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Shadows from the Past
Copyright A Strange Geek, 2012
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Story codes: MF, Mf, mF, mf, Fsolo, fsolo, oral, rom, wl, teen, mc, inc, humil, toys, magic
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 ..."
"He has to do it! I told you about his mother. He can't stay there, not if she makes him take a job at the Inn. He has to run away, and if he does, I'm going with him."
"Melinda, don't be stupid."
"Look, we're not going to leave town. We're still going to be Harbingers and try to help everyone else. And ... a-and I feel like I've barely seen him for the last two weeks. I have to get away from Mom and Aunt Jo and this house."
Heather wanted to tell her little sister how ridiculous this plan was, but she doubted Jason was going to be as foolish. Melinda could no longer manipulate Jason like she once could. Ever since Victor, he had managed to shed whatever lingering submissiveness Nyssa had left behind.
"You told me Mom was doing something to you to prevent you from staying away from the house," Heather said in as neutral a voice as she could muster.
Melinda glared at Heather anyway. "Maybe Jason will figure something out. He always does. He managed to resist you that one time, remember?"
Heather refrained from reminding her sister that it had worked only once and even then just barely. "Okay, whatever, runt. I don't want to argue with you."
"Good." Melinda spun around, and Heather jumped back to avoid being smacked by both the backpack and Melinda's hair.
Heather grabbed her own backpack and started after Melinda, but could not bring herself to cross the threshold. Melinda was at the top of the stairs when she glanced back and demanded "What is it?"
Heather tried again to step across the threshold. She managed a half step and stopped. "Um ... go on ahead, Melinda, I forgot something."
Melinda rolled her eyes. "Bubblehead," she muttered before heading down the stairs in careful, heavy footfalls, one hand clutching the banister.
Heather retreated into the bedroom and stared at the space under her bed. She tried again to forget about it, but instead imagined her little sister writhing and moaning in desperate need. She reached under the bed and pulled out the panties. She caressed the squat dildo inside the crotch and shivered. Moisture oozed behind her lacy panties.
She stood and thrust the panties into her pocket. A gentle warmth spread over her body even as she shook her head. She took a slow, deep breath before she headed out the door.
Diane's mother put down her fork and gazed across the table, tilting her head. "Is something the matter, Diane?"
Diane glanced up, her fork still pushing around bits of potato. She hesitated, then shook her head. When her mother's face suggested that was insufficient, she put down her fork and added, "I'm just not that hungry this morning."
"You seem a little nervous. Well, more so then usual for a Monday like this."
Diane wished her mother could not read her so well. Yes, she was always a little anxious on a Monday after Heather was released from Laura's environs, but she was more concerned about her special lessons with Debby. She was worried about Heather's feelings being hurt when they cut into their time together.
"I'm fine, mother," Diane said in a clipped voice.
"No, you're not, not when you use a tone like that. What is it?"
Dammit, Diane thought. No matter how much she felt forced to tell her mother the truth, she could never admit to her activities at Debby's house. "I just get worried about Heather sometimes, and ... and I guess I'm a little nervous about bringing her over for dinner."
Diane wished she had thought of the latter first, for she could have confined her lie to that and its kernel of truth. She had struck the right balance anyway when her mother said, "Then we share a little of the same concern."
"Is that why you want her over? To see for yourself if she's okay?"
Janet nodded. "In part. I ... um ..." Her eyes darted to the side, as they always did when she was either searching for the right words or debating whether to say anything at all. "Well ... it's like I said last night."
Diane had hoped her mother would reply to her unanswered question from the night before: why. "Are you looking for something in particular, Mother?"
Janet hesitated, her face searching again.
"Maybe I can ease your fears if you tell me what you're looking for."
Her mother shook her head halfway through her daughter's statement. "I'm not ... There isn't anything in particular I'm worried about. It's very difficult to explain. Maybe if you'd tell me what's making you more nervous this--"
"C'mon, Mother, it's really obvious you've been worried about something," Diane declared, though her voice grew less confident as she continued. "Not just Heather but me as well. I mean, don't I deserve to know if you think something is wrong or that something is going to happen?"
Diane felt awful confronting her mother, and she resisted the urge to apologize. The fact that she was using it to divert attention from herself only piled on the guilt.
