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Shadows From The PastChapter 22 free porn video
Cassie stands before the glowing pit, unsure of why she is here. She has not willed herself to the conduit to the force line. She has no intention of Projecting herself tonight; she is focused on discovering more of own past.
She is aware of the urge to travel along the ethereal energies and practice her abilities. She senses she can do so much more with this power. She knows not where the feeling originates, and she gazes at the opening as if to seek the answer there.
Instead, she recalls the swirling, blurry faces, and Debby's explanation of their likely origin. She shivers and is finally able to turn away. As harmless as Debby claims them to be, she wishes no contact with dead spirits that night.
She walks among the corridors of the dreamverse and approaches the veil. She steels herself before plunging inside, the icy passage giving the sensation of freezing her solid. She is through a breath later and stares again into the disorienting gray.
Cassie advances with difficulty. The gray has substance, thickening like gel, resisting her attempts to penetrate it. Her heart pounds with every bit more exertion, as she worries this could somehow damage her mother's mind. She is mystified as to how her mother could put up this much resistance.
"No, I'm not going to do this anymore!"
Cassie gasps and looks around, but she is surrounded by featureless gray. The indignant voice is from little Cassie, but its cadence suggests the passage of several years from her last appearance.
"Cassandra, who are you talking to?!"
A chill creeps up Cassie's spine at a mother's voice both angry and fearful. She feels both emotions coming at her in crashing waves, and she moves towards it.
"I'm getting too old for this!" cries little Cassie. "You heard what my mother said. I have to grow up."
"Come out of there!" Dorothy cries. "Come out this instant!"
Cassie rushes towards the burst of fright and fury, but nothing appears in the pall. She trembles, hoping she is on the verge of a revelation as to how she transitioned into adolescence with little memory of her childhood.
"Mother, I'm doing what you wanted me to do," comes little Cassie's voice, but with less conviction than before.
"You're not supposed to be in there!" Dorothy screeches. "You promised me you would never go near that--"
"Mother, I have to tell him I won't be able to be his friend anymore."
"STOP TALKING ABOUT IT LIKE IT'S REAL!" Dorothy shrieks, and Cassie's blood runs cold. Terror spikes the gray with such force that it takes tangible form, like the vague outline of a steel lance thrust through a thick fog. Cassie runs towards it, despite feeling like she is about to be impaled upon it.
"STOP YELLING!" little Cassie cries, sobbing. "Please s-stop yelling at me. I'm doing what you want. I'm telling him to go away."
"Stop it," Dorothy gasps as if choking on her own emotions. "Stop pretending it's real. For God's sake, Cassandra..."
Ahead, shadows flit in and out of ethereal existence, as if the scene is racing away as fast as she can approach.
"You have to go away now!" little Cassie cries, her voice broken by sniffles and sobs. "Go away and d-don't come back. Please, my mother is ... no ... no, I won't! I told you I won't! Stop it! STOP IT!"
The gray solidifies around Cassie like a steel band, and she strains to even lean forward. Just at the edge of her perception, a scene of shadows unfolds. She sees her younger self and mother in dark silhouette
Her mother's figure crumples, and little Cassie shrieks. "Why did you do that?! I told you not to do that! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!"
Never have three words so chilled Cassie to the bone. She conjures the memory of Melissa, the one who said those very same words after failing her bid for power, power with a terrible price that even she had not realized she would have to pay.
In the next breath, Cassie is falling.
She falls in no direction she can discern. Everything races away no matter what direction she looks, as if she is collapsing into herself. She passes through the veil, twisted and distorted as if warped by a thick, uneven lens. Gray gives way to pastels, pastels to brilliance, brilliance to white-out. Just as she is about to scream into the burning white, it flashes out of existence, and she is standing in her own room.
For a moment, she believes she has returned to her own body and has bolted out of bed with the force of the impact. Yet it is too dark to be anywhere near morning. Outside the window, faint vestiges of twilight fall to the rolling summer dark. She hears a gasp, and she leaps back from the bed, staring down at herself.
