Shadows From the Past

When she sees the ease with which she can slip past the veil of Heather's mind, she pines for her mother's instead. Heather has had everything taken away from her. She has little resistance to muster. Even her instinct to reject mental intrusion should have offered up something.

It is only once Cassie has penetrated into the void of Heather's psyche that she understands the real danger. Instead of the uniform gray of her mother's mind, thick tendrils of inky black twist and writhe within, forming a living, shifting matrix which she wishes to avoid at all costs. She has no idea if they would alert Laura, or if they could ensnare her were they to twist around her like so many snakes.

The gray lifts as Heather enters the dream state. The tendrils remain, looking like horribly bloated serpents. They form a loose circle about the center of the spawning scene, as if intending to control Heather's actions even in her dreams.

Cassie's heart thunders as she steps past the halo of black, giving her the disconcerting sensation of stepping into an arena. She utters a short gasp as her eyes behold Heather and her skimpy French maid costume and high heels. Impossibly high, such that they hold her feet almost straight down, her legs as shapely as a sculptor's ideal.

Everything about her is the idealized form Cassie suspects Laura wishes of her. Her hair is far more luxuriant, glowing faintly as if polished. Her bosom is more plump, her hips wider. Every article of silk and lace fits her body as if having been glued on like a dress upon a doll.

Heather stands before a chair, her arms lying at her sides. She moans and bends her knees, her hips rocking to an unheard beat. She gasps and sighs, swaying her torso and jiggling the round globes of her breasts to an almost audible bouncing noise.

Cassie shudders and utters a husky sigh as her own pussy warms and buzzes to the torrential waves of wanton desire and sexual pleasure which exude from this distorted visage of Heather. Her eyes widen as she gazes upon the supine form of Laura lounging upon the over-sized chair, its outline and gold trim suggestive of a throne. She, too, is idealized, looking far more voluptuous and sexy than her real counterpart.

Is this how Heather sees her Mistress? It must be, for when Laura rises and lets the robe slip from her naked body, Cassie cannot help but share in the perceived magnificence of Laura's nude form. When Heather drops to her knees and keens in orgasm, Cassie's pussy throbs faintly in sympathy.

"And you are so enthralled by my body that the mere sight of it makes you cum, my slave," says Laura in dulcet, melodious tones which cause Cassie's thighs to quiver.

"Yes, my Mistress," Heather says in a voice of utter husky calm despite her quaking form and convulsing pussy. "My pussy is yours. My body is yours. My mind is yours."

Cassie whimpers in both despair for how low Heather has descended and how exquisite are the little tingles of pleasure in her nicely warm twat from the mantra which part of her longs to speak.

Laura gestures, and Heather rises to her feet, still panting, her eyes smoldering yet obedient. "And what else, slave? What else shall become mine?"

With little preamble, she is suddenly there, fading in from total nonexistence to solid form in a blink of the eye. Cassie's mouth drops open; the last person she ever expected to see here was Melinda.

Melinda is dressed in a costume similar to what Heather had been forced to wear on Halloween night. She moves with the grace of a dancer and the lightness of a feather. She swirls her veils around her body as she spins and sways.

Melinda pants with growing lust, letting out little whimpers as her pussy throbs in a constant, soft rhythm, a never-ending orgasm impossible to ignore. Even when she comes to rest standing beside her sister, her hips still sway and her breath is still labored.

Cassie swallows. The orgasm continues, reminding her of what Melissa once did to Susan. While she realizes that this Melinda is only a projection in Heather's dreamscape, the feeling that she is nothing more than sexual lust and need personified is disturbing.

"My pussy is yours," Melinda intones. "My body is yours. My mind is yours."

"Oh no," Cassie murmurs in a shaky voice. "This ... Ms. Bendon never..."

Laura smiles. "Perfect." She steps forward and gives the crotch of each of their costumes a single light stroke. Both fall to their knees in intense orgasm. Cassie is forced to shield their feelings lest they overcome her, pleasure already rising in the center of her heat. "And who am I to depart from what you are used to? Slave Heather, you will be in charge of slave Melinda."

"Yes, Mistress," both girls chime in Stepford unison. "We are hot and wet and ready to obey you."

"Then play with your new toy, slave Heather," Laura says with a sly smile. "Feel what it's like to have her do as you say."

"Yes, Mistress," Heather says. She turns on her heel and faces Melinda. "Dance for me, baby sis."

Melinda's eyes slide closed as she moans in orgasmic delight, her body returning to its sensual undulations.

Suddenly, Laura is gone, fading away like a ghost. Heather watches her little sister, her glistening ruby lips curling into a smile, her breath becoming a soft pant.

Cassie glances around. She has no idea if the Laura of this dream is still watching like some avatar of Laura's mind, but she has little choice. She takes deep breath and steps into the scene. "Heather."

Heather turns around as Melinda continues her sensual dance. "Cassie?" she says, sounding only mildly surprised. "Funny seeing you here."