Her mother remained silent for a long moment. She finally reached across the table and took Diane's hand, squeezing it, her eyes glistening. "I had ... I ... s-something happened between your school's principal and myself."
Diane's heart thumped, but she tried very hard to let nothing more than curiosity show.
"I can't ... I-I don't want to go into the details right now," Janet said in a shaky voice. "They're not important, and sometimes I'm not completely sure ... a-anyway, it made me concerned for you. And when you told me Heather was staying with Ms. Bendon, I ..."
Janet trailed off, but Diane had her question answered and wanted to spare her mother any further grief. "Ms. Bendon hasn't given me even the time of day, and I haven't had any reason to see her," Diane said. "And you know I'm about as far from a troublemaker at school as they come. My grades are decent, so I don't ever have to see her because of that."
Her mother again paused, searching her daughter's face. She finally nodded and squeezed Diane's hand, more affectionate than clingy. "My worries may be for nothing, Diane. What happened ... may have been just between your principal and I. It may not have gone beyond that."
Diane counted herself lucky that Ms. Bendon had not planted some sort of trigger inside her mother. Then again, would Diane ever know unless it was activated?
"You better get going before you miss the bus," Janet said in a soft voice.
Diane nodded and forced a small smile. She stood and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. She left the dining room and picked up her books and jacket which lay at one end of the sofa in the living room. "I'll see you this afternoon, Mother," Diane called out.
Janet appeared at the threshold. "Please be home in time to help me with dinner if you--" She paused. "Wait. Decent grades? I thought you told me you were pulling a few B's and an A in--"
"Gotta go, see you later!" Diane said as she fled.
"Melinda, I wish to see you for a moment before you go."
Melinda's shoulders slumped. Her hand was on the door knob when her mother's voice had sounded. Heather placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Want me to stick around while--?"
Melinda shook her head and turned away from the door, ducking around Heather without meeting her sister's eyes. She kept hers downcast as she approached her mother.
"Heather, please go on ahead, your sister will catch up with you," said Penny. "This is none of your concern."
"Like hell it's not," Heather grumbled, but the front door opened and slammed in her wake.
Melinda heard her mother sigh before saying in a soft voice, "Look up at me, Melinda."
Melinda shook her head. Her eyes darted around the edges of what little she could see of her mother's Aura. Penny had taken to requiring Melinda to look directly at her when they spoke, knowing it would diminish Melinda's perception of the Aura.
Melinda heard cloth slide against skin. She swallowed and cast her gaze to the floor.
"I have something you'd like to see," Penny said in a husky voice.
Melinda shivered, her pussy growing warm, the heat spreading over her body and throbbing faintly in her nipples. Her eyes remained downcast, but only by tremendous effort.
Her mother's fingers touched her chin. Melinda uttered a tiny gasp and shuddered. Her nipples grew hard until they throbbed with her pounding heart. Her pussy oozed between her squeezed legs. She resisted for only a few seconds before she allowed her mother to guide her head up.
Melinda's gaze fell on her mother's bare breasts, the shirt pulled up just far enough to expose them. She shivered in anticipation as she stared at the erect nipples and the soft contours of plump flesh.
"That's it," Penny cooed. "Look at Mommy's tits as I talk to you."
Melinda nodded slowly, licking her lips as she imagined herself lavishing attention on those beautiful boobs with her tongue and lips.
"Aunt Jo will be visiting this afternoon," Penny said. "In fact, she'll be visiting a lot. Your father and I have to work, so you need to come right home after school to keep her company."
Melinda was not sure what to think. Should she be happy she was no longer forced to worship her mother's pussy? Was this any better? "I want to hang out with my friends after--"
"You are to come straight home, Melinda. You're not to go anywhere else."
"B-But, Mom, I've hardly seen my boyfriend ..."
Melinda trailed off as Penny cupped her own breasts and began fondling them. Melinda let out her breath as a husky sigh. Her hips writhed as her pussy steamed.
"Straight home, Melinda," Penny repeated. She paused, then added in a more reluctant voice, "So your Aunt Jo can ... can show you what a slutty little girl you've been."
