ever seen bluer eyes than his. Her dreams got it right, even with the glasses that made him look like a sexy nerd, you couldn’t miss the blue. His unkempt blond hair was the color of ripe wheat. Her dreams got that right too. She loved the way it fell down all disorderly and wild over his eyes when he spanked her.

“Leah? Are you all right?”

She jumped at the sound of her name. “I’m sorry. I’ve not been sleeping well,” she said. She didn’t know why she said that. If anything she’d been sleeping too well.

“Oh?” He slid his chair back and came to stand beside her. He was taller than she thought, and she blushed at the sight of his belt, brown leather. It looked soft like swede, but she knew it packed a wallop – at least it did when he wielded it. “Is it because of the dreams?” His blue gaze studying her from behind the glasses made her feel like she was under a microscope or in front of a two-way mirror, made her feel like she was standing there in his classroom in nothing but transparent red underwear. “Leah,” he said, touching her shoulder and gently guiding her to sit in one of the seats in the front row, while he pulled a chair up to face her. “Are the dreams erotic? Is that why you feel you can’t write them down for me? Because everyone has erotic dreams and, in fact, they may well be more likely to if they’re keeping a dream journal for sharing.

“They’re about you.” She hadn’t planned to say that. She’d planned to lie, but she was never very good at lying.

He blinked, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “About me.”

She nodded.

“Well,” he scooted back ever so slightly and straightened in his chair so that he could study her more Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bcarefully, “that’s not unusual either.” He smiled, and a soft blush crawled up his neck and onto his cheeks. “I’ve actually had students make up dreams about me. They were surprised when I called them on it. I have to say you’re the first woman to do the opposite, to hide those dreams from me. Oh, it’s not unusual for people to try to hide their erotic dreams, not at all, but I can pretty much guess that if a particularly steamy dream turns up about me, the writer is a woman. She’s made it up, and it’s more a fantasy than any dream she’s likely to have.”

“Oh believe me, it’s better this way,” she managed, still clutching her bag to her chest. “I mean me keeping them from you. I … I could barely write them down for myself.”

“But you did then? You did write them down?”

She nodded, her mouth gone suddenly dry. She hadn’t meant to tell him that either. “Just not in there.” She gestured to her class dream journal laying on his desk.

“I see.” He ran a hand through his hair leaving it standing in spikes and waves, making her ache to straighten it for him, or maybe muss it up further. “Leah, will you let me read the real journal. No one will know what you wrote but you and I, and I understand the psychology of dreams; I understand that we have no control over what happens in the unconscious. I promise I would never –”

“You spank me,” she blurted.

He sucked a heavy breath. “I spank you?”

“Yes, you spank me, and you tell me you’ll keep punishing me until I get my dreams right, until I dream about you, and it’s always the same, with the two of us alone in this room and you taking your belt off and you turning me over your knee and telling me that if you spank me, then maybe the pain in my — ” she made a quick jerk of her neck toward her backside “—will help remind me to dream of you. There’s only the one dream,” she added quickly, “well variations of it.”

After a few fish gasps and another hand through his hair, he squared his shoulders, and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I see. So, recurring dreams, are they?” He offered her a smile that wavered only slightly.

“Recurring? Yes, I suppose they are. I never thought of it like that.” If she was going to be brave enough to tell him the truth, then she might as well show him the rest of it too. She dug in her bag for her real dream journal and pulled out the page that she’d torn from the one for class, the page with the note she’d written to herself. “I woke up to find this in my journal after the first spanking dream.” She handed it to him.

To her shock and discomfort, he read it out loud.

You look beautiful when you dream. It was a good dream, the kind you don’t want to wake up from. At last, Leah, you’re doing it right! You can always tell when you do it right by the way your nipples bead beneath the sheet, by the way your lips turn up at the corners, slightly parted as though waiting to be kissed. And, take a sniff, Leah. Your scent is the scent of dreams well dreamed, luscious and ripe. Well done, Leah! Well done!

For a moment they both sat in silence, him staring down at the words on the page, her staring at her feet.Dreams imageIMG_0347 Then he took off his glasses and joined her in gazing at his own feet. At last he raised his eyes back to her and took a deep breath. “Why did you tear this out?”

