Villains and Damsels Pt. 05

Villains and Damsels

By Garnett Gibson

Part 5: The Morning

Our story so far: After investigating his ex-girlfriend Natalie's nightmare, dream consultant Sam discovers that her imaginary tormentor, the Master, is not a nightmare at all, but her subconscious's darker, fantasy version of Sam himself. Sam and the Master conclude that the best way to help Natalie come to terms with her nightmare is for Sam's personality to merge with the Master, extracting the latter from Natalie's mind.

* * *

Hands twitching. Fingers wiggling. Eyes blinking.

He had a headache, which seemed like a foreign concept. Had he ever had one before?

He laughed. It was a different laugh. Yes, he'd had a headache. He'd had headaches before. Part of him had.

He took off the goggles. Goggles. The machine used goggles.

Everything was fuzzy. Everything felt like a dream. But not like it actually was to be in a dream. How one might think it was, if the technology to go inside a dream didn't exist.

Like an ancient computer slowly loading an image, starting out pixelated, but getting clearer and clearer.

Until he remembered what he was now, and he smiled.

Mirror. He needed a mirror. He stood. His legs wobbled like he'd never used them before, but a few steps brought the movements quickly back to him, and he no longer needed to touch the walls for support. The walls too, felt odd, until they didn't.

He went to the bathroom and switched the light on. It was harsh, and he squinted at first, but then he saw himself.

Just as Sam had predicted, there were no actual physical changes to be seen. But he wasn't the same. His eyes seemed more sunken. His lips moved in a different way than before. Smiling was easier. Even just looking at himself was easier. He tugged at the waistband of his shorts and looked down, relieved that the girth below was of a good size.

He wasn't the Master. But he also wasn't Sam anymore, either.

He laughed, deep and dark. But he didn't want to speak. Not yet. He was reserving his first words for something specific.

It was time to leave.

He took a cursory glance through his wardrobe. This would have to be redone. That was non-negotiable. And his hair would need addressing. Sam had never given it much attention, and in the dream world, the Master's hair had been effortlessly polished. But now he supposed regular visits to a barber would be a worthwhile investment, along with some professional products.

He'd be able to afford it all soon enough.

He selected a tailored dress shirt shoved into the back of the closet and a pair of black slacks. Decided against ironing; it would take too much time. Combed his hair, grabbed his car keys, and went to Natalie's place.

He couldn't explain how he knew she'd be there. He just did. Sam would have called her first, or would have assumed she'd come to him when she was ready.

But he, whoever he was now, he knew better.

She was waiting.

Sam hadn't even known where Natalie lived now. Be he did.

Her apartment was in a nicer part of town than Sam's apartment. Of course it was. She'd done well for herself after she left Sam.

Of course she had.

His fingers curled around the doorknob to her apartment and he twisted it slowly. Not because he was unsure if it would be locked. He knew it wouldn't be. No, he did it because he wanted her to hear it turning. He wanted her to know he was coming. He imagined her sitting, her chest rising and falling, her breath hitching when she realized he was close, so close.

He pressed the door open. The lights were off, but morning sunlight streamed through the windows. A beam illuminated Natalie sitting on an ottoman. She was wearing a nightgown, which looked remarkably similar to the dress she'd worn in her dream. It covered more of her, but it would be easy enough to get off.

She faced the wall, in profile to him. Hands in her lap.

Her face, her expression, was so familiar.

Ah, yes. He smiled.

"You," he said, feeling a surge in his chest at finally hearing his own voice. It was not the kind of voice that could be ignored or disobeyed. Sam had always wanted a voice like that. Who wouldn't?

She turned to him, eyes wide.

But her expression was placid. No fear. No anger.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her to him as he shut the door behind him. "Come here, Natalie," he said.

She rose. Walked to him. She stood before him while he examined her, his eyes roaming across her body. Aside from her hair, which was slightly shorter and had gray hairs that could easily be taken care of, her dream self was identical to her real self. Natalie didn't have the kind of body that she felt the need to exaggerate in her own fantasies, but the part of him that was the Master hadn't known that for sure, until now.

"Are you still afraid?" he asked.

She shook her head. No, he knew. She wasn't afraid. But she hadn't been cured the way she or Sam had hoped at the beginning. They hadn't just wanted her to be free of fear. They wanted her to be happy, laughing, carefree. They wanted her to be back to her normal self. But her "normal self," it turned out, had included the Master. And so now there was no normal self to go back to.

She was something new, just like him. But she wasn't afraid anymore, and that was the important part.

He held the side of her head in one hand, caressing her cheek. She closed her eyes as she leaned into his touch, just enjoying him. Enjoying how it felt to be soft and vulnerable to him. He knew that's what she was feeling. Because he knew her, better than he knew anyone.

"I'm never going to let you feel afraid again," he said.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be scary.

His movements were fluid and effortless as he turned his gentle caress into a rough grab, turning her and maneuvering her so that her back was to the door. She didn't resist, but grunted with the sudden harsh movement.