Melinda moaned, and her hips rocked to the memory of the strap-on dildo. She licked her lips as she recalled how her aunt had all but sat on her face until she licked and sucked Jo to three orgasms.
"As soon as you get out of school, that will be all you can think about. You'll get so very wet and needy. It will get worse the longer you take to get home. Do you understand?"
Melinda bit her lip to suppress another moan and nodded.
Penny pulled her shirt down. "Good girl. Good little s-sexy girl. Now, head off to join your sister before you're late."
Melinda turned away without another word or gesture of acknowledgement. Her pussy swam in moist heat, and she felt a trickle down the inside of her thigh. She wished she could wear some panties but realized that slutty girls like her don't need underwear.
She let out a forlorn sigh as she opened the door, never so desperate to see Jason as she was that moment.
Richie raced out of the bathroom, steam wafting through the door in his wake, his hair still damp. He had his briefs on before he made it to the bed and jumped into the rest of his clothes with an alacrity never before seen on a school day, let alone the Monday after a holiday.
All his school supplies were in order, his backpack ready to be grabbed from its spot next to the door. With luck he would be gone before either Cathy or his mother were up. As he pulled on his jeans, he heard a rush of water in the master bathroom. He could not have asked for better timing.
He quickened his pace, throwing on his shirt and shoving his feet into his sneakers at the same time. He gave the laces a perfunctory tie and raced out the door, scooping up a strap of his backpack as he went.
He paused and stepped up to the railing, peering into the living room below. Cathy lay still on the sofa, her blanket askew, exposing one leg and hip. Richie rolled his eyes even as his cock twitched at the thought of her sleeping in the nude.
Richie hoisted the strap to his shoulder and crept down the stairs, keeping his eyes on Cathy. He froze when she rolled onto her back, the blanket parting from one breast.
Richie averted his eyes from the prize as he descended the remaining stairs. He cocked an ear and heard the shower still running upstairs. At the bottom, he took one last look at Cathy and crept towards the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cathy's Aura churn as he passed. He quickened his pace, but within six feet of the door he heard a soft moan and a groggy voice. "Hrmm? Richie?"
Richie muttered a curse before he turned around. "Yeah, what? Hurry up, I gotta get to school."
Cathy blinked and sat up, making no effort to catch the blanket as it fell from her naked breasts. She glanced at the time displayed on the cable box. "It's too early, isn't it?"
"And how the fuck would you know?"
"Aunt Sandra told me what time you have to leave in the morning." She smiled. "So we have some time."
Richie glanced up the stairs. Was the shower still running? He did not want to deal with both Cathy and his mother. "Look, I ... I got some work I have to do for one of my classes. I was a lazy ass as usual over the holiday and didn't do it."
"You have to go outside for that?"
"The cold air helps me think." He took another step towards the door. "I gotta go, I ..."
Richie trailed off when Cathy sat up, tossing the blanket from her nude body. She spread her legs, her hand sliding down to her delta and teasing her labia apart, where pink flesh glistened. "But Richie, I'm already wet for you. I was having such a sexy dream about you just before I woke up."
Richie's cock swelled. He could see himself spearing that nice, tight pussy for a quickie. He became rock-hard as he imagined their bodies slapping together like some porno flick, just the way he liked it.
(Don't be a dick)
Richie realized he did not know what was the right thing to do. What would a total dick do? Fuck her and risk missing the bus when Jason might want to talk with the rest of the Harbingers? Not fuck her and leave her suffering from a lust she could not satisfy herself?
Cassie had said it was okay to fuck Cathy. Did she mean all the time, or just that time? He considered calling her again, but felt that would be lame; he was already embarrassed he had called her in the first place.
The Harbingers had to take precedence. Despite how his cock ached for another plunge into Cathy's tight cunt, he had to put them first. He had been criticized for not going to meetings or not showing enough interest. If he missed the bus, they would think he was a total dick.
"I hafta go," Richie said and sprinted for the door.
"Wait, Richie, please!" Cathy cried.
Richie's hand was on the doorknob, one twist away from freedom. He heard the faint creak of a floorboard in the distance. He turned and tried not to react when he saw Cathy's fingers slowly swirling around her clit. "What is it now?" Richie demanded in an uncertain voice.
"When are you going to be home?" Cathy asked in a husky voice. "I want to be ready for you. And ... and you won't be late, will you?"