“Because I don’t remember writing it. It’s not a dream, it’s like, I don’t know, me talking to myself in my sleep or something, and I thought if you read it you’d think … ”

“I’d think what?”

“That I just made it up that I was just being … you know, pathetic.”

“Why would I think that?” He put his glasses back on and looked at the note again. “It seems to me like your unconscious had you pegged pretty well here,” then he added quickly, “of course I don’t know what you look like when you dream or what your physiological responses are, but it makes sense. I … I smell differently when I wake up after a strong dream, and,” he looked away quickly, “I get … hard too, when I’m doing it right.” He blushed and she blushed for him and they were both looking at their feet again.

“But how can there be a right way and a wrong way to dream? I mean I’ve read way ahead in the texts you’ve recommended and done some research on my own. We really sort of just dream what we dream, don’t we?”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, scooting closer to her with a screech of the chair legs on the floor. “But then I started getting … comments like this.” He nodded down to her note, “comments from my unconscious, I assume, and I also have dreams about not doing it right.”

“Did you get … you know … spanked?”

This time it was more than a blush, his whole face redden, and the fine muscles along his cheek bones twitched. “It was rather more than a spanking, I’m afraid.”

“More than a spanking?” Her pulse hammered in her words, as she pushed forward on the edge of her seat.

“Do you know anything about BDSM, Leah?” His own pulse kept beat in his words and thudded in his throat as he pinned her in his gaze.

“A little. I’ve read a few novels, done a bit of research … online,” she added quickly.

“Does it frighten you?”

“A little yes. And it intrigues me.”

“This time I was tied up, flogged and had … implements placed …” He looked away as though he expected to find the words he was looking for floating on the air outside the window in the parking lot. “I had things shoved up my … butt,” he finally managed avoiding her gaze.

“Oh? Oh, wow!” The words were out before she could stop them. And they were followed in rapid succession by, “how was it?”

“Not like I expected.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “I woke up … aroused,” he gave a little nod and lowered his eyes to the note still clenched in his hand. “I had to masturbate before I could function and, after, I found a note in my dream journal similar to this. One I don’t remember writing. Anyway,” he said looking up at her again. “The person doing things to me, in my dream, she kept saying that I wasn’t doing it right, that I should dream about her and she would punish me until I did.”

“She?” Leah asked.” He nodded, carefully maintaining uncomfortable eye contact. “Was she me?” The words were out before she could stop them. Clearly the internal editor was having a day off, she thought.

“I honestly don’t know. I never saw her face. But I know she was a woman because I felt her breasts against my back when she moved in close to tighten my bonds.” He glanced at the door as though he feared someone might be listening there. “I know you must think me some kind of a pervert telling you this, you being my student and all, but I’ve been teaching this class for ten years – here and in other places; I’ve seen more dream journals than I could possibly keep track of, and most of them are full of dreams that are just exactly what I would expect to surface from someone’s unconscious.” He shrugged. “I get a fair few people, women in particular, faking their dreams, making them up either to impress me or because they’re embarrassed. But you – you started out writing your dreams, and then you suddenly stopped after you’d been so earnest in your efforts with the journal. I knew something was up. I could feel it. I never expected this though.” He nodded down to the note he still held, then handed it back to her.

“The thing is, Leah, no on else has ever had a similar experience, an experience that mirrors my own, until you.”

For a moment the two sat in silence, and then Leah took a deep breath. “You said ‘this time,’ like it wasn’t the first time, like it’s happened before.”

“Lots of times before.”dark moon image_xl_6338206

“And it’s different each time?”

“Not every time, but frequently. What’s always the same is that it involves some kind of erotic punishment, and I never climax in the dream, though I want to. I really need to. I wake up frustrated and unable to do anything until I … take care of it. It’s the same for you, isn’t it, Leah?”

 

NEW STORY! The Psychology of Dreams 101

I’m certainly empty nesting now that In The Flesh has come to an end. I had planned a few weeks off Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bwith just stories and snippets from the archives posted before I began anything major, but my Muse clearly had other ideas.

No, I didn’t dream it, but it bubbled up from somewhere last night about an hour before bedtime, so today I have the first episode of a new serial, literally just finished minutes ago. The Psychology of Dreams 101, is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Chapter 1

 

You look beautiful when you dream.

