The Dream and the Dreamer
Angel sat down in the tub and sipped at the strangely flavored tea; tears trailing down the dried cum on her cheeks. She had been gang fucked by her professor, her ex-boyfriend, and a janitor and was more sore then she had imagined possible. That was not why she cried. She had likely just condemned herself to a life of academic slutdom in order to keep her video debut from going online. That was not why she cried. Jason, her ex, would likely be calling in a few days (if that long) to have her come perform for his silence. That was not why she cried. The violation she had endured and those to come paled in significance to the weight of the fact that she was currently in a place she knew did not exist.
Angel knew this because she had been there before. She had sought refuge from a kind soul only to be drugged and raped by him then left cum covered and sore on a train platform. She had gone back to confront him only to find the whole area completely different. She had then been lured by him to another location with the promise of answers. He again used her body for his gratification and left her confused and ashamed. The doctors at the hospital told her that her body showed no signs of the assault. They thought she was crazy and so did she. Time went by and Angel slowly recovered got back into her school work only to have him confront her in her own apartment demanding that she jeopardize her academic career and engage her professor, a foul pervert named Horace Albigen, sexually to excuse her late work. She could not refuse him and that day she had turned in the late paper and had been used like a trashy whore and sent home on a bus with dried semen flaking off her face. When she got off the bus he was waiting for her; Tom, the man in the blue suit. Behind him were the apartments that didn't exist and that was where she currently sat in a tub of warm water sipping what was surely tea laced with psychedelic mushrooms waiting for Tom to come back in and begin what was sure to be another night (weekend, week, month) of mind shattering sexual violations. She didn't care what he did to her anymore. Angel only wanted to know why she couldn't say no to him. She wanted to know why she did what he wanted without question. She had already accepted that his world was real and her world, where no proof of him seemed to exist, was not real. Now she wanted to know why.
As she sat in the tub awaiting answers Angel could hear the constant click-clack of Tom at his computer. He had claimed to be a writer but Angel knew better now. He was a monster, a demon, a predator, and he controlled her. She had read one of his stories, it had been the story of him raping her in the bedroom down the hall while her mind was warped by the mushroom tea he had given her. She didn't know if he was starting the story of what he had in store for her or putting the finishing touches on his draft of what had already happened to her that day; neither would have surprised Angel. She washed her face and her body paying special and delicate attention to her raw orifices. She didn't know what Tom had planned but Angel knew it was going to hurt like nothing she had ever felt before.
As Angel got of the tub and wrapped her naked body in the towel she felt taller and less steady and knew that it was just the initial onset of the drugs in the tea. Things seemed less whole less real and at the same time more so. She still could not understand her relationship to Tom or how he controlled her but now it didn't matter. Her pains were beginning to mount and muddle with the remembered orgasms that had been a product of the pain. Angel walked out of the bathroom to find Tom standing in the door with a pitcher of tea. She held out her cup to be refilled.
"Are you done writing?"
"No my Angel, if I were done writing you would be dead."
"So you're going to kill me?"
"Did I say that?"