"From now on," he said, his voice low, his lips against hers, "your life is mine. Your money is mine. Your body is mine. And you will hide nothing from me anymore." She'd tried to hide from Sam that she could very well afford a consultant. She could have afforded five consultants. But with the Master's knowledge added to his consciousness, now he knew the truth, and he could do anything with her assets that he wanted. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He kissed her, swallowing her lips with his, trying to possess her as fully as he could. He needed her. The woman who made him what he was, whose mind was so powerful she could take an existing man and turn him into an entirely new being without conscious effort. Yes, Sam had been the one to combine with the Master, but he couldn't have done it without her.

He eyed the large, plush couch in the center of the living room. It was nicer than Sam's. No stains. No lumpy bits.

It wasn't as nice as the Master's palace, but it would still do nicely, especially since it was real.

He was real. That thought almost made him giddy, almost let a bit of the old Sam out as his hands ran across Natalie's body. She was real. She was his.

Whoever he was now, even though he'd only technically existed for an hour or so, he knew how hard he'd worked for this. How much both sides of him had given up. Sam gave up his humanity. The Master gave up godlike powers in a realm where anything was possible.

"On the couch," he said to Natalie.

She didn't question. She went and lay on the couch. Her nightgown was almost sheer. Almost. While she was prone, he slipped it off, revealing her breasts and torso to him. She looked up at him with eyes she'd never given Sam. Maybe eyes she hadn't even possessed before he'd purged the Master from her mind. They were eyes of surrender, docility, and trust.

One of Sam's concerns may have been founded. It was certainly possible, even probable, that people would notice sudden changes in both of their personalities. How Natalie's formerly assertive nature seemed to have been absorbed by her former ex. But with the manipulative and controlling prowess the Master possessed, he could easily blend in, at least as long as he needed to in order to help their friends and family accept Sam's new, more confident self. And Natalie would be easy to camouflage. She'd do anything for him, and he could command her, train her, ensure that when they weren't alone, she'd be the same old Natalie.

As far as anyone would be concerned, Natalie got back together with Sam because he'd managed to get his shit together, because his consulting business had finally taken off and he was pulling in clients left and right.

He slid off his trousers and undid the buttons on his shirt, positioning his body over hers. Then he entered her, and she let out an almost-virginal cry that turned into a flutter in her throat. He recognized the shape of her lips, trying to say his name.

"Don't," he said, putting his finger on them. He couldn't hear the name anymore. It didn't feel right to him. "We'll come up with something else." At least among the two of them.

He pressed his hands into the couch cushions as he loomed over her. Both the Master and Sam knew how to maneuver his cock to perfectly brush over her clit as he thrusted in and out of her. He also knew she had questions she wanted to ask him, and that it would be more difficult for her as long as he was fucking her. He smirked. He didn't want to torture her, but he did enjoy playing with her. The Master had never gotten to do that in her dream. His role had always been so blunt.

Sure enough, she whimpered and squinted like she was trying to concentrate. "Will you...will you take more?"

"More of what?" he asked, though he knew.

She hesitated, trying to find the right words. Her voice was different than before he'd cured her. Softer, gentler. He liked it, though he did wish he'd been able to preserve some of her confidence, stave off this meekness. But he could help her build it back with time. He twisted his hips, making her moan, and grinned.

"More...ohhh..." She stretched her head back, speaking now to the ceiling. "The Master always...had his pick...and he always picked me...but..."

But would she be his only conquest?

The Master inside of him hungered, might not be content with just Natalie. She'd fed him the visage of so many other pretty women, and if he wanted them, he would have them. And she would let him.

But for Sam, though, she was enough. For now.

Still, she needed to learn her new place in this hierarchy, even if she had longed for it. Even if he had helped her to see that.

"Whatever changes I make to our arrangement," he brushed his lips along her hairline, "you'll find out when the time comes."

She nodded with understanding, and it reminded him of when she'd come to Sam, when he'd warned her that he might not be able to help her, and she seemed resigned to her potential fate. Now, he realized, she may have known the thing to fear was being cured.

Well, now, there was nothing left for her to fear.

"Oh." She gripped his arm suddenly. "Can I cum?"

"Yes," he said.

She did, gasping and shuddering, and it seemed to pull the climax out of him too, releasing some parts of Sam's personality.

"Oh, fuck, Natalie. Good fucking God." He was sweating, a sensation that the Master had never gotten to experience. She'd wanted Sam, after all. She would get whatever was left of him.

"Thank you," she said. For what, he wasn't exactly sure. For curing her. For becoming the man she'd always dreamed of. For letting her orgasm.

It didn't matter.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "We're not nearly done," he murmured. "We've created someone that didn't exist until this morning, and I'm ready to try out so many new experiences. Are you ready to help me on that journey?"

She nodded.

"Then turn around," he said, "and let's continue."

As she did, he thought that even Sam couldn't have imagined a better outcome for Natalie's dilemma.

Not even in his dreams.

The End