 

That was the first sentence; that was how it all started. Leah thought it might be some sort of lucid dreaming when she saw the words scrawled across the page of her open journal on the nightstand. She’d had every intention of asking her instructor about it, but then she couldn’t really tell him the dream that had brought it on, could she? It sounded like the sort of thing the unconscious of a pathetically shy introvert would write to herself from the dream world because no one in the waking world would and, while that might be true – the pathetic introvert part, she didn’t want to make it more obvious to her instructor than it probably already was – especially when she had half a crush on him. Besides, it also sounded like the sort of thing a sex-crazed slut might write to herself when her vibe batteries ran down. That made her sound even more pathetic – the vibe and the batteries part, not the slut part.

Dreams image 2IMG_0351She had just started a course on the psychology of dreams. She tried to take advantage of the adult education classes whenever possible. It got her out of the house and forced her to interact with other people – real flesh and blood people. With her job, online shopping, online banking, direct debit, grocery delivery, she never had to leave the house really, and that suited her just fine, but she knew it shouldn’t. She knew it wasn’t healthy. Sometimes going to the classes was more of an ordeal than a pleasure, but that was not the case for the psychology of dreams class.

She had to admit, she’d taken that course because she’d overheard several women giggling and talking about how hot the instructor was and how their dreams had become very sexy since they’d started his class. A part of the class work was to keep a dream journal. The women had been sitting at the table next to her in the coffee shop pouring over their journals together and laughing about how they thought Al — Al Foster was the instructor – would respond when he read their dreams. She’d been taking a photography course then, and it had been one of the few times Leah had actually forced herself to initiate conversation, asking the women about the class. They were only too happy to share, and soon she was laughing and blushing and joking right along with them as they told her all about the psychology of dreams course and how it had truly stimulated their dream life. The next term, she signed right up.

A dream journal — that had sounded simple enough when Al – he’d insisted they all call him Al – had explained what it was. All she had to do was write down her dreams every morning when she woke up. But by the time she sat down at the breakfast table with her bowl of cereal and her coffee, dream journal and pen at the ready, she could remember nothing but bits of broken images — nothing dramatic, nothing with hidden psychological meaning – certainly nothing sexy. After a week of drawing blanks from the dream world, Al had helpfully suggested that she keep the journal open by her bed, and that she set an alarm for every two hours. When the alarm went off, she was then to write, just in a few key words of what she remembered, words that would jog her memory in the morning.

The first time the alarm went off, she woke disoriented and confused. By the time she remembered why she’d set the alarm, she also remembered she’d forgot to set the trash out for pick-up. She remembered that she needed to order some more vitamins online. She remembered that she needed to put the clothes in the dryer, but what she didn’t remember was her dreams. The second alarm, she must have unconsciously shut off before she got fully awake, but on the third, she managed a little dream snippet about chasing a big dog through the local McDonalds, a dog who had shamelessly stolen her Big Mac right out of her hand. She hated Big Macs, and big dogs made her nervous. Well that was at least something to analyze, wasn’t it? Though Freud had insisted that sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, surely that didn’t hold true for Big Macs, which she didn’t like, and big dogs, which she didn’t trust. Al would be pleased.

The second night there was a dream about a leather jacket with a huge snake for a collar, a snake that 7401867966b49d9e25e799def0c09daetalked — kind of like a parrot. There was a dream in which she’d gone to the supermarket and ended up in a maze unable to find her way out. There was a dream of planting begonias in front of the convenience store around the corner. For the rest of the week, she was excited to see that the setting of the alarms was working. Her key words helped her to remember details, and the rest was easy.

Saturday night she’d stayed up late watching a romcom marathon. She’d had popcorn, polished off the best part of a bottle of wine and there had been plenty of chocolate while she watched The Ugly Truth, Sabrina, Friends with Benefits, and When Harry Met Sally. She loved romcoms. They made her feel like there was someone for everyone, and though she wasn’t unhappy being alone, she liked the thought that somewhere out there, her counterpart was thinking the same thing.

She fell asleep halfway through Sleepless in Seattle, and when she woke up and stumbled off to bed, she’d forgot to set her dream alarms, though in truth she was beginning to remember her dreams more easily now, just as Al had said she would.