Her eyes widen as she beholds a vision of herself older by far than the little girl of her mother's memories. The covers are pulled up to her chin over her writhing body, and she utters tiny gasps and moans while her eyes occasionally glance at the bedroom door. Beside the bed lie a rumpled nightgown and bright pink underwear.
Present Cassie stumbles back as she realizes it has happened again. Somehow she is inside her own memories. This is one she knows, and she feels a tingle of sympathetic arousal as she senses the mounting pleasure from her past self. She is reliving her first real orgasm.
Her lips curl into a tiny smile as she glances first at the bed covers and then the clothing on the floor, feeling both amused and embarrassed. She could hardly fathom ever having been that timid about her body.
Younger Cassie suddenly closes her eyes and tilts her head back. Frantic movement under the blanket rocks the bed until she utters a sudden, quick sigh through parted lips. Her knees draw up, her hips jerking in time to her staccato pants.
Present Cassie squeezes her legs together as the waves of orgasmic pleasure roll over her. She runs a hand through her hair and resists the urge to touch her own damp folds. Finally, the pleasure fades, and younger Cassie's lips curl into a content smile even as her cheeks glow red.
Present Cassie is happy to have relived this pleasant memory, but to what purpose? This is one she knows and cherishes. Only then does she realize this is her first memory. Little of her childhood exists in her mind before the moment of her sexual awakening.
Younger Cassie rolls to the side of the bed and pulls each of the garments under the covers. She writhes and contorts, cloth sliding over skin, until she finally whips the covers from her now dressed, if rumpled, form.
Present Cassie watches her younger self skip towards the bathroom so pleased with herself. That night she would have her first foray into another's mind as she slept, her orgasm awakening her Dream Gift.
She is so taken by the moment that she only now realizes that her memory is no longer playing out as she expects. She recalls dressing herself, rolling over in bed, and falling asleep almost instantly. Her next memory is of waking the next morning and recalling the wonderful, lucid dream she had.
Younger Cassie stops at the threshold of the bathroom, facing the darkness within. She makes no move to turn on the light. "You were right, that felt nice."
Present Cassie's eyes widen. She steps forward and cranes her neck, but she sees nothing but shadow. She reaches out with her empathic sense and shivers when she finds a presence but feels nothing from it save for its disturbing existence.
"But you have to leave now, I'm sorry," younger Cassie says with deep sadness in her voice. "I let you come back because I thought it was safe now, but..."
Present Cassie's heart thumps and despairs. What should be a well-known memory is playing out as if for the first time, like someone else's memory plundered by her Gift.
"The what?" younger Cassie says. "You want it back? But..." Another pause, her fingers sliding up and down the door frame. She takes half a step back. "Will you keep it safe? You said it was important to keep things like that safe."
Present Cassie edges closer to her past self, her eyes still staring into the blackness. It appears almost unnaturally dark, as if something were blocking her normal senses past the plane of the door.
"All right, I'll get it," younger Cassie says, and present Cassie scrambles out of the way. She watches her younger self drop to her knees beside the bed and reach under it.
"Oh my," present Cassie breathes as a third representation of herself emerges.
Her younger self holds a doll, made in the likeness of herself. It has the same brown curls, the same oval face, the same proportions of legs, hips, torso, and even her budding bosom. It is attired in an exact replica of one of her ball gowns, the sequins represented as sparkles of glitter.
It is made on the same scale as the dolls from the doll house in the playroom.
Younger Cassie straightens up, staring at the doll for a moment before turning towards the bathroom. She hands the doll across the threshold, and her hand comes back empty. A tiny, sad sigh escapes younger Cassie's lips. "You're going away now forever, aren't you?"
The presence is still there, growing neither weaker nor stronger, just inside the dark. She has the sense it is hiding, not from her younger self but from her attempted recollection.
"Wait, what are you going to do with that?" younger Cassie suddenly says in a voice of rising alarm. She steps back from the threshold. "No, don't. Don't do that! I gave it to you because I trusted you! I..."
Present Cassie watches in mounting horror as her younger self sways and the room ripples and wavers.
"So sleepy..." younger Cassie murmurs as she slowly crumples to the floor, the room fading and racing away into the impossible distance.
