Dream a Little Dream Of - Chapter 4 - Part 2

Chapter 4 - Part 2

Winstad had no idea what that had been about, but he had the girl on her bed and barely conscious so all was right with the world again. If she stopped giggling he would feel even better.

"Crazy bitch," he sighed.

That elicited another peal of laughter from her and he felt his fists involuntarily clench in response. He would have to have words with their supplier about the apparent fault with this latest bottle of tranquiliser. Though getting on the bad side of an orc alchemist was generally a bad idea, Winstad and his employers held the position of power and could blacklist the peddler for reaches.

"Wheee," said Marenda, stretching out her arms and wiggling her fingers in his face.

He reached past and slapped her hard on her cheek, hoping the pain would shut her up. Thankfully it did at least for a moment, yet he spotted a flash of anger behind her dulled eyes. The surprise wilfulness might devalue her on the auction block and Winstad made a mental note to remind his informants to get him a list of the next buyers as soon as possible. Though they were less common, some clients derived some enjoyment from breaking in their new property and if he was very clever he might even be able to turn the negative into a positive.

Of course there were issues that would lower her selling price regardless. The girl's face was pretty and unblemished and Winstad hoped that she had not angered the wrong man and ruined another part of herself. He fished a knife from his cloak; time to find out.

"No... please! Please don't hurt me," the girl trembled in fear.

That was good, fear he could work with, "Then do not give me a reason to."

"You're not really a nice man at all."

This time it was Winstad's turn to laugh, "My sweet, that entirely depends on yourself. Now hold still."

With that he began to carefully rip off her clothes. She no longer had need of any personal effects and he sorely doubted she had anything worth pawning off; they rarely did.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"To save you," he replied, squinting in concentration.

"What?"

"You were heading to a free city, correct?" he continued without waiting for or wanting a response, "you would find only death or destitution there. Through your ignorance you would damn yourself to a short and grisly fate. Hm, nice tits. A little small, but nice."

She tried to cover them, but he knocked her arm away and gave her another slap for her troubles, "I said, 'don't move'."

To his disappointment, she was not sobbing yet. It made everything so much smoother if they broke a little before he needed to transport them. There was still time however, and he hoped this one was not a virgin so he could sample her before selling her. Winstad did answer to others and if it came back that he had deflowered the product, he had no doubt that he would be dead within a month.

He squeezed one of Marenda's breasts to discover it had a gratifying firmness to it. He was having difficulty guessing her age, but feeling from her tits brought more credence that she was as young as she looked. He gave the thick pink nipple atop a harsh pinch, but the gasp he drew from her sounded too much like pleasure for his liking. So he twisted it as hard as he dared. Winstad was practiced, so he knew how far he could go without causing permanent harm, however, as he wrenched, she arched and squirmed.

Was she actually enjoying this? He slipped a hand beneath her breeches to find enough exudations to fill a decent sized marsh. This Marenda was continuing to surprise him and he did not like surprises. Perhaps she was a closeted freak? He knew of girls who got off on being abused, but had never snared one himself. The idea of a woman enjoying the harm he inflicted upon her made him feel a bit ill. He slid a finger into her to confirm that she was not a virgin. At least he had the opportunity to fuck some fear into her.

"Marenda," he compelled her, "Tell me: are you enjoying this?"

She half-smiled, "It could be better, sweetie."

He slapped her again, probably harder than he should, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you know what I am? What I could do to you?"

"Show me," were her teeth sharper?

Winstad fumed. Where had the meek runaway gone? Something was very wrong here, yet he had no idea how so. He almost got off her with the intention of calling his partner, however the sight of her unmarked pale naked chest stopped him. Why was he letting this pathetic, frail slut confound him? He was in the position of power and power meant everything.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I could have saved you, Marenda, but you made me want to hurt you. You made it so that now you might not leave this room alive. You remember that; I could have saved you."

"You already have," he felt her lips on his neck.

The room span and for one horrifying moment Winstad felt as if the girl was somehow inside him, like his eyes were hers but they were looking inward, through and throughout him. Then he blinked and it was over. He shuddered and swallowed back the urge to vomit, taking several long breaths to steady himself. What the fuck was that? He shuddered again, this time in unexpected pleasure as he felt the girl handling his manhood.

"Nice cock. A little small, but nice."

"What the-?"

Still beneath him the girl pressed a single finger to his lips, "Shhh. Don't ruin this moment. Your ignorance is bliss."

The man wanted to hit her again, but still felt too shaky. He gathered all the confidence and venom he could muster and growled, "Let me explain something to you. You are now a slave and that means you are nothing but property, most likely destined to be no more than a set of holes to be used. Trying to seduce me won't change a-"

"Winstad: shut the fuck up."

