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Perceptions And DeceptionsChapter 21 free porn video
The cold settles around her like a thin, wet web, both cloying and slick. Her steps are hesitant, as if afraid the moisture would collect around her feet and spill her to the cold stones. She hears only her own breathing until the soft sobs drift to her once more from the darkness, like slim tentacles wrapping around her psyche and tugging her forward.
Cassie remains standing where she is. The clammy air swirls around her, brushing its icy fingers against her naked body. She draws in her arms and shivers, but the touch follows her, and the tendrils of emotion strain as they seek to pull her forward.
She takes a tentative step forward, her leg trembling, her breath harsh and short. She wills the dream to be different, but she has no idea in which direction to guide it.
As before, she tries to move faster. She is again resisted. Someone does not want her to change the script. It is content to watch her play out this useless and frustrating scene, a repeat performance for an unknown audience.
Cassie pushes her will as far as she can. She attempts to run.
At once, the air gels before her. Her legs strain, and her teeth clench. She gasps for air against the enormous pressure, and for a frightened moment she is convinced she will suffocate if she continues. It forces her to relent and stumble back, and at once the resistance is gone.
Yet something still tugs her forward with gentle force. She can see it as a wisp of gray trailing into the black ahead of her as shapes dance once more in the distance. Her eyes widen as she realizes that the two forces are different. She is caught in the middle of a battle of two wills.
This is different. The dream has finally changed, but it is not Cassie's doing.
Cassie's heart pounds. She eases forward, and the resistance does not return. She is back on script, but the tug continues. Someone else is not performing her lines, and the director of this grand dreamscape set has yet to notice.
The cage appears to her again, as does its ragged-haired, naked prisoner.
Cassie opens her mouth to speak but closes it again without a word. It's not time for her line yet. The girl is supposed to speak first. Then Cassie is supposed to notice the latch and how easy it is to open.
She grips the bars of the cage and forces the words to her mouth. "I'm here. Please, talk to me. Say something to me."
The girl shudders and suddenly quiets, until there is only the sound of her ragged breathing. At first Cassie imagines that the girl has missed her line and now has to improvise. But as she stares, she sees that is not it at all. The girl is simply surprised.
"H-he's making me do it," the girl says. "D-do it with more guys..."
"Do what?" Cassie demands. "You have to tell me."
The girl shook and drew her knees to her body. "I'm not ready for this ... I don't want to become this..."
Cassie swallows. Her eyes keep flicking towards the latch. No. NO. She knows all about it. There is no need to look at it or touch it. It will only bring her keeper back. That is his cue to enter the set.
"I wish I could escape ... I want to be normal again..."
Cassie's eyes again dart to the latch. She could open it.
NO.
She stares hard at the girl. "Who is making you do this? Tell me."
The girl's breath becomes raspy, as if her own throat threatens to close up and suffocate her just to prevent her from revealing the identity of her keeper. She finally whimpers and shakes her head.
"I can't help you if you don't tell me!"
"I-I don't know who he is ... what he is ... or ... p-please ... you have to help..."
Cassie's hands feel numb, and she has to look at them to know they are still grasping the bars of the cage. Fear numbs the rest of her. Something about the girl is frightening Cassie beyond comprehension, and only her willpower is keeping her from running away screaming.
But it's not in the script. Something else is making her scared, something deep inside herself.
Cassie's eyes shift to the latch and will not leave. Her heart pounds in her ears. She draws back and her hands slide away from the bars.
(Pound Pound Pound)
The latch is all that matters. There is no lock. Lift it, and the door will open.
(Pound Pound Step)
Free the girl. Never mind about her captor.
(Pound Step Step)
Open the cage. Go inside and see if she is okay.
(Step Step Step)
Comfort her. Dry her tears. Soothe her.
(STEP STEP STEP)
Movement flickers in the corner of Cassie's eye. Her head twitches towards it enough to break the mesmerizing train of thoughts. She spins away from the cage as if slapped hard across the face. She stumbles and falls, and the cold crystallizes in her body. A dark, cloaked figure rises like a monolith from the darkness surrounding the cage, his footsteps marching to the same staccato beat of her own heart.
