Chapter Sixteen – Wren
Chapter Sixteen
Wren
The dream starts innocently enough.
I find myself standing in a corridor that looks like it belongs to a club.
Red strobe lights pulse rhythmically along the walls, casting everything in scarlet glow that shifts and moves.
Heavy bass music thumps through the space, so loud I feel it vibrating in my chest with each beat.
The air is thick and warm, almost suffocating, carrying the scent of sweat and expensive perfume.
I walk forward, my heart rate accelerating with each step I take.
Closed doors line both sides of the hallway, painted black and identical except for small numbers marking them.
As I pass one, I press my ear against the wood.
Moaning comes from inside, loud enough to hear over the music – a woman’s voice, high and breathless, punctuated by deeper groans.
I move on. This place is decadent and shameless, and everyone here seems to be doing exactly what they want behind closed doors.
At the end of the corridor sits a red door that looks different from the others.
It stands out like a beacon, drawing me forward, so I walk toward it with mounting anticipation building in my chest. My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob.
I hesitate for a brief moment, swallowing heavily, then I turn the knob and push the door open.
The room inside is small and intimate. Bare walls surround a single piece of furniture dominating the center of the space.
It’s a table, but not like any normal table.
It resembles something from a doctor’s office, the kind where you lie back with your legs spread and bent, except this one is covered entirely in black leather.
Cuffs hang at the corners where hands would rest, and chains dangle where feet would be secured, the metal gleaming dully in the low lighting.
The smell hits me next. It’s leather and sex, thick in the air.
Heat floods through my body, and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.
My arousal builds fast, and I want to strip naked right here, climb onto the table, and wait.
Just wait and see who will come to me. At the back of my mind, I feel like I know exactly who it will be, but the information stays frustratingly out of reach. I can’t quite grasp it.
The horniness that took over is briefly dampened by shame.
I’m disgusted with myself for wanting to offer myself to whoever will take me.
For craving this so badly. But this is a dream, right?
I recognize the lucid state I’m in, which means it’s a lucid dream that I can control.
There’s no harm in it. I can’t want these things in the real world, but here, in my own mind, I can indulge safely. I’m allowed to want what I want.
I move toward the table. My fingers reach out and run over the soft leather surface, and my fingertips tingle at the contact, sending sparks up my arm. I wonder what it would feel like to press my bare back against it, to feel the leather warm under my skin.
From the corner of the room comes a low, deep growl.
The sound vibrates through my entire body and settles hot and heavy low in my belly. I become aware of the wetness between my thighs. Fuck, I’m soaked. I turn toward the sound.
A dark figure emerges from the shadows. The first thing I notice is his charcoal-gray skin, then his massive stature, broad shoulders, and powerful build. My eyes are drawn to the hard cock between his thighs, prominent and impossible to ignore. I lick my lips involuntarily.
Zeth.
My bodyguard.
And now I remember. He’s a symbiote, we share my body, this is a dream, and he’s inside my dream with me.
Zeth moves toward me with measured steps. My heart beats so wildly it’s almost painful, but I stay put and wait. I’m curious to see what he’ll do. He reaches out and brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. The simple touch ignites my entire body, and I lean into the contact, craving more.
I look up at his face and see gentleness in his solid black eyes.
“Wren, wake up,” he says softly.
I’m confused.
“What?”
“Wake up. We’re not doing this. I’m ending the dream.”
I open my mouth, and I might just tell him how disappointed I am, but then…
I jerk awake, gasping and panting. My skin is slick with sweat, and I feel overheated. I throw the duvet off me, the chilly air helping a little. My panties are soaked through, uncomfortable and clinging to my core. Fuck, I would give anything right now for release.
“Are you all right?” Zeth asks.
Despite the extreme embarrassment I’m feeling, I force myself to reply.
“Yes.”
I get out of bed quickly and go to the bathroom. I don’t turn on the bright overhead light, just splash cold water on my face until I feel normal again. I drink directly from the faucet, gulping water like I’ve been running for miles. I can’t bring myself to look in the mirror.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Zeth. “Thank you for stopping the dream.”
“I promised I would.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
I climb back into bed. Exhaustion overrides everything else, even the arousal still thrumming through my body. I fall asleep within minutes.
And of course, I’m back in the dream.
I’m standing in the corridor again, my hand already on the red door’s knob.
I groan in frustration. I know exactly what’s happening.
I want desperately to end the dream myself and force myself awake, but I can’t.
All I want is to go inside, climb on that table, and have Zeth take me with that massive cock of his.
I don’t even know if what I saw was real or just what my imagination conjured.
The uncertainty doesn’t matter. I can’t resist the temptation pulling at me.
I open the door and step inside. The table waits exactly as before. I approach it again and take one of the metal chains in my hand, pulling at it to test its sturdiness. The chain holds firm.
Zeth appears from the shadows again. He sighs deeply as he approaches me. I can see the strain on his face. He’s struggling. It’s difficult for him to end the dream a second time. He wants this too. After all, we agreed to do things in dreams. This should be okay, a safe space for both of us.
But Zeth shakes his head.
“Wren, you need to wake up.”
“It won’t work,” I tell him. “I’ll just come back here again.”
“I can stop it from my side. I can sedate your mind, so you won’t dream at all tonight.”
