Dream a Little Dream Of

Note: This is a brief edit of the title and content of Orc: Dream a little dream of. All characters are over the age of 18.

"You are a very naughty boy."

"Excuse me, teacher?"

"I saw you looking at me."

"No teacher, I wasn't."

"Then you weren't paying attention to me?"

"No, I mean yes I was... um."

"Well which is it? Were you looking at me or not?"

"Er... yes?"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes teacher, I was paying attention."

"To whom?"

"You, teacher."

"Oh yes? And what part of me were you paying attention to?"

"Teacher?"

"It's o.k, I'm a grown woman, I can handle the truth. But tell me the truth you must or I shall be forced to punish you."

"Teacher, I can't."

"Oh but you must! Now don't be shy, which part of me were you 'paying attention' to?"

"... your face."

"Now don't be coy. Lying is a sin."

"I'm not lying."

"So you're saying that out of all my lithe body parts, gripped by tight leather, accentuating every curve, baring my cleavage and my nipples bumping the fabric, you were looking at my face?"

"Yes."

"Liar!"

"I'm not!"

"Shut up, boy. Your lie shows in your face and your increasing firmness."

"T-teacher, please don't touch me there..."

"Oh, but your little soldier seems to be standing to attention! If you are so unwilling to tell the truth, perhaps we can squeeze it out of him?"

"Ugh, teacher, please don't."

"Think as this as part of your education. As your teacher surely it would be remiss of me not to go over your more primal urges with you."

"No this is wrong... this is..."

"Now let's see your little soldier then, I bet he's filthy! Your first lesson will be on how every little soldier needs a bit of spit and polish."

"Get off me, it's strange... it's not even..."

"Oh he's all messy and salty, this won't do at all."

"THIS ISN'T REAL!"

****

"Arrgh, fucking, fuck, fuck!" a petite pale blonde woman clutched her head in pain as she recoiled from the unconscious form of a young man.

A female orc was reclining in a chair opposite the pair, watching intently despite her seemingly relaxed posture, "Another failed attempt, witch?"

The woman did not respond at once, instead covering her face with one hand, eyes scrunched shut and unnaturally straight long hair shrouding her, while she felt around for a strong drink. Meeting with fumbled success, she parted her hair enough to take a long swig from a clay flask, then almost immediately stuck out her tongue and half choked, "This is fucking disgusting, it's bloody marvelous, what did you call it again, Ghoen?"

"Death wine from Vingal province."

The blonde snorted, "'Death wine', bloody marvelous."

Retaining her laid back position, the orc asked, "So are we to cut him loose, or try again?"

"Cut him loose? Abso-fucking-lutely not! If there's one thing I like, it's a challenge." The woman stood up and started pacing around the large windowless room, which was lit by flickering lantern-light.

The beast woman followed the smaller one through the room with her eyes as she made her way around the lavishly, but haphazardly decorated room. Deep colored velvet and silk hung from chairs and posts in no particular order making the pale woman seem like a ghost floating through a broken history of decadence. Ghoen was seemingly unmoved by the impromptu visual poetry, "Last week you said you hated being challenged."

"That was last week, sweetie. Try to keep up," the witch replied absentmindedly, "No, this is far too interesting, a mere boy with no psychic training whatsoever is able to forcibly remove me from his mind, while unconscious, while drugged and while I'm trying to give him a mind blowing wet dream. It's unnatural!"

"Unnatural," the orc deadpanned.

The witch stopped pacing and looked the beast woman in the eye, "Irony is my friend, leave it alone."

"Right, well I'm getting hungry and tired; do you still need me here? Watching the two of you mumble and twitch isn't what I was expecting to be doing when you hired me as your bodyguard."

"'His' bodyguard, sweetie. How many times do I have to repeat that?"

The orc sighed deeply, "Yes, because dwarfs could pop out of the wall at any moment... I've set traps for a mile around, the only threat here is you might slip and poke your eye out on his erection."

"Ha-fucking-ha," the witch wafted over back to the unconscious boy, "no, one more try I think, one more."

"How long do you think it will take?"

A snarl passed over the girl's face making her seem much older, "I don't fucking know, bitch. You're messing up my thought process, if you're going to ask stupid fucking questions, ask stupid fucking questions about what I'm doing, it helps me focus."