Perhaps it was OD-ing on romcoms that caused her to have sexy dream about Al. In truth they were mostly just images, disjointed, arousing, sometimes shameful images – images of walking into his office and finding him masturbating, images of somehow ending up in the men’s locker room at the gym and finding him in the shower, steamy water pulsing over strong arms and a tight ass as he hunched over himself paying particular attention to the soaping of his junk. There was one dream, however, that she remembered vividly. Al sat behind his desk in the empty classroom, clad in his usual polo shirt and jeans. He had asked her to stay after. “I’m not happy with your dream journal, Leah,” he said, looking her up and down. She suddenly felt naked, embarrassed, and dreams being what they were, well she had good reason. She wore only red lace underwear that was nearly transparent; certainly they did nothing to disguise her heavy nipples. “When are you going to learn that all you have to do is just relax and let it happen?”

“I try, Al, really I do, but I just can’t seem to dream about you.”

“Then perhaps you need a little encouragement.” He stood and pulled his belt from its loops around his waist all the while raking her with a critical gaze. “If I lay a few bright pink welts across your nice round ass, do you think maybe when you lie down in bed tonight, when your poor tender bottom touches those clean rough sheets, you might manage to remember me in your dreams?”

“Yes. Yes, I think that might help,” she said. Fuck! What was she thinking? How could she agree to such a thing? And yet, she did, most heartily she did.

Before she could say more, or rethink the arrangement, he yanked her around the desk, dropped back into the chair and pulled her over his knees. He all but tore her panties off her and she woke screaming and begging just as the first lash fell. For a moment she lay in the darkness gasping for breath, struggling with the strange mix of emotions that came from wanting the man to spank her and yet not, but certainly wishing she could go back to sleep and finish the dream. She was wet with sweat and, was she imagining it, or did her bottom actually hurt? She was definitely not imaging her state of arousal. There would be no returning to the dream world until she could make herself a little more comfortable, and that meant fantasizing about just what Al would do after he’d finished spanking her. It didn’t take her long to bring herself over the edge, and then she fell almost instantly back to sleep.

It was the morning sun streaming through the curtains she forgot to close that woke her, disappointed that Al Foster had not returned to her dreamscape, though he had, nonetheless, provided her with a good orgasm. Certainly she couldn’t’ write any of those dreams in her journal. She might have to start a private journal just for sexy dreams – assuming this wasn’t a one-off. God, she hoped this wasn’t a one-off.

As she sat up on the edge of her bed and stretched, she noticed the dream journal open with the pen america-artist-art-paintings-prints-note-cards-by-howard-chandler-christy-nude-women-reading-approximate-original-size-18x16lying across the page, which read:

You look beautiful when you dream. It was a good dream, the kind you don’t want to wake up from. At last, Leah, you’re doing it right! You can always tell when you do it right by the way your nipples bead beneath the sheet, by the way your lips turned up at the corners, slightly parted as though waiting to be kissed. And, take a sniff, Leah. Your scent is the scent of dreams well dreamed, luscious and ripe. Well done, Leah! Well done!

There was no doubt the writing was her own, though way neater than most of the scrawl she’d written at speed. The thing was, she had no memory of writing it.

 

In The Flesh Part 22: Dark Paranormal Romance in Progress. Enjoy!

In the Flesh 11880534_1463650103936599_545702979581425574_n

 

 

In episode 22 of In The Flesh, Susan discovers the chilling truth about what Magda Gardener and Michael were trying to steal from Chapel House.

 

In the Flesh  is very dark paranormal erotica. When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

 

 

 

To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow these links to  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9Part 10Part 11Part 12Part 13Part 14Part 15Part 16, Part 17Part 18Part 19Part 20, Part 21.

 

In The Flesh Chapter 22

“I really need to go.” Michael kissed my ear and cupped my breast, thumbing the nipple that was just peeking from the cloud of geranium scented bubbles. After we’d made love, we slipped down the stone staircase to my room, which, I discovered to my delight, was just below his. He’d requested it that way. For my protection, he said, so he could get to me quickly if the need arose. And since High View was in the process of renovations, this was the best Alonso could do. Once we were back in my room, Michael had filled up the big bathtub and undressed me at his leisure, pausing to kiss and caress as necessary. Then he guided me down into the warm sudsy water and crawled in with me, to bathe me, he said — an act that was accomplished after another, less frantic, reinforcement of his mark. Warm, clean and sated, I leaned back against the humid rise and fall of his chest half dozing, trying hard to pretend that we were simply two lovers enjoying a little wet afternoon delight.

