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Ever since then, Calliope hasn’t left my mind. She haunts it. I wish I knew why I feel such an obsession for this girl. I’m sure part of it is because she has been my only light in the darkness of my mind. But I’m certain there is more.
It has been so hard for me to piece out whether it is my unhealthy obsession with this woman I’ve watched grow, or whether it’s The Demon’s. Why would The Demon be this infatuated with her? What might he want from her? You know what it is, Alyx. You can sense it. It’s bad, and you know it.
Perhaps this is another urge I have - to save her from her fate. Although I’m not sure what that fate is, I know The Demon has something dark planned for her.
I need an answer to this question. How many of these thoughts and feelings are my own, and how many are The Demon’s? Either way, I know he wants to find her, so I want to find her first.
I’ve stayed by this lake as she’s grown. My world has now become so very small. Its existence was just the lake, the light, and myself, who had no time for anything else.
But in all this time I spend with her, I’m driving myself crazy. I neither eat nor drink, sleep or rest. My obsession grows.
Watching her become a woman, I’ve become a wraith-like thing haunting her dreams. My envy of those around her has grown to hate. I’m not too fond of the air she breathes and thoughts I can’t read. I know her better than she knows herself. The time will come when I dare to re-enter the world; set real, flesh and blood eyes on her, and put my hands on her.
If I had a pulse, it would be thundering like a storm. I imagine laying my skin against hers. Blood, almost dry in wasted veins, now springs into life and reanimates my heart. Once black and decayed, this yearning begs it into re-existence and demands sustenance. I shake. A rush of desire reminds me of what living could be like. I have to feed on this world like a person with an addiction in need of a fix. I could drink the world dry, and still, my hunger would be unabated.
I dream an idea of her into existence. These ghosts never last, and they are never her perfection, but they help me control myself occasionally. This one plays coyly, teasing me, flitting between dead tree to dead tree. As her hands touch the oaken branches, they sprang to life. Calliope has the power to do that here in this dream. She excites me so much that wherever she touches, my imagination feels it. She giggles silently.
I have yet to hear her voice, and I can’t imagine what she sounds like. I approach her, smiling. She waves at me shyly. The strap on her white nightgown falls, revealing the edge of her areola; pink, slightly puffy, hardening. As the skin wrinkles and shrinks, her nipples harden too and force themselves free of the cloth.
She blushes, embarrassed, but does not cover-up. Instead, she lets the dress fall slowly, exposing her breasts and her navel. Then it falls over her hip bones, teasingly halting there until it slips to the ground and reveals her pubic mound, shaven and smooth.
I feel a rush of blood to my entire body. My body is flush with desire. She stands so close to me, her nipples almost rubbing against my black coat. She looks up at me with beautiful, purple and silver-laced eyes, hypnotic and haunted somehow—coloured with a veil of mystery as if they could be on fire.
I imagine myself naked, standing before her, my cock hardening, twitching with a heartbeat. She looks at it and bites her lip. I move towards her and kiss her, a hand on her cheek, so lightly at first, the kiss lasting a lifetime, lips finding each other, then breaking to sigh. Two sets of eyes in the darkness, exploring each other. I envelop her with my arms, knowing she’s just my imagination, but for this moment, I choose ignorance. I kiss her lips and neck, running my mouth and tongue over it. I could spend decades kissing her body. I pull aside her hair, wrapping it in my fingers, arching her head gently around to kiss the nape of her neck, pulling her back against my chest, my hard cock against her hip bones.
Calliope feels it and gently strokes along the tip of my erection as I cup her breast in my hand, rubbing her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, stretching it gently. She moans. I welcome it.
I lay her down by the lake. Goosebumps form on her skin, and her chest flushes. She arches her back as I run my fingers down her stomach, over her crotch. Two fingers stroke the edge of her pussy until they are coated with her wetness, and the soaked fingers explore her clit. My index finger draws slow circles, expanding and retracting the motion. I tease my hard cock with my other hand, and she watches me stroke myself.
“Oh, my god!” She sobs, almost unable to get those simple words out.
I turn her over so she’s on her stomach, and I grab her hips, forcing her onto all fours. I cradle my cock in one hand while the other teases her folds, and I slide it deep within her soaking wet pussy. I start fucking her, slow at first, but then I find my rhythm, and with her bent over with a perfect view of her ass, I start to lose control, fucking her harder and faster.
Her breasts start bouncing, smashing into one another. She has no words, just a low groan. I pull out, turn her around to face me and slow down to a standstill. I look deep into her eyes; they are misted over, and I can’t tell what colour they are.
This would mean something if she were real rather than a conjured-up idea of my love. She looks at me, confused, wondering why I stopped.
“Please, don’t stop, just don’t stop,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.
This is not her. She’s just an idea, a fantasy. Like the other times, it will fade soon.
Grabbing my still-hard cock in my hand, she watches me with renewed interest. I start jerking off vigorously while gazing at her, wishing that she were real. I grab her hair and pull her down to her knees right before me. I align her mouth with the tip of my cock, and she opens with a grin and sticks her tongue out. I close my eyes and think of the real Calliope. My thighs begin to shake. Soon, my orgasm takes over.
A moan, groan, growl, and even a little snarl erupts deep within my chest, and finally, a jet of hot cum hits her face. She jumps but stays in the same spot. On her knees for Daddy. Just like it should be. I can feel a second spout of cum just about to shoot out, so I grab the back of her head and force my cock down her throat. I come in her mouth. She laps it up, every single drop. She dares not to waste any of Daddy’s cum.
I withdraw from her mouth, fall to my knees, and come face to face with her. As my orgasm starts to fade, the light around us dims, and she begins to fade away, the idea dissipating with my lust satiated. The Calliope dream looks sad as it disappears into the gloom, but how can she look sad if she isn’t real?
There have been more than a billion versions of Calliope that I have created in my dreamland. Everyone I have used, humiliated, loved, broken, destroyed, and remade in the glimpse that it could be the real her, but it never will be. Only when I get out of here.
I know everything that has happened is inside my head, but I know that the punishment I suffered for my crime was real.
I am getting out of here one way or another, right now. I run as fast as I can until I find the world’s edge, place, whatever, and look down.
“I guess if I jump, I should wake up. Hopefully.” I say to myself.
I’m scared this won’t work, but I have to try. With that in mind, I take one step and fall off the edge. I am now falling, falling, faster than ever before. The wind rushes through my hair, the ground fast approaching. My body slams against the ground.
When I finally come to, I look around and find myself in a different location than I was previously. Now, I am in a cell in some basement. I’m chained to the wall via my wrist.