The orc stood up to her full height and strode over to the witch, her muscles tight and tense, displaying her raw power to the girl who was at least two foot shorter than her. The blonde, for her part, met the fire in the orc's eyes with a raised eyebrow and said, "You know, walking around like that just makes me want to fuck you a-"

She did not get to finish her sentence, however, as the beastling grabbed her by the throat and slammed her down onto the table next to the boy, "I do like it rough," the witch smiled with a grimace. The orc raised her enough to head-butt her back down against the table.

Ghoen growled into the woman's face, "Shut. Up. You are not paying me enough to put up with your madness and abuse."

The witch grinned madly at her assaulter, "No shit?"

The beast woman let go of the girl in disgust, "You're insane."

The blonde's grin wavered, cracked, "I'm not... no. I'm sorry." Disheveled, the girl picked herself up, "I'm sorry, name your price, I'll double it, whatever. I'm sorry."

The orc clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing deeply to calm herself down, "You frustrate me, witch."

The woman gave a half chuckle, half sob, "That makes two of us. I've been told it is possible to get used to me, I wouldn't know. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," the orc repeated without sarcasm or ire.

"Yes, next time I rub you the wrong way, though, I'd suggest you kiss me instead of attack me, you still get my attention but make less mess. Well, different mess. I'm lucky I don't bruise, anyway."

The beast woman said nothing but returned to her chair and sat down awkwardly, partly ashamed for her outburst of violence.

"I wish you'd use my name by the way, sweetie," the blonde said as she straightened her hair, "Every time you say 'witch', it makes me want to wiggle my nose."

"Marenda..." the orc struggled with her convictions for a moment, "I apologize also, I should not strike an employer."

"Oh, dearie. Random violence is like punctuation for orcs. No harm done." the girl jumped lightly up and down on the spot shaking herself loose. "Now, where were we?"

"The boy."

"Yes, the boy," Marenda pursed her lips, "What do we know about boys?"

The orc sighed again, but otherwise was silent.

"Right, boys have penises, right?"

Ghoen remained silent.

"Right," continued the witch, "and boys like to stick their penises into other people," Miranda jumped up and straddled the unconscious boy and addressed him directly, "Then why the fuck are you resisting my dream temptresses all open and willing?"

The witch leaned down so that her face was level with his, "All I want is a little sperm, just to see if you're compatible. If you're not, you can bugger off back to your church and bash wooden boards against your head or whatever it is you like to do. Promise."

Marenda gave him a little sniff, "What do you need to loosen up, sweetie, hmm? I've tried the most beautiful girl in your memory throwing herself naked at your feet, I've tried the no strings exotic prostitute that you fantasized about for almost two years, I actually managed to get in your pants with the martial teacher just now."

"Do you think it's authority that's the key, Ghoeny?" the blonde called over to the orc.

Cringing at the pet use of her name, but refusing to rise to it, Ghoen responded with a non-committal, "Maybe."

"Maybe," the girl mulled, "his mother in a see-through night dress, spilling her heart about how lonely she's been without a husband."

The beast woman reached over for the Death wine and took a long swig in an attempt to burn that particular image out of her mind.

"'Oh darling son, how I have longed for a man around the house. But now you are so big and grown up perhaps it is time for you to perform the conjugal duties with your poor mother,'" Marenda spoke with a unconvincing put-on voice.

"You're assuming the boy is secretly a pervert." the orc mumbled.

"He's a man of the cloth, there's an alarmingly high possibility that that's the case, darling," the witch stated before running a hand down her body and whispering into the boy's ear, "'I have a burning itch that only a man can reach, won't you be a good boy and-'"

"I think it's more likely that you're projecting."

Suddenly Marenda sat bolt upright, "Maybe he's gay!"

Ghoen's face fell to the table with a thump.

The blonde frowned, "No that doesn't fit at all," she slumped back down, laying her face on the boys and idly played with his hair, "Maybe I should just jerk you off and be done with it."

This idea cheered up the orc greatly and she eagerly agreed, "Maybe you should."

"No, the whole fucking point of this is to give back something in replacement for what I'm taking. A vivid fantasy that will stay with him for the rest of his life. To spread a bit of joyous erotic madness. I'm insulted you would even suggest a cheap fucking hand-job!"

Ghoen returned to pressing her face against a cold, hard surface.

Marenda stared into the middle-distance, "What to do?"

