by Stephen L'aross

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© Copyright 2005 - Stephen L'aross - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

Dreamweaver by Stephen L'aross
[ This story is, obviously, a work of fiction.  Send any comments, questions, suggestions or constructive criticism to [email protected] and I will answer them as swiftly as I am able.  If this story does well enough, then I may post further parts to it.   Thanks to everyone who reads, and thanks to Gromet for graciously posting this as well. ]

Fifteen years old...

Finally, after a night full of studying on what felt like every topic under the sun, Orin closed the textbook and slumped back in his chair.  Truly, he thought to himself, there was no greater relief than finishing one's homework...and before midnight, too, which was rare.  He could only wonder how much more atrocious the nightly tasks would be if he did not have the drive to succeed.  A number of his peers were more content to sleep through their classes, scraping by with a C, perhaps the occasional B or more-than-occasional D.  If Orin received less than an A on anything besides P.E., he might just lose his mind.

But he did not care to think any more on the matter tonight.  It had been so long since he had received less than a low A that he did not worry about his grades anymore, simply maintaining the focus and drive that allowed him to get this far.  He thought his future malleable, able to be shaped at whim, and that his good marks and habits would see him through.  It was such thoughts as those that kept him going.  Now, though, it was time to sleep and rest his sharp mind for another day'a Friday, thankfully.  As he rose from his desk and yawned his way over to the bed, he flipped off the light switch, leaving the slight glow of his beta's aquarium as the only illumination in the room.  The soft buzzing of the air filter was always helpful in putting him to sleep, and tonight would be no different, thought he, as his head hit the pillow to coincide with sleep enveloping him.

Tonight, however, would mark a change in his young life.  And it would begin with a dream...

For a moment, Orin assumed he was awake, but when he saw where he was, he changed his mind.  Wherever he was, whomever this room belonged to, he did not know.  Looked nice enough...probably belonged to a young lady, a daughter still living at home, perhaps, given the neatness of it.  Stuffed animals sat ever so evenly on a white daybed across the room from a matching bureau, bookshelf and desk.  The opposite wall had a vanity set against it, and a pair of windows, which gave the view of a nice tract of land, lush and obviously well kept.  Perhaps this young lady had well-off parents?

What was truly odd, however, was how real it all looked and even felt.  His bare feet on the soft carpet felt quite authentic, and the slightly perfumed air, natural for a girl's room, caught his attention as well.  When he walked over to the window, sunset being the time of day, and pressed his hand against the glass, he felt warmth as though the sun had been shining on the glass all day.  Drawing his hand back as though it was burned, he spun around and made another visual sweep of these chambers.  This had to be a dream...but a very real one.  He felt very conscious, as though someone had transplanted him here in his sleep, but knowing that that wasn't possible.  Just as he had made peace within his mind, convincing himself that this was a dream, he heard a noise outside the door that caused him quite a jolt.  He searched for a place to hide himself, but there was none.  And by the time he realized his openness, the lack of appropriate places to mask himself, it was too late.

The white door, the backside affecting stickers, sketches and various magazine pin-ups of various teen idols, was knocked open by the back and shoulder of a man'a man with a volatile package in his apparently strong arms.  Said package was a young girl, and she was putting up quite a fight against her captor.  If Orin hadn't been nervous before, he was certainly a bundle of frayed endings now.  What was he going to do now, standing in the middle of the girl's room (somehow he knew it was hers) while she was being dragged in by whoever this burly guy was?  That question was answered when the man turned with the girl in his arms, one arm wrapped around her middle torso and arms, pinning the latter to the former and both against his own torso and his other hand clamped over her mouth, looked directly towards the spot where Orin stood dumbfounded, and then carried on as if there was no one there.

Instinct kicked in after the man had dragged the girl to the daybed and tossed her on it.  Orin reached out to grab the guy's arm...but his hand went right through as if he were made of air.  As if he were a ghost.  This had to be a dream, of that he was sure.  But now what was he supposed to do?  Part of him wanted to wake up because it was freaking him out.  But another part of him, a part of him that had yet to be fully awakened, wanted to see where this was going, wanted to see what would happen to this lovely young woman who couldn't have been more than three years older than Orin.  He wanted to know just what intentions the guy had with her.  He didn't seem much older than the girl himself, and there was a certain gleam in his eye that wasn't violent, wasn't merciless...as though he didn't really intend harm to come to her, but had other intentions altogether.  The latter part of Orin's mind won out, and he stepped away from the window and towards the bed, about six feet away, to survey the events as they unfolded.