Cassie had feared that her presence would be so incongruous that the dream would break up. When she had stepped into Ned's dreams months prior when she was testing her ability, she had let Ned supply the context, and she simply filled whatever role he had chosen for her.

Cassie forces a smile and steps forward. "I came to see what became of Melinda," she says in a bright but shaky voice.

Slowly, the look of surprise fades, and Heather nods. "Of course. Mistress wanted her, so I gave her to Mistress."

"You gave... ?" Cassie pauses as her throat closes up. She swallows and forces the words from her mouth. "When did you do that?"

Heather pauses, and Cassie grows concerned. Heather's dream is working from a "future-past" perspective, where she is dreaming of things she has yet to do as if they are already done. Anything which forces dates or times upon such things threaten to disrupt the dream.

"Monday," Heather says. "On a Monday."

Cassie stares. "Not this coming Monday!"

Heather smiles and nods. "The Monday she would have gone with Aunt Jo."

Cassie gasps. "But ... h-how can you... ?"

"With something Mistress gave me."

The dancing form of Melinda suddenly stops. She shimmers, and her costume is replaced by a pair of black panties. She suddenly moans and whimpers in distress, falling to her knees and then to the floor, squirming with legs spread and hips bucking, as if receiving an invisible lover.

Cassie's eyes widen as she realizes this is exactly what is happening. She is wearing the same panties Heather had been forced to wear as punishment.

"Only Mistress can remove them now," Heather says. "And not before she becomes a good little girl for her Mistress."

Cassie is beside herself. She had never expected to happen upon yet another plot against one of the Harbingers.

"It's better this way," Heather says.

Cassie realizes this is the first thing Heather has said in a tone other than complete and utter obedience. She even senses some reluctance.

"This is better than leaving her to mother or Aunt Jo," says Heather.

Cassie wants to use this angle to help unravel some of the tendrils of control over Heather's mind, but dreams last no more than fifteen minutes at most, and she does not have time.

She looks across the room. The doorway to what she thinks is the dining room fades into the gray, as Heather's dream is not focused upon it.

"Yes, she's right," Cassie says as much as it turns her stomach to do so. Her mind races as she struggles to work her influence into the dream.

"I thought so as well," Heather says. "I wasn't sure for awhile but ... but now I am."

"Yes, of course. Sometimes ... sometimes that happens. Things you're not sure of become clear later. Things ... things you're afraid of are suddenly not as scary. Or that you even like them."

Heather's smile widens. "Yes, you DO understand, Cassie. I used to think I would hate being Mistress' slave. Now I live for it."

"Y-Yes of course. And you ... you were once afraid of your Mistress' laptop."

Suddenly, the gray in the doorway is replaced with a dining room, and upon the end of the table is a laptop with a closed lid. Heather turns towards it. "The laptop?"

"Yes, the laptop. The webcam."

Heather starts towards it, and Melinda vanishes. "Yes, the webcam. I remember. I was afraid Mistress would use it to take pictures of me."

"And you're not afraid of that anymore."

Heather smiles at Cassie. "Of course not. I would adore posing for my Mistress."

"You need to show her that."

"Show her?" Heather says, cocking her head. "Shall I say something to her?"

"No!" Cassie explodes. She glances around her. The edges of the scene are growing gray and indistinct, slowly being absorbed back into her psyche. Heather's dream is about to end. "No, Heather, a ... a good slave SHOWS her Mistress."

"How shall I do that?"

"Mistress leaves her laptop lid down when she's not using it, is that right?"

Heather nods.

"When she's not looking at you ... when you're about to go and ... and service your Mistress ... lift up the lid of the laptop."

Heather ponders as she stares at the laptop even as the gray encroaches upon it.

"Lift the lid so the webcam is exposed," Cassie says with increasing desperation. "Do you understand? When she's not looking, lift the lid. Expose the webcam."

"Yes," Heather whispers. "Yes, I see. I understand."

Cassie stares. Did she just sense something beyond just being a good slave, as if on some deep, untouched level of her mind, Heather has put two and two together and knows?

Cassie will never know, for the scene dissolves into featureless gray surrounded by the undulating halo of black. She looks around and suddenly wonders if she had misinterpreted the positioning of the tendrils. She had assumed they were poised simply to manipulate Heather's dream. Yet here the dream has ended, and the tendrils advance no further.

Cassie understands, and she feels a surge of something she has not felt in a long time: hope. She is standing in the very center of Heather's psyche. Laura's Dark power has yet to breach it. It is trying. It forces it to play out dreams of blissful obedience in hopes of weakening it. Yet here it remains, and along with it, the core of Heather's being.

Cassie wishes she can revel in this, or wait for the next dream sequence so she can contact Heather's mind once more, but she knows she has worn out her welcome. The tendrils become agitated as she threads her way among them, as if they have somehow sensed her presence. Perhaps they have become aware of the aberration in the dream, and are seeking to reassure themselves that no outside force is to blame.

She plunges back out through the veil, and lets herself be sucked out of the dreamverse and into her own body.