Cassie's eyes blinked open, and she sat up. She rubbed her eyes and stared out the window, where dull gray-white light shone through gentle flakes of snow wafting down in the early morning air. She looked towards the floor outside the bathroom as if expecting to see her crumpled younger form still lying there.
She flinched when something impinged on her empathic sense. Fleeting and ephemeral, it may have been a stray emotion from one of the staff or her parents. Nevertheless, she kicked off the covers and crept towards the bathroom, her heart pounding.
She saw nothing. She forced herself to step inside and felt nothing. It appeared empty to all her senses, mundane and not.
Cassie uttered a quavering sigh and filled the teapot at the end of the counter. She thumped a large mug beside it and dropped in a teabag of chamomile. She leaned against the door as she waited for the water to boil, covering her face with her hands for a moment.
She had called her first orgasm pivotal, but she had supposed many people did. Now it seemed far more literal as it was the only shared event between what she knew and what she had forgotten.
Jason heard the garage door go up and tried not to think of it as abandonment. His father had made it abundantly clear that he either could not or would not help. He preferred not to have his father act like a spectator while his mother took control of his life.
Jason rubbed his bleary eyes and sat down in front of his computer before he remembered. He sighed as routine reminded him of what he was about to lose despite spending much of his wakeful morning (which extended back to 4:00 AM) putting himself on an even emotional keel.
He bolted from the chair and dressed, his eyes roaming, looking for anything he had missed. Jason checked his book bag, hoping his mother would not notice how full it was. He looked up when he heard soft footsteps on the stairs. In lieu of the intrusion alarm, he had left the door open a crack and turned off anything in the room which added to the ambient noise. He took a deep breath and hauled his book bag onto his bed, positioning it between him and the door like a shield.
His mother appeared, paused, then pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. She smiled, her eyes dark and sultry. She leaned against the door frame with her arms folded under her breasts, pushing them up until they strained against her blouse. "Ready for your big day, Jason?" she asked in an eager and husky voice.
Each time Jason saw his mother, the less he saw of her. Even the way she stood, so casual and flirtatious, looked nothing like the mother he knew. She wore the same clothes as every weekday morning, but she moved as if wearing something far more slinky and sexy. Her attire had always been a constant, a symbol of sameness and safety. Now it had been tainted.
"As ready as I can be, I guess," Jason replied. He picked up the book bag. "I'm ready to head to school, so I should get going."
Audrey remained in the doorway as Jason approached, and he stopped when he was still out of arm's reach. "Make sure you go straight to the Inn after school," she said. "It's only a ten minute walk. I'm going to call the Inn to make sure you did as you were told."
Jason clenched his teeth to hold back a sigh. "I'll be there, Mom. How will I get home?"
Audrey smiled. "Mrs. Sovert agreed to drive you home when she gets off work."
Jason hoped his mother's interaction with Penny Sovert was limited to phone calls. "All right. Well, I better go."
He stepped forward, but his mother did not move. She straightened up and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Aren't you going to give your mother a kiss before you go?"
Jason wanted to tell her "no," but the word would not reach his lips. He leaned towards her, tilting his head to one side, intending to kiss his mother on the cheek. He saw her eyes slide closed, her smile widening, but he allowed himself to relax in the belief nothing would come of it.
His lips met hers, and her hands slid down his sides and around his back. He shuddered as he became cocooned in pleasant warmth. Her hands pressed into his rear, pushing his hips forward until the hardening bulge in his jeans touched a writhing, willing body. He heard a soft moan, and felt his mother's hot breath in his mouth.
Realization exploded in his mind, chasing away the pall of forced desire. He pushed his mother away, forcing her a step back. Her heel caught the threshold, and she stumbled into the hall. Jason seized the opportunity and dashed past her.
"It's little wonder why you attract so many girls' affections, Jason," his mother said in a sultry voice as he bounded down the stairs.
No, not his mother. Someone else stood there, using his mother's body. His mother would not return until someone forced out this impostor. He had no idea how, only that it would not be him who did it.