The girl was dressed in a typical school uniform, perhaps from a private, all-girl school or a catholic academy.  Her blouse was snow white, and a dark blue and green plaid scarf was tied loosely around her neck, under the collar of the blouse.  On the pocket of this blouse, hard to make out from his current distance, was an insignia that no doubt marked the academy she attended.  The skirt she wore, which ended an inch or two above her knees, bore the same color and pattern as the scarf.  There wasn't much bare leg to see, as she was adorned with a pair of white knee socks that rose to just below the knee, her feet encased in black shoes with a strap buckled over the top of the foot.  The outfit was pretty typical, but that didn't make her any less desirable, that was for sure.  

Orin could later attest to that, once he came into full realization of the sensations he had felt during this dream.  The girl's dark brown hair was braided in the back, but the work must have been rushed that morning, for a few strands hung loose and framed her oval-shaped face.  Her bright green eyes were wide with fear and another emotion that was hard to discern even as they looked up at the man from over his hand, which remained cupped over her lips.  The man just looked like a common jock...broad shoulders, pug face, the beginnings of a powerful build...the same guy you always saw laughing it up with his friends near the school's front steps, whistling and making comments about every girl that passed by.  Orin disliked that sort, but didn't let it take away from his interest in the proceedings.

The man took his hand from the girl's mouth at the same time as he loosened and removed her scarf.  Upon his hand's moving, she inhaled as if to scream, but not a single note escaped her pink tiers, for that scarf was pushed deeply into her widely opened mouth.  Too deep for her to easily shove out with her tongue, a series of moans did escape the packing.  As he watched this, Orin, not exactly skilled with reading a person's moods, especially those of a woman, thought he detected a hint of desire in the young girl's muffled whimpering.  It was probably his imagination though, he told himself.

The man may not have been violent, but he was relentless.  From the back pocket of his jeans, he produced a length of white cotton rope.  Upon seeing this, the girl paused for a moment, staring at what her new captor held in his strong hand.  Either she had become accepting of this assault, or she was too afraid to resist, but she made no moves against him as he brought her wrists together in front of her and wrapped them in the rope before knotting it and using the remaining length on the ends to tether her wrists to the headboard of the bed.  Orin, ever observant, noted that the rope work was pretty shoddy, and that the guy could have done a much better job, especially considering the fact that the girl wasn't resistant.  He was not prepared for what happened as soon as said thought registered in his mind, however.

As though he were watching a video and someone had hit the rewind button, the scene backtracked to the exact point where the man had started tying the girl's wrists.  Instead of utilizing uneven, poorly knotted rope work as he had done before, he doubled up the rope, threaded the ends through the loop which he closed around her wrists, and then made a few even wraps before parting the loose ends and using the remaining length to cinch down on the original turns in between her wrists.  Producing another rope from his pocket, a shorter strand, he then tethered her wrists to the headboard.  Even having no experience with kidnapping or the like, Orin could see that this was much more effective than the previous attempt.  But why had the dream rewound like that and started again?  Because he thought it should have been different?  Putting such insane reasoning aside, he watched the scene again, with yet more interest.  The stirring of his flesh showed said interest very clearly; though of this he seemed unaware.

The girl seemed to have shaken out of her stupor somewhat and now tried tugging on her hands, finding them well-tied and unwilling to slip the ropes.  A muffled shriek came with this realization, and she now seemed to redouble her efforts on dislodging her scarf from her mouth.  Her preoccupation with this gave the man enough time to produce another pair of ropes from his pocket and prepare them for use.  When it seemed like she was about to free herself from the muffling fabric, he reached forward with his hand again and re-inserted it past her lips, speaking in a whispering tone.  ...Shhh...no need to say anything, Angelica.  You know that this is exactly what you want, so don't fight it.'  So Angelica was the girl's name.  Why did that sound so familiar to Orin?

Angelica shook her head and pleaded some more through both scarf and hand, though the sounds hardly registered.  With a sigh, the man got up from the bed and went over to her dresser, searching through it for something.  Orin took that moment to get a better look at Angelica, and he realized once more how lovely she was in an understated way.  The uniform, which probably should have rendered her a little prudish actually added to her desirability.  

