Key of Dreams

The origin of this one is the same as olithoi’s story entitled Under Lock and Key, and it’s my take on a request that involved using two base words – straps and key – to create a story. Like the story mentioned above, it’s also a bit dark, but the flow and the nature of the tale

Like the story mentioned above, it’s also a bit dark, but the flow and the nature of the tale are completely different, despite the common inspirational genesis. Should you decide to read this one, be sure to check her piece as well for an interesting contrast.


To an outsider, seeing Maxwell Penderghast perform his daily ritual would be perceived as an act of insanity. There he was, facing an empty wall in one of the many bedrooms of the family’s main estate, holding a silver key in one hand and turning it around in mid-air whilst humming a strange combination of sounds that didn’t belong to any modern language.

However, the illusion of foolishness was nothing but that, for he was quite sane and aware of his actions, and knew every single step needed to be perfectly executed