"A sweetheart?" the orc spoke into the table.

"What?"

"A childhood sweetheart. Did he have one?"

"I suppose it's worth a look-see. He's so closed off it's hard to think of him ever actually being friendly with someone. I'll be back shortly, be a dear and watch over us please," with that, Marenda looked into the slightly frowning face of the unsuspecting boy and gently bit him.

****

Marenda slipped into the boy's mind silently and unobtrusively, allowing her perfect lucidity to relax into his unconscious mind. What she was doing was a hard to conceive danger, to push her own mind into an already occupied brain and then to find the perfect balance of coexistence with the resident mind is inviting a fate potentially worse than death. The witch had already failed at syncing with what the boy found unconsciously acceptable with her previous seduction attempts and as a result had been forcibly removed by the boy's mind.

Having your mind's arse kicked out of another brain is the best of the worst case scenarios and is akin to the feeling you get when being betrayed or rejected by the most loved and trusted individual you happen to know; a sudden, intensely sharp jolt of emotional upheaval that can potentially leave you reeling for the rest of your life. Marenda had experienced this three times in the last several hours and, if not for the self-taught technique of rapidly rationalizing, empathizing and forgiving the guilty mind within a single heartbeat, would probably have torn off the boy's own cock and beaten him to death with it, which would have likely taken some time.

The worst of the worst case scenarios is for two minds intertwined to lose sense of their individuality and merge into one. Brains are not even remotely capable of handling this kind of overload and would go completely and utterly insane, or if lucky bleed out of its owner's ears. Schizophrenia this is really not. The small blonde witch had, ironically, a supernaturally lucid mind when present within the brain of another and thus had no fear of such a messy fate befalling her. Controlling the whims and flows of another mind, though was still not a task to be taken lightly.

The boy was dreaming his own dream, and from the feel of it, it was not a pleasant one. Marenda had every intention of rectifying that, but first had to delve into his memories to find the leverage she would need in order to bring the boy off with a wet dream. Previously she had only explored his more recent memories of the last year or so of women that had found purchase in his arousal and fantasy centers. There had been plenty to work with and the boy's rejection of his own erotic desires was frustrating, however, denial of one's own sexuality is often a one way track to a broken psyche, and Marenda was usually keen to indulge in her own desire to nurse broken people back to health.

And so the little white woman delved deeper into the large white boy's mind, purposely ambling through the shadowed market stalls of remembrances. Or something. She gave a cursory examination of how his parents had brought him up, only to find that they hadn't, he never knew his mother and his father had died when he was young. Marenda moved on, no incesty shenanigans after all. She continued searching through his childhood, finding increasingly garbled images and feelings, which the witch understood as self-blocked memories. The boy had obviously been very unhappy throughout most of his life. She had recognized a similar pattern of unwanted memories in his recent years and it suddenly became clear to the witch that he actually desired becoming an emotionless shell; he could not bear his own memories. Marenda felt a wave of empathy for the boy.

Then, hit by wall of intense loathing for him, for a moment she could not stand to inhabit his mind for a second longer. The witch began to pull herself back to her own consciousness, but stopped. The hatred she had felt was the boy's own self-loathing directed inwardly, not towards her at all. Several ideas clicked neatly into place: when her erotic fantasies were rejected, he had not been fighting back at Marenda, he had been fighting the threat of his own happiness.

"Well darling," she thought to herself, "we can't have that now, can we?" The witch focused a portion of herself into an outward wall of neutrality and dove back into the muted corners of his mind.

To have become so broken and jaded, the boy must have lost someone dear to him, either that or a complete moron. Marenda banked on the former and began tracing the source of the boy's self-loathing back to its point of origin. She came across multiple flashes of the boy's kindly, but crippled father, losing him at a young age had hurt the boy, but not enough to break him, no, there was more. And there it was, or there she was. An unassuming, freckled redhead of all people who sat upright on her knees with her head bowed as if she had fallen asleep. She was dressed in a plain white blouse with frilled sleeves and shoulders which her hair fell over in a long neatly platted ponytail.

Marenda immediately recognized the girl as a construct of the boy's memories and ideals of the girl and not just a single specific memory that would disappear, mirage like, when approached. So approach her she did.

"Hello, are you able to talk?" the witch addressed the girl, "My name is Marenda, what's yours?"