Alien thoughts try to worm their way into her head, to convince her that her blood has frozen in her veins and her muscles have turned to ice -- anything to keep her there just a little longer. It gives her flagging resistance a jolt like an electric shock. In the space of a single hypnotic beat she throws off the cold and bursts into a run.
She is out of the chamber and back into the gray-black of the corridor. The beat falls silent, but she cannot will herself to slow down. She emerges from the corridor and plows into the veil before the girl's captor can sing his soothing words of false comfort into her weakened psyche.
Cassie sat up in bed, heart still pounding as in her dream, but her panic ebbed as reality reasserted itself in her twilight-tinged room. Despite the surprising speed that her dreamscape had retreated, she still paused a few moments before she pulled the blanket away.
She slid out of bed in a single smooth movement despite the lingering tremors in her body. They were like the ripples of a stone tossed into the center of a pond. The water had calmed, but tiny waves still crisscrossed her psyche, a reverberation of her dreamscape in the recesses of her mind.
She took a few deep breaths and applied critical thinking to what had just transpired in order to keep the fear at bay. If she had succumbed to the image of the girl's captor, she would have simply awakened. He was just a manifestation of another person's fear, much in the same way that Ned had conjured Melissa to serve as a symbol of evil he wished to defeat. It could have done no more to her than Melissa could have in Ned's dream.
Cassie shivered. She wanted to believe that. She had to believe it, just like she had to believe that she was connecting to someone that was living. Maybe after she participated in this tryst with Heather and the rest of the Harbingers, she would have enough power to finally...
Cassie sighed and fell back onto the edge of the bed. She couldn't have agreed to this. If she did, she couldn't go through with it. If she did, she would be too scared to enjoy any of it. Heather would have to exert so much control to force a response from her that she would resent it afterward.
She feared that the most, that she would hate Heather -- or Jason, or any of the other Harbingers -- when it was over. Or, worse, she would blame Ned for not stopping her, or for enjoying it himself.
Cassie forced herself to stand and marched into the bathroom to make some tea. Ned would think she was worrying too much. She could not fathom what Heather was thinking.
This was going to be a trying day, no matter how it turned out.
Jason rushed out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. His mother had been upset when he had gone to bed the night before, so he was not going to dally. He would have to forgo reading any further in Elizabeth's journal.
He would, however, indulge himself with the morning news and the weather.
Waiting for the computer to boot up, however, gave him too much time to think. Logic had failed him, and letting his unresolved doubts spin in his head would do little more than set him on edge. He indulged anyway.
Cassie was foremost on his mind. He felt foolish for convincing her to do something based on no hard evidence but only a vague sense that it seemed right. He worried that his ability for critical thinking was failing him.
He wondered if this was what Richie had felt for so long, a sense of little or no control over his life. Things seemed to just happen to him, forcing him to react and improvise.
Jason breezed through the national and state news. Political events meant nothing in Haven, as Haven operated as if it sat at the center of its own private universe. The weather was uneventful: turning colder with snow by the weekend. He checked the local news, and was met by a single, screaming headline:
ANONYMOUS TIP MAKES COLD CASE HOT - POSSIBLE REMAINS OF SARAH WORDER FOUND IN AIRFIELD
The name was familiar to Jason. He had come across it while digging up information on Richie's family. He read on to the article itself.
Haven police have exhumed remains in the abandoned airfield north of Haven that are believed to belong to Sarah Worder, victim of Samuel Toldon, the infamous Sex Strangler of Haven.In 1995, unemployed building maintenance worker Samuel Toldon is believed to have lured sixteen year old Sarah Worder to the wooded area in the hills to the west of Haven. There he is alleged to have had sex with the young girl, only to slowly strangle her with a long scarf wrapped about her neck in the middle of the sex act. After he was apprehended, Toldon confessed to the crime but refused to tell police authorities where he buried the body. While being transferred to another jail, he managed to wrestle a gun from a police officer and escape, only to commit suicide with the gun a short time later.