“I may be borrowing trouble,” he said, “but something doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t have taken Magda so long to reconvene our little … reading group.” I felt his shrug against my back. “Though she’s not the kind who thinks to inform anyone of a change of plans. Still. I don’t like it. I suppose a delay could be a good sign, but I’m not an optimist when it comes to working with Magda, and certainly not where the Guardian is concerned.” Over my mild protests he stood, causing a mini tsunami of scented water, and offered me his hand.

When we were both dried and dressed, I reeled him in for a lingering kiss. “You don’t have to sleep all St Martha's Hill 3alone up there in that cold little tower, you know.”

He caught my hand and pulled it to his lips. “Are you inviting me to share your bed, Ms Innes?”

“Well I was just thinking that the mark could probably use a bit more reinforcing. Just to be sure. And, just in case you might need to get to me in a hurry or something. You understand.”

“You have a good point.” He nodded in mock seriousness.

“You have a better one.” I rubbed against him.

He groaned into my mouth in a deep lazy kiss. “As much as I’d love to discuss my point with you and give you another demonstration, I really need to find out what’s going on.” He kissed me again, giving my arse a good kneading as he shifted up tight against me, then he nipped my lower lip. “I promise we’ll continue this discussion later.” He turned to leave, then turned back to me. “I need you to stay put in your room until I com back for you. After everything that’s happened, the protective spells around this space have been reinforced to keep you safe when you’re alone. I’ll be back for you, or someone else will, shortly.” He waited until I nodded a reluctant agreement, then he left me leaning breathlessly against the edge of the door as I watched him disappear down the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, the world came rushing back. There was no more pretending that we were just ordinary lovers, there was no way to pretend anything was ordinary anymore. Fighting off the rising panic, my first thought was to boot up my laptop and document the events of the past twenty-four hours. Writing things down always helped me focus and see things more clearly – often things that had completely escaped me in the midst of the action, and I very much needed to see things more clearly right now. Then I remembered that the laptop was still in the study, where we’d all been titillated by my encounter with the Guardian. My stomach knotted at the memory. Well I fucking needed it! I couldn’t just sit around and fret. I needed to do something, anything to keep from going nuts, to keep from convincing myself that the Guardian was the love of my life and I needed to hurry back to Him. Ignoring Michael’s request, I took a deep breath, flung open the door and headed for the study. After all, the study was surely safe from the Guardian, deep in Alonso’s vampire friendly basement. I was sure I’d be fine there. The problem was I’d only been there once, and that was following Alonso’s lead. High View was a complicated maze of ruins and renovations one could easily get lost in and never be heard from again. It was the perfect hangout for a vampire and his pet succubus, I thought. Not so great for a confused writer though.

After two wrong turns and a dead end that led to a fairly creepy tunnel, I was just beginning to get dark moon image_xl_6338206seriously concerned that I might really be lost when I turned a blind corner and nearly ran into Talia. I gave a little yelp, and she responded with an amused chuckle. She was dressed in faded jeans, riding boots and a black leather jacket that hugged her perfect curves. Even in the dim light of the passage she looked terrifyingly beautiful – not like an angel. I knew very well what an angel looked like, felt like. Talia wasn’t like that at all with her waves of dark hair and red lips, with her blue eyes that looked right through you. Talia was like everything beautiful, everything desirable, everything dangerous and forbidden rolled into one breathtaking package. Christ, whatever happened to just normal everyday, sexual attraction between two ordinary human beings? I was out of my depth at every turn, and this was the safe place! I was about to apologize for being so jumpy and ask directions when she brought me up short.

“Are you looking for Magda?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” At least I was now, now that perhaps I had someone to help me hunt her down. I asked innocently, “do you know where I can find her?” I had a few things to say to the woman and if Michael was overly protective of her, perhaps someone else could point me in the right direction.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, folding her arm over mine and turning me down the hall toward the dodgy-looking tunnel. As she grabbed a Mag Light from a shelf near the entrance, I felt a tingle at the base of my spine, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the idea of entering the maw of the tunnel with a succubus I didn’t totally trust or just the fact that her hand against my bare forearm made me slightly giddy. “I would imagine you have a lot of questions for her,” she called over her shoulder as the tunnel began to narrow and she took the lead. “Not that I would expect too many answers if I were you. The bitch isn’t exactly known for her open door policy.”