The girl looked up and smiled, "Betha, pleased to meet you. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help you and Austos." the witch spoke plainly to keep the unconscious boy's mind from meandering in its dreaming state.

Betha seemed overjoyed, "Really? I'm so glad. There are so many things that need helped."

"Austos has been very sad."

"Yes, he has, for a long time now. I want to help him, but he won't let me," tears filled the girl's eyes.

"Why not?"

"Because I died."

Unsurprised, Marenda risked the question, "How did you die?"

A dark cloud passed over them both and large shadowy figures emerged from the corner of the Marenda eyes, "Orcs raped and killed me."

"I'm sorry. But you're still here. In his mind at least."

Betha shouted, "Yes, but he won't see me!"

The witch risked a little more, "Why not?"

"Because!..." the girl faltered, "because..."

"He blames himself for your death."

"Yes."

"He needs your forgiveness."

Betha began to cry in earnest. Marenda blocked out the sound and formulated a strategy: Get naked. Get even. Ok, maybe not that exactly.

She spoke to the sobbing maiden, "In order to get what I need, I need to give Austos what he needs. And to do that, I need you. Lots of needing and probably some kneading."

There were deep rumblings of protest from the core of Austos's consciousness, however his own idealization of Betha fought past it. Austos unconsciously knew Betha would want to help him even if he was unwilling to accept it, his mind fighting itself.

"What do you need me to do?" the red headed ghost asked.

"Give me your form."

****

Marenda found Austos's self, his centre of consciousness, in a vicious, self-gratify struggle with a dark hyperreal orc. It's skin appeared made of shadow and its eyes glowed red. Austos wore dirty grey clothes over his bruised body. He grappled with the orc as it loomed over and around him, growling and spitting at the smaller boy. Austos's fists pattered uselessly off the orc's body as he found it impossible to throw any momentum behind his strikes. The orc's blows in return, sent the boy reeling.

The witch understood the scene for what it was; a never ending struggle for Austos as a means to punish himself. She remained outside of the boy's perception and created a sword lying next to the warring figures. Austos saw the weapon and lunged for it, but missed; the hilt was just beyond his reach... or was it? The sword was in his grasp! The boy rolled back and away from the shadow orc and into a fighting crouch. The orc lunged and Austos swung.

Recognizing the moment of truth, Marenda focused her will into the sword and overpowered the dream's designed hopelessness. The sword cut through the shadow orc's outstretched hand which would have otherwise caught and snapped the blade and then dug deep into the monster's body. The orc staggered then roared as ichor spewed from its cleaved chest. With a mental nudge the witch encouraged Austos to attack again, cutting into a shoulder, and again, caving in its skull, and again, and again, and again.

Austos leaned heavily against the sword, his breath coming in heavy rasps, as he surveyed the desiccated remains of his adversary. Marenda smiled, confident that the boy would be no longer plagued by at least that particular nightmare again. Now, after that good deed: time for a more morally ambiguous one. Marenda appeared within his dream perception and gave a weak cough to draw attention to herself. The boy wheeled round drunkenly, then fell to his knees in shock at what he saw.

Marenda planned to play this fantasy perfectly. She had shrouded herself in Austos's memories of Betha, selecting his most vivid recollections whilst subtly altering some points. The pair had always been too shy about sex and so they had never seized the chance to make love and any kissing had been stilted and short-lived. If the witch was going to keep Austos accepting of the illusion she would have to be true to Betha and to keep the boy on the back-foot to stop him from over-thinking and thus rejecting his desires. Wearing the form of Betha, she said, "You saved me."

Austos stared, struggling to conceive. Here was the only person he had ever truly loved. The girl who had made him feel complete, who had been his beacon of hope in a cruel existence, the girl who had been raped to death.

"You're not dead?" the boy breathed.

Marenda/Betha smiled lamely, "I guess not."

Then the fact that the girl was completely naked sunk in. Austos snapped his head away, but not before he had had a moment to gape at her beauty. Her skin was pale with a high tendency to flush pink. She was a natural red head with red thatch to match and a large amount of light and dark freckles scattered generously over most of her body. The truth was, was that Betha had been malnourished and as such was unhealthily thin. Marenda took exception to this and had brought her to a more healthy weight, making sure to give Betha's hips and bust special attention. Her young breasts were capped with large light pink nipples that stood up to draw attention to themselves.