Since that time, parents of Sarah Worder have begged for any information on the whereabouts of her daughter. In 1997, the Worders paid for a 30-second local TV spot where a tearful Victoria Worder pleaded for any word of the location of her daughter's body. "We were denied justice when this monster killed himself rather than face up to what he had done," said the girl's father Robert Worder at the time when asked about the TV spot. "At least grant us the peace of mind that we can lay her to final rest and say goodbye."
When news of this possible breakthrough reached the Worders, who are still living in Haven, Victoria burst into tears. "The only reason we stayed in this town is because we can't leave knowing she's still here," she explained. "Her spirit is still waiting to be put to rest. Finally, we will get to do that. She can finally leave this earth and we can leave this town."
Police caution that genetic tests will need to be run to confirm the identity of the badly-decomposed remains, but the body was found with the exact locket that Sarah was known to be carrying the night she disappeared.
While no official word has come forth, a source within the Haven Police Department wishing to remain anonymous says there is hope that this will shed some light on the string of unsolved copycat "sex strangler" murders that occurred over the following years. In those cases, the situation was the opposite. The victim was all too readily found and identified, and it is the killer that vanished like smoke, leaving no evidence and no leads. It is likely that the police hope to find something that will put to rest the many lurid stories of a disembodied spirit committing these crimes.
Jason fell back in his seat, stunned.
The first thing that entered his head was Melissa. The situation sounded too similar to the circumstances surrounding the way Melissa had gained her powers. Yet the idea that her dark phantom was the spirit of the dead murderer recruited by the Darkness sounded corny to him, like something out of a bad horror movie.
The next thing he thought of was Richie.
(The dude in the cemetery had killed someone so he was going on about that)
(It was years ago and people knew he did it)
Jason glanced at the clock and cursed. He shut down his computer and gathered his things for school. He pulled out the Book and the pendant remnants from under the bed. He slipped the one fragment and its chain around his neck and took the Book into his hands.
As before, he felt a strange tingling sensation and heard the sound of a voice. This time it was not as faint or distant.
Not ready.
"Not ready for what?"
Almost.
"Almost what?" Jason demanded, but the voice remained silent.
He slipped the chain from his neck. He stared at the fragment for a moment, then stuffed it in his pocket, kicked the Book back under the bed, and headed out.
Richie met the morning ritual with equanimity. When his mother slipped into his room that morning, Richie was still wearing only his briefs. He made her remove them as a token resistance. His cock offered none, as it was hard by the time his briefs fell down his legs.
Sandra hugged him in a perverted parody of motherly affection. Her hot breath panted in his ear, the swell of her breasts warm and heavy against his chest. His cock ached by the time she pulled him down with her onto his own bed and spread her legs under him.
Richie didn't hesitate, as there was no point. He dipped his cock into her pussy and let it slide into her.
"Ohhh, Richie!" Sandra burbled. "I love your cock inside me ... oh, fuck me ... fuck me so hard..."
Her hands guided his hips for the first few thrusts, but she need not have bothered. Richie pumped his hips, his body slapping hard against hers. Sandra gasped from her Darkness-induced lust and soaring pleasure, her cunt responding to him no matter how clumsy his approach became in his insistence to finish it.
Why in such a rush, Richie?
Richie tried to close down his mind. He focused only on the sex and his mother's rocking, writhing body below him. He tried to ignore both pangs of desire and twinges of guilt.
No answer? No declarations of defiance? You disappoint me.
The tendrils of black slithered around his hips, waist, and thighs. They quivered and swirled, as if unsure of where to go. Richie panted through his teeth in a serpentine hiss. He wanted to think about Heather instead, about how sex with her was so far above anything he could experience at the Darkness' bidding.
There is no pleasure greater than what I can give you, Richie. Just give in to me and find out.