“You don’t like her,” I said, scurrying to keep up with the pace of someone who was clearly familiar with the tunnel.

“I like her just fine. In fact I admire the hell out of her. But I don’t expect straight answers from her, and when she does get around to straight answers, usually I wish the hell she would have lied, but then that’s just Magda Gardener for you. Can’t say that I really blame her for trusting no one and using every resource at her disposal, and believe me, she’s got ‘em. Resources, I mean.”

“She certainly seems to have Michael by the shorthairs,” I said, stooping slightly as the tunnel narrowed still further and my heart rate accelerated accordingly.

“Hon, she has everyone by the shorthairs, even if they don’t know it.”

“Are you sure you know where she’s at?” I asked, shivering as a gossamer strand of spider web raked across my cheek.

Her chuckle was low and throaty. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to seduce you in some dark musty corner, if that’s what you’re afraid of and, as I said earlier, Alonso doesn’t feed on his guests, even uninvited ones.”

“Very happy to hear that, on both counts,” I said, raking my elbow on a rough outcropping of rock I rose imageshadn’t noticed in the wavering illumination of the Mag Light. Then I added quickly. “Michael tells me you’re his familiar – Alonso’s, I mean.”

The chuckle came again. “Oh, indeed. I’m very familiar with Alonso. I offer him blood and he reciprocates, when my energies are drained in his service. I’m his eyes in the daylight, and his flesh when he needs me to be. I add that … feminine touch to his household. I’m not his lover, though. Not now anyway. He’s head over heels for Reese, and that’s fine with me. I prefer human lovers. Their dreams are really quite … twisted, surprisingly. I know, right? Wouldn’t you think the dreams of a vampire, certainly a vampire who has been through what Alonso has would be far more exciting? But,” she turned and I suddenly found myself nose to nose with her, breathing in her cinnamon and peaches breath, “vampires and succubi and things that go bump in the night are born of the human psyche, you know. The veil between the dream world and the real world is so much thinner than anyone who hasn’t walked both could easily imagine.” She reached out and brushed a spider web from my hair. “I would think a Scribe would know that.” Then she turned and continued on.

Born of the human psyche? I wondered how that could be when Talia, Alonso, even Michael were as real and as physical as I was, but I’d save that question for later. There were more pressing ones at the moment. “So let me get this straight, you gain strength from his blood when you’ve done stuff for him, and he … feeds on you?”

She laughed out loud. “Oh honey, it’s way more than strength I gain from his blood. Taking a vampire’s blood is better than the best drug or alcohol high you can imagine. There’s nothing else like it, unless it’s to reciprocate and offer your own blood to one of their kind. Me,” she shrugged, “Well, I get my kicks mostly in other ways, and though I enjoy the exchange of blood, even need it from time to time when I’m weakened, I feed on an entirely different kind of energy.” Her gaze raked me like a physical touch and I felt my nipples harden. I caught my breath and stepped back. She just winked, then turned and walked on.

For a long time we walked on in silence, then I had to ask. “You can’t feed on the Guardian?”

“No. I have to have flesh, just as Alonso does, though for him the flesh and blood are a very physical need – different from my own. There’s a biochemical reaction that takes place in the body, in the brain when I feed, when a person dreams, when a person is aroused, when a person eats or fucks or gets excited or nervous or frightened or is satisfied in some other way. That’s just biology. I feed on that energy. Whatever it is that the Guardian may be, it’s not physical. There’s no biology where he is concerned. That’s the one thing denied him and the one thing he desires most, that physical experience, that biochemical reaction that happens when flesh meets flesh. That’s why everyone here but Alonso and Magda are vulnerable to him. Alonso is technically dead and Magda, well who the hell knows with Magda?”

“So, you can’t feed on Magda?”