I bite my lower lip hard. My eyes roam over his broad chest, and I can’t stop myself from looking down. I stare openly at his massive erection. As I watch, his cock jerks, and a bead of dark liquid appears at the tip, hanging there, threatening to fall.
My eyes widen. I can’t look away. I hear Zeth groan low in his throat. His breathing becomes heavy and labored.
“Is this real?” I ask. “I mean... I know this is a dream, but... are the details real?”
Zeth understands what I’m asking, but he responds with a question.
“Do you want me to end it? You need sleep, Wren. You need to rest.”
“Please answer the question,” I insist. I feel terribly embarrassed, but I have to know.
“Yes,” Zeth admits. “It’s real. Your dream turns me on. It’s inevitable. I’m doing everything in my power to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back.”
“I must. I promised you I would end this. Just say the word, Wren.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from his cock. My pussy clenches around nothing, and the sensation is so intense I moan out loud. My mouth fills with saliva. I swallow heavily, my throat working. I want that cock inside me desperately. My mouth or my pussy, it doesn’t matter which. Any way I can have it.
But Zeth is right. This isn’t the time.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force the words out.
“Okay. Sedate me. Do what you must. If I come here a third time, I won’t be able to hold back. I will ask you to do things to me that will make me feel horrible in the morning.”
Zeth hesitates. I feel like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it.
The next moment, my consciousness slips away. There’s nothing but peaceful, dreamless slumber.
I open my eyes hours later and look at the clock on the wall.
Late morning. My body feels rested, but I tense up when I remember everything from the night before.
I blush furiously, heat spreading down my neck and chest. I’m still painfully horny.
The arousal hasn’t faded at all, and I would love a long shower with the water jet aimed precisely where I need it.
But Zeth is inside me. We can’t unmerge.
“Good morning,” he says, as if knowing I was thinking about him.
“Good morning.” I want to die of shame and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” I add. “About last night.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I need a shower.”
He is silent, and I realize he probably heard all my thoughts since I woke up.
“I’ll make it a cold shower. Nothing will happen.”
“Okay. I’ll make myself scarce. I can try to pull into a corner of your mind and give you some privacy.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I adjust the temperature, but I can’t stand truly cold water, so I settle for lukewarm instead and step under the spray.
I try desperately to distract myself from the arousal still pulsing through my body. I think about my current predicament instead.
How long will the Kyzers keep me in this bunker?
There’s no timeline and no end in sight.
I have to cook as much Crimson Haze as possible, and I can’t complain or resist orders.
Garrett Blanc has to see me as non-problematic and dedicated to the job.
Getting out soon feels like the only achievable goal, and this compliance seems like the only path forward.
I dry off quickly and get dressed in clean clothes. I pin my hair up in a tight bun, and within minutes, I’m back in the laboratory, ready to work. I start a new batch.
Less than ten minutes have passed when the door opens. Garrett walks in carrying a food bag. He sets it on the table without ceremony, then leans against my workstation. He lights a cigarette, smoke curling up toward the ceiling.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks.
“Good.”
“I saw you toss and turn,” he says, watching me closely. “Mattress not to your liking?”
I blush. The thought of him watching me all night makes my skin crawl.
I look at his face more closely. He looks gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days.
Does this man sleep at all? The creeping feeling intensifies.
He probably always watches me through the cameras.
But I reign it in and don’t say anything.
I don’t want to provoke him. Especially if he expects me to, or if he made that comment as his own provocation toward me.
“It always takes me a while to adjust to a new bed,” I say in a neutral tone.
Garrett watches me for several minutes, smoking and studying my movements as I prepare the ingredients. The silence makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t show it.
“You need to cook more and faster. A few vials at a time won’t work.”
“I produce high quality. You can charge more for it.”
Garrett dismisses this with a wave of his hand.
“I don’t care. The orders come from above.
It’s not my decision. You have to make more, even if the quality suffers.
” He takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’ll charge the same price regardless.
The boss doesn’t care if the quality is lower.
Our clients will keep coming anyway. We have the monopoly on Crimson. ”
“I will do my best.”
Garrett leaves without another word, his footsteps echoing as he heads for the door. I hold my breath until I hear it close.
I eye the food bag sitting on the table, but I don’t feel hungry. My stomach is tight with anxiety and guilt.
In my head, Zeth asks, “Are you okay?”
I feel him there again, his presence fuller now, not tucked away in a corner anymore. He’s back, occupying full space in my mind like he always does.
“I’m okay,” I say. “But I was hoping they wouldn’t ask for more.”
I explain my reasoning, even though it sounds stupid now.
“The reason I was cooking so little was because I thought fewer vials would mean less people hurt. Fewer doses on the streets, less damage overall. The fact that what I’m cooking will hit the streets soon makes me feel sick.”
“It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault, no matter how much you cook. It’s not your job to save anyone. Your job is to infiltrate the Kyzers. If you succeed, you’ll save many people. Taking down this organization will prevent far more harm.”
“Thank you,” I say. But I feel distant and disconnected. I can’t shake the guilt.
Still, I adjust my process. I set up to cook more at once, following Garret’s orders. Anything to please him, so he can take the news to his boss and hopefully let me out soon.
As I work, I can’t help but wonder what the hell is happening to me. Who am I becoming in this place? I don’t recognize myself anymore.
It’s like my own mind is fucking with me, weather I’m awake or asleep.