Instantly, he was unable to speak and dread filled him. How had she managed to spike him with the compulsion drug? He had to act fast; if he knocked her out, she would not be able to give him any more commands. However, somehow he just did not feel like hurting her. All the while she was tracing lines along his erection drawing tingles along his skin. Winstad reminded himself that it was his only chance to regain control of himself, but he was just hit with another wave of apathy towards behaving violently. He could not even ball his fists. He panicked and tried to move.

"Now now, Winstad: don't struggle. Why don't you lie down and get comfortable," unable to do anything else he complied and she continued, "Where to start? Oh yes! That was a set-up, right? With the drunk at the bar. You were working with him?"

The man would not have answered even if he could so he simply glared murder at her.

"Oh, sorry. Winstad: you may speak."

"I'm going to fucking kill you," he snarled voice raising as he went on, "You think you can get away with this? Drug me? Fuck with me? You've just crossed a member of the most powerful organisation in the kingdom. I'm going to find out your worst nightmares and make them come true, you understand me?"

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment before saying, "Winstad: stop breathing."

There was no tightening of his throat or physical pressure, he simply lost the ability to inhale. The slaver tried to attack her again, but was met with the same lack of will. He simply clutched softly at her until she calmly removed his hands and pushed him back onto the bed. Bizarrely she never stopped softly caressing his cock which traitorously strained against her touch.

Marenda regarded him with distant curiosity as he began to suffocate, "Why does your type always waste time with petty threats and gestures? I mean, I already know the answer, but it always bugs the crap out of me. You could be gathering information, feigning cooperation to make an actually effectual retribution, but no. Posture, posture, bullshit. You're very lucky that I'm enjoying this little rendezvous more than you're irritating me otherwise I could just end up killing you. And by the way, that isn't a threat; it's a warning. Don't fucking annoy me."

As he felt his extremities start to numb she went on, "Oh and FYI I didn't drug you, though that draught you used on me is some seriously good shit. I'm still trippy from it; you must tell me where to get more. Hmm? Oh, but there's plenty of time for that, first we really need to set up some ground rules, don't you agree? Winstad? For fucks sake, I said you couldn't breathe, not speak."

Black spots forming in his vision and consciousness floating away, the man tried to spit a curse, but only managed a weak hack. The remnants of his focus centred on the slight, feminine hand stroking his cock and the quickly fading image of her stiff ruby nipples. They really were nice little tits.

"Winstad: breathe."

Gaes broken, the man heaved air painfully back into his lungs and frenziedly tried to restore order to his thoughts. In apparent disgust at his sputtering she had sopped fondling him, which helped. If she had not drugged him, how was she controlling him? Who even was she and who was she working for? His superiors held monopoly over this region's slave trade did they not? Suddenly inspiration hit him; what had she not commanded?

Limbs still weak from oxygen deprivation, he dragged himself off the bed and towards the door. His fingers were inches from the handle when Marenda said, "Winstad: stop."

He was so close! For the first time in his life, the man let loose a wail of despair.

"Oh wonderful," the girl grumbled, "Winstad: be a dear and convince the man coming up here that nothing is wrong and to leave us alone till morning, please."

The slaver heard no one at first, however soon enough there came the creak of stairs followed by a knock on the door. The slaver opened it to reveal his underling looking more bored than concerned until he noticed Winstad's bobbing cock and transitioned to bemused, "Everythin' good, um, sir?"

He wanted to shout no and to order him to kill the witch, for that was surely what she must be, yet his voice spoke, "The whore surprised me, it's under control."

From the cot, the girl mewled, "Please help me. He... he hurt me and oh gods please, please help me."

The guard leaned past Winstad to gander at Marenda who had curled up into a whimpering ball, he puffed out his bearded cheeks in admiration, "Sure you don't want some, er... help?"

"Fuck off, Bonry," Winstad gently pushed him out of the door frame and back into the corridor, "And take the rest of the night off. I don't want to be disturbed."

"Yeah, I bet. I'll just-" the guard was cut off by a door to the face.

The witch unfolded herself and sat up with legs parted to reveal the slightest sliver of pink within her golden curls, "Good boy. Now I should have done this sooner, but, Winstad: while we are in this room together you may not attempt to communicate with anyone but me."

If he truly was stuck here, the slaver had to know, "What do you want from me?"

"I want to talk. I want to fuck. And I want to change you. Yep, that's it. Now get over here, lover."

He almost went to her until he realized she had not compelled him, "I don't understand. You want sex? You want to change me? What does that even mean?"

"Winstad: Get the fuck over here," he could not resist this time and in a moment was standing before her with his penis at her head's height, "It means sweetie, that you are a bad person. You get off on dominating and hurting people," she reached up to delicately tickle his testicles with her nails, "your ambitions are selfish and masochistic, and you ruin the lives of your victims without a single moment of remorse."