"I don't fucking know when I'll be home. All I have to do is look at Saggy-Seeger wrong and I'll get detention."
In reality, Richie could get away with more in school than he ever had. Ever since Halloween, Seeger treated the Harbingers easier than he did the other students. Jason believed Seeger wanted to let them continue their fight against the Darkness unimpeded. Richie had been admonished several times not to abuse the privilege.
(Don't be a dick)
"Then I won't know when to ..." Cathy trailed off when she slid her fingers deep into her pussy. "Uhhn ... I know ... I'll stay naked for you all day ... mmm, yes, I'm getting so hot just thinking about it."
Richie swallowed. His cock pulsed with his heartbeat in the tight confines of his briefs. "Yeah ... yeah, okay," he said in a strained voice. "You do that. Bye."
Richie fled, slamming the door behind him as he heard his mother call his name from the top of the stairs. He raced down the walk, nearly taking a fall when his sneakers slid on the coating of fresh snow, and ran to the school bus stop. He looked back, his heart pounding, but his mother had chosen not to follow him.
Richie let out a ragged sigh. His cock remained stiff and uncomfortable. He failed to quell the idea that this was so lame; he had a gorgeous fucktoy at his beck and call and he felt guilty about it? What the hell was wrong with him?
You never know what the fuck you want, an all-too familiar voice sounded in his head. Just like that goddamn baseball bat you threw temper tantrums about until you got it, and then found out the balance was all wrong. Like I fucking told you it would be.
Richie closed his eyes and clenched one of his hands into a fist. "Not now," he muttered in a low voice of both anger and desperation. "Not fucking now."
Just like you can't even decide whether to call me or not. Oh, right, that was cowardice, not indecision. Big difference.
"I'm going to call! I'm going to talk to you! I will!" Richie shouted. Across the street, a middle-aged man out for a morning jog slowed and gave him an odd look. Richie glared at him. "What the fuck are you looking at?!"
The jogger blinked, looked away, and quickened his pace. Richie maintained his steely gaze until the man disappeared around the bend.
Anger, the old, reliable friend.
He heard a distant roar, and seconds later the school bus appeared from a cross-street. It turned the corner to a mighty grinding of gears, followed by a brief cheer from the passengers. The bus pulled up and the door opened as the old man behind the wheel shouted "Shaddap!" in a gravelly voice.
"Yeah, you tell 'em, dude," Richie said with a smirk as he climbed aboard, flashing the driver a thumb's up.
The driver glared at him and sneered before jerking his head towards the back. "Just siddown and shaddap."
Richie saluted and swung around the pole near the door, and in one smooth movement landed in a seat next to Jason. "How's it hangin', nerd-boy?"
Jason's already stony face became like granite. "It's been better," he said in a flat voice.
"Yeah, tell me about it. Fuck, my home life is making that shithole of a high school actually look good to me."
"Never mind the fact that the high school sits between two converging lines of force and probably has more pent-up supernatural energy than the House ever had."
Richie frowned and scrutinized Jason's seat.
"What are you doing?" Jason demanded.
"Looking for the stick you sat on so I can pull it out of your ass."
Jason sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. That, and ..." He trailed off as the bus pulled up to the curb again. "I'll talk about it when we get to school."
"Talk about what?" Richie said, but Jason ignored him.
As soon as the door opened, Melinda raced up the steps and bounded straight for Jason. Richie swore Melinda was going to drop herself straight into his lap. Instead, she fell into the empty seat beside him and grasped his arm as if afraid he was going to leave. She lay her head against Jason's shoulder and let out her next words in a rush, "God, I missed you so much."
Richie raised an eyebrow when Jason was slow to react. Finally, almost reluctantly, he slipped an arm around Melinda's waist. Seconds later he was clinging to her just as fiercely. Richie glanced at Heather as she sat down opposite them and gave her a questioning look, jerking his head towards Jason. Heather's glistening eyes flicked to her little sister for a moment, then back to Richie without a word.
Richie sighed and folded his arms. Whatever Jason needed to talk about, it better be good, as he was tired of feeling clueless.
|Main Page --> Completed Works --> Shadows from the Past --> Chapter 22 of 73|
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