While he was looking, the man returned, and Orin could now make out a name imprinted on the left breast of his jacket, the name 'Richard'.  Something told Orin that this guy was only called by that name by his teachers and parents, if anyone.   Richard took a seat on the edge of the bed, holding in his hand what appeared to be a stocking, while Angelica began to squirm more.  In his hands was what looked like a stocking or similar garment.  He drew the middle of it down between her lips, holding the scarf in securely while he lifted her head and knotted the white fabric behind it.  

After a moment, and more struggling, Angelica seemed to realize that she wasn't getting rid of the ropes or the scarf, and so she settled down again.  Once more, Orin detected some desire in her eyes, this time along with a slight flush to her cheeks.  Indeed, there was little to no struggle made as Richard retrieved the two ropes he had laid out and proceeded to spread and tie her ankles apart to the corners of the bed.  Her eyes widened and she tugged a bit when his work was done, but there was no escape.  Satisfied with his work, Richard sat up and smiled a cocky smile as he patted the bound girl's cheek.  

...Now you have what you asked for...almost.  Got one more thing to add.'  And he rose from the bed, walking almost through Orin again as he went to her desk.

Orin, at this point, would have been impossible to pull away from the scene.  He walked to the foot of the bed and looked down at Angelica, who was completely unaware of his presence, much like Richard.  Away from her captor's watchful eye, Angelica writhed about in her bondage in a very sexy way, as though she were reveling in her capture.  Eyes closing, a humming moan passing through the thick gag, she looked as though she were in heaven.  But then Richard came back, and those eyes of hers showed fear...fear that Orin considered a fabrication given her actions not moments before.  

Richard, it seemed, had known what to look for, as he held up a simple vibrator that he had pilfered from her desk.  A squeal barely escaped the gag, but it was to no avail.  Not a bit of hesitation in Richard's hands as he lifted the plaid skirt and rubbed the tip of the vibrator against the crotch of his prisoner's white panties.  Another muffled squeal sounded, mixed with a pleading moan.  Pleading indeed, Orin thought with an inward chuckle.  I bet if he just slid that thing right into her and left her alone with it, she'd lose her mind.

And upon that thought, the scene, as it had done when he questioned the rope work, rewound once more.  This time, Richard wasted no time in teasing.  He turned on the vibrator, pushed up her skirt and held her panties aside.  It was apparent even just from sight that little Miss Angelica was heavily aroused by her predicament.  Into her waiting warmth slid the cylinder-shaped toy, already buzzing away as it was pushed in.  Her moans definitely went up an octave, and her struggles had a lot more spirit to them.  Letting the panties fall back into place and neatening her skirt over her teased flesh, Richard stood up with a sinister grin and leaned over Angelica's face, her eyes both pleading and desirous of further attention.  

He kissed her forehead, patted her cheek lightly, and whispered; ...See you in an hour or two.'  And with that, against her muffled calls of his name (at least that's what it sounded like) he left her alone in her room, closing the door behind him.

That was all it took to send her over the edge, as her body started to shift and buck, already having an orgasm close at hand.  Orin didn't realize that his hand was upon his own flesh, gripping the shaft tight with his right hand until he looked down and saw his hand already in motion.  He could not stop himself by then, his eyes glued to the helpless girl as she screamed her way to an orgasm, thrashing upon that bed as much as her restraints would allow.  

In the passing from dream back to reality, Orin hit a peak of his own, the first of his young life, and he didn't realize it until he sat bolt upright in bed and felt a strange warmth through his body and, well, on his bed.  Sweat had beaded and begun to fall, dripping down his cheeks and arms.  The muscles in his right arm felt tight, and he still had a grip on his manhood when he looked.  Slowly letting go of it, he managed to stagger out of bed on rubbery legs and into his bathroom to clean up a bit.  Washing his hands and rubbing cold water into his eyes, he tried to assimilate what had happened in that dream, but his body was too wracked by pleasure (yes, he knew it felt damn good) and his mind was too addled with sweet visions of Angelica and her capture by Richard...and how much he wanted it to be him who was in Richard's place, dominating a beautiful young girl whose reluctance straddled the line between truthfulness and fabrication.

It was all he could do to stagger back to bed, to the dry side, and fall in under the blankets, going right back to sleep.  Time enough in the morning, his brain reasoned, to figure out exactly what that dream was all about.  Why it was that scene and why he was somehow able to exert control over it.

Thirteen years later, Orin, known to some by the nickname of the Dreamweaver, would look back on this moment and realize the truth of what it was about.  Even as he sat in his office, pondering his next conquest, he remembered that moment years ago with clarity, amazed at where it took him.


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