Bernini Hades and Persephone close uptumblr_lg4h59T3z31qe2nvuo1_500The tunnel suddenly opened into a small amphitheater-like cave, and we picked our way across the rock-strewn floor, slick with dripping water and moss. At the entrance, which was well hidden from the outside by a thicket of heather and hawthorn, we looked out onto the rainy fells. “I’ve never tried to feed on Magda. Though I have to admit, she’s sexy enough; the thought of entering that woman’s dreams scares the hell out of me. Now your angel, well he’s another matter. He gave up his angelhood ages ago. Technically he’s as human as you are now, though he’s … well I suppose you could say he’s enhanced. But, as I’m sure you know, the biochemistry is all there in spades. Him I could feast on quite happily, and the two of you together, oh well, that thought positively makes me wet with anticipation. If ever you’re open for a little ménage, Hon, I promise I’ll make it well worth your while.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I hated to admit it, but after my experience with the succubus, the thought made me wet too. I quickly changed the subject. “So, Magda is flesh and blood, then, and the … biochemistry is all there, but for whatever reason, you’re scared of her and the Guardian wants nothing to do with her?”

“That’s pretty much it, yes. Not sure why the Guardian doesn’t like her, but I have a feeling that one taste of her energy would fry my circuits permanently. Might well be worth the risk, but I’m not that fucking brave. As for the whys of it all, well I’m not sure even she fully understands, and if you’re brave enough to ask, well go for it, chick, that’s all I can say.”

I would be brave enough to ask, I thought. I needed to understand who the hell this woman was if my life and the life of my best friend and my lover were in her hands. I needed to know if I could trust her. But even if I couldn’t, it really didn’t matter at this point. She was all we had. “Is she really a thief?” I asked.

“A thief?” The resulting belly laugh surprised me, and I waited impatiently while Talia regained control, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes, still chuckling when she was finally able to respond. “ I suppose now that you mention it, that’s exactly what she is, but on a scale that would take your breath away little Scribe.” She nodded to what looked like a ramshackle shepherd’s bothy half hidden in a wooded copse. “She’s in there.” She slipped out of her jacket and handed it to me. “Trust me. You’re gonna need this. Magda isn’t big on creature comforts when she’s practicing her magic.”

I shivered from something other than cold as I shoved my way into the black leather jacket warm from the succubus’ body and redolent with her musky, peachy, cinnamon scent. “So what did she send Michael to Chapel House to steal? I mean seriously, wasn’t she afraid something like this might happen with the Guardian if they started mucking about?”

I suddenly found myself in the woman’s hard blue gaze. She looked at me as though I were some new life form she was only seeing for the first time. “The Guardian was already released when she sent Michael to play cat burglar. Didn’t you know?”

“Me? How the hell would I know? I knew nothing about any of this until Michael rescued me from my butcher-knife wielding best friend.”

“Sweetie,” she stepped closer and pushed the hair back behind my ears in a gesture that sent tingles down my spine, her gaze suddenly softened to something that resembled sympathy. “Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?” The tingle became an icy chill. “Know what?”

Talia gave a quick glance out at the bothy and then squared her shoulders as though she had just made a major decision. “Magda commissioned Michael to … to steal you.”

“What?” I suddenly felt as insubstantial as the spider webs clinging to the ceiling. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean, she hired Michael to steal me. I’m a person, not an object. She can’t steal me. And neither can he,” I added trying to keep the hurt from my voice.

“Oh she can, and she will. She has stolen more people than you can easily imagine, Hon. Michael’s one of them. And Michael, well he’ll happily aid her because he wants you almost as badly as she does. Maybe more so considering the power of his mark on your body. I can feel it from anywhere in High View. Shouldn’t doubt that I could still feel it all the way to Penrith.”

“Why?’ The word came out sounding entirely too much like a sob.

“What do you mean why? You’re a Scribe. Do you have any idea how rare that is? No one else could have P1020199

released the Guardian but a Scribe and not even every Scribe could have done what you did. That’s the only explanation for his return to the world of the living. It didn’t take Magda and Michael long to put two and two together. They knew your friend wasn’t a Scribe, and they knew that the Guardian was already feasting on her. Remember Magda rescued Michael from the Guardian, and together they imprisoned him. They both understand the way it is with him. You’re what he’s after. Your friend is just a little snack. He knows what you are as well as they do. You hold his future in your hands, and he knows it. That makes you far too valuable for them not to steal you away.”

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

Site created and maintained by Writer Marketing Services | Sitemap
Social media & sharing icons powered by UltimatelySocial