Richie wanted to clamp down on his thoughts, but that would only let his mind wander again. He focused on that one thought in order to crowd out anything else. He thought only about the sex. No speculation. No thoughts about any higher purpose. Just the raw, wet, hard sex.
Hiding something from me again? How naughty of you.
Richie panted as he slammed into Sandra, his cock climbing closer to climax. He imagined Heather again, moaning and sighing in pleasure, looking up at him in both desire and adoration.
And not obedience? Or mindless devotion? Such a pity, the Darkness sneered. You can do better than that.
Richie strained at the edge and could go no further. Sandra, however, moaned and shuddered as her pussy throbbed. Her cunt tensed around his cock, her passage tight, squeezing his cock each time he slid it home again. His own orgasm still remained just out of reach.
I can do better for you. I'll appreciate you far more than the Harbingers ever would.
Richie was amused. Bribery now? Did it decide that threats would no longer work with him? Or that Richie no longer needed it to satisfy his sexual desires?
The Dark Aura shuddered and tried to cocoon itself around Richie's body, only to dissolve into smoke at the edges when it attempted to complete the encapsulation. It twisted and undulated, then retreated.
Heather doesn't want you! the Darkness growled, its voice edged with frustration. She just needs a cock in her twat. That's all you are to her.
Sandra cried out as she came a second time. Her hands clutched at Richie, pulling him towards her, her hips rising to his thrusts. "Fuck me! ... Oh yeah, Richie! ... Fuck me more! ... I need you! ... I need you so much!"
Richie wanted to scream at the Darkness, but he refused to communicate with it. He wanted it to hear nothing but silence from him. He refused to give it any clues to what he was thinking. No matter how much his terrible need for release was distracting him, his need to the Harbingers was greater.
They did want him, and not just for Heather's self-energizing sex-fests. They wanted him to be a part of their group. He had to believe that. He had to make the Darkness believe that he believed that.
They don't want you. No one does, except me, the Darkness crooned. Something happened yesterday, didn't it? You can't keep it from me. I can find out for myself, but I want you to tell me.
Richie called bullshit. The Darkness didn't know, or it wouldn't badger him for the information.
You do know something! Tell me now, and I will reward you.
Richie fell upon his mother, thrusting so hard and fast that the slapping noise became comical to even his ears. He planted his hands on either side of his mother and lifted himself just far enough so he could look at her and remind himself who she was and what she was supposed to be.
She can be your slave.
No more threats. All promises and enticement now. Carrot and stick. He wasn't going for it. He could hold out.
Or would you want Heather as your slave? Or Melinda? Or even Diane? I'll bet you could get her to like cock.
The Aura shuddered again as it gathered itself back around Sandra. His cock twitched and strained one last time. He let go with a loud grunt as his cock finally released.
Sandra threw her head back as her senses drowned once more in orgasm. Richie's breath became ragged as his cock throbbed hard and long. He let himself fall onto her again, burying himself deep inside so his climax would play out in her depths.
The Darkness remained silent as his climax faded. He lifted himself from Sandra and rolled onto his back. She was quiet as well as she climbed out of bed, retrieved her robe, and slipped out the door without a single word or glance. Her Aura seemed quiescent as she left.
He lay there unmoving until he was convinced that the Darkness was no longer in his head.
Richie had found it easier to resist the Darkness. Not by much, but enough to notice. The Darkness had noticed as well. It knew his resistance was growing stronger instead of weaker.
And all after a roll in the hay with Heather.
Richie cursed. Now he had to tell the other Harbingers.
Gina had awoken that morning from the throes of an erotic dream, leaving behind a haze of arousal that fogged her mind. She writhed under the sheets and longed to part her legs and touch her pussy until she came. Her hand flirted with her sex, longing to consummate what had started in her dreams, a moan escaping her lips.
Trembling, Gina withdrew her hand and pulled the sheets from her naked body. One of her arms brushed against her own hard, sensitive nipples, and she shuddered through another husky sigh. She rose to her feet and ducked into the bathroom before her mother could come fetch her.
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