Knowing how much her little sister hated seeing any reminders of her slave status, Heather hurried to dress herself as much as Laura's programming would allow before Melinda emerged from the bathroom. Nevertheless, she had to pause as she slipped on the lacy black underwear when a pleasant warmth spread over her body. Her pussy and nipples tingled under the caress of the silky material.
She stepped towards the dresser, hips swaying in a slow, sensual rhythm. She swung them from side to side as she bent over to retrieve her jeans and a pullover shirt. She had donned the former and secured it around her waist when Melinda burst out of the bathroom, still naked from her shower.
"Morning," Heather said, the first thing she could recall saying to her little sister that day.
Melinda looked up and nodded as she raced past.
"Not going to talk to me?" Heather said with a tiny grin as she lifted the shirt.
Melinda glanced at her big sister before grabbing her clothes from the dresser. She gave the underwear drawer a forlorn look before closing it without taking anything from it. "I wanted to make sure you're not going to go off on your oh-so-sexy underwear."
Heather shook her head and slipped on the shirt, drawing it taut, her nipples tenting the fabric slightly. She kept her mouth closed until the urge to mention the wonderful feeling of lace against stiffening nipples had passed. "Didn't want to mess with your head."
Melinda's gaze softened. She started to pull on her jeans, paused, and said in a low voice, "Slutty girls like me don't need fancy underwear."
Heather sighed. "Sorry."
Melinda shook her head and yanked the zipper closed. "Forget it," she said, though her voice was strained, and she avoided eye contact until she donned the shirt.
"Maybe Jason could figure something out. He's supposed to be looking through Elizabeth's journal, right?"
"I don't having a fucking clue what's going on. Ever since Thanksgiving I feel like I'm a prisoner in this house. I'm actually looking forward to school just to get the hell away from this place."
Despite Melinda's predicament, Heather was still taken aback by the sheer vindictive tone in her little sister's voice.
Melinda finally looked her in the eye. "I wish I didn't have to come back here after school. I'm considering doing something to earn detention. Spending time with Seeger would be about as far from anything remotely sexy that I can think of."
Heather grinned. "Maybe you and Richie should get together on that."
Melinda rolled her eyes and stepped towards her bed, where her backpack lay on the floor. "Knowing him, he'll spend the whole freaking time trying to get into my ... trying to get me to boink him," said Melinda as she crouched by her backpack and rearranged some of its contents.
Heather's smile widened when Melinda's voice did not suggest hostility towards the idea. She noticed her little sister struggling to close some of the zippers and watched while Melinda lifted the backpack with a grunt. It bounced once when it landed on the edge of the bed. "Hey, runt, what the hell do you have in there, lead bricks?"
Melinda whirled around, her breasts swaying in a brief, mad dance under her shirt. "What?"
Heather recognized the distracted tone of voice and stepped forward. Melinda inched to the side as if to hide the backpack. "What's going on?" Heather demanded.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"When you answer like that, it means you do."
"Get bent, Heather," Melinda said in a low and reluctant voice as she spun around, her hair flying. She grunted again as she hauled the backpack over her shoulder. Heather caught her as she started to tip over. A zipper burst open, and Heather spied the edge of a pink notebook. Heather reached for it, but Melinda slapped her hand away.
"Is that your--?" began Heather.
"None of your fucking business what it is!" Melinda cried.
Heather knew of Melinda's supposedly "secret" notebooks. Fortunately for their formerly strained relationship, she had discovered them after she was past her penchant for merciless teasing. She had stopped herself from reading them and pretended she had never found them. She wanted to kick herself for almost giving herself away.
Nevertheless, she could not ignore the implications. "Melinda, you're not going to do something really stupid, are you?"
Melinda winced as she drew the other strap over her shoulder, forcing her to lean forward to balance herself. "No idea what you're talking about. Come on, let's go."
She started towards the door, but Heather grabbed her arm and spun her around, having to reach out with the other to prevent Melinda from stumbling. "So you're not going to, oh I don't know, run away from home?"
Melinda frowned and did not speak right away, which already gave Heather her answer. Finally she said in a small voice, "Only if Jason does the same thing."
Heather sighed. "Melinda..."
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