He let out a shaky breath as she teased his erection back to full straining attention, "Ah, that's not true. You were my first job. I'm just doing this to pay off a debt, they threatened my wife!"

"Oh Winstad. You can't lie to me; I've just had the displeasure of being in your mind. I know more about you now than you do," Marenda peeled back his foreskin and snaked her tongue around the rim of his cockhead, "At least you're a prissy son of a bitch. Personal hygiene is such a rarity in places like this," she took him into her mouth for a long, slow suck, "Mmm, truly scrumptious."

The urge to strike her came and was quashed again, "In my mind? How?"

Brushing her lips against the tip of his sex she replied, "Oh? Vampire, psychic mumbo jumbo, blah blah blah."

Making sense of her was growing more difficult than ignoring the pleasure being wrought upon him, "What?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," she looked up to flash him a crooked smile, "You know, it's been forever and a day since I last changed someone from the outside? I mean I cheated a little with the groundwork, but still. I'm sick of fisticuffs right now, you see?" she regarded him for a moment and must have seen his confusion as she continued, "Fine, lay it to the layman. You are an insipid, nasty cock weasel, but you are not entirely irredeemable. I am going to take from you your freedom and make you so that your only chance of regaining it is through altruistic deeds. I started by placing a block on any violent urges you might have."

His initial incredulity at her words crumbled rapidly into a rising tide of certainty that he was indeed at the complete mercy of her words and whims. In another first for the evening he began to beg, "Look, I can get you whatever you want, just let me go, please."

"Can you remember how many women said that to you?" she made a fist around his cock and started to very slowly pump it.

The slaver's knees trembled as his groin flushed with warm arousal, "Oh gods."

"Winstad: I asked you a question."

"I don't know," he answered truthfully.

Never stopping stroking his hot erection she refreshed his memory, "Thirty-eight. That's how many begged you not to hurt them, to let them go. There was one more though, wasn't there? One who wouldn't plead for mercy, who wouldn't sacrifice her dignity for the slim chance that you would listen. Do you remember her?"

"Please, stop with your hands. Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need to feel you struggle and suffer and succumb. I need it, Winstad, because I'm more of a monster than you could ever conceive of. I need it. So work with me here; tell me about the one who wouldn't beg."

"No, please. I'm sorry, please..."

"Winstad: tell me," even without the command, the ice in her voice would have been enough to get him to start talking and as he began he felt her mouth engulf his member.

The girl took him all the way in so that his glans was pressed against the back of her throat. The slaver was terrified by how entrapped his cock felt even as it was sucked and bathed in saliva. Her tongue undulated along his length and her fingers found his balls and perineum. Despite his fear, he amazingly remained hard and the witch stimulated little jerks of pre-cum from him.

Falteringly he began recounting what had happened, "She seemed nice at first. And smart; she wouldn't take a drink off me. We talked for longer than usual, she had brown eyes, I..." he tried to stop, but the words were wrenched from him, "she must have figured out what I was, because she tried to slip away. I stopped her, hit her. She never said a word after that, just stared at me."

Marenda did not look at him, she solely focused on pleasuring him. She kept it slow, twisting her fist and sinuously wringing his shaft in a way that made his toes curl. Her tongue was as equally agile, coiling around his angry glans relentlessly. Winstad wanted to grab her hair if only for balance, yet he did not dare touch her. As she brought him ever closer to orgasm turmoil reigned within his mind, unsure whether he most hated, feared or craved the blonde enigma who feasted on his cock.

"I had to drag her to the room," he went on, "she fought me for every inch, but she was weak. I told her fate and how to make the best of it, but she just stared hate at me. She didn't beg like the others, just stared. Why wouldn't she speak?" his voice grew strained from emotion and the witch's quickening pace, "Did she think she was better than me?"

The blonde was getting rougher with his penis to the cusp of pain. She squeezed as she tugged and Winstad's words came through increasingly ragged breaths. He felt his testicles start to tighten and boil and when he rocked on his heels the witch dug her claws into his thighs to steady him.

"So I beat her. I beat her until her eyes swelled shut and she couldn't stare at me anymore," Marenda bobbed rapidly upon him, "I went to pick her up and-" he was going to cum, "and she spat at me! Who the fuck did she think she was? Well," a tear ran down his cheek, "I showed her, oh gods, I showed her."

He moaned in despair and bliss as he reached the edge and gazed into merciful oblivion. He reached out for the stretch of nothingness that orgasm would bring, but Marenda snatched it, along with her mouth, away. Winstad's cock pulsed and for a moment he thought he might make it regardless, however the moment passed and he collapsed.

Marenda patted his bowed head like he was an animal, "You know? I'm not sure if you're a massive cliché or not. It doesn't matter I suppose." She tipped his head up, "Ready for more?"

Continued in Chapter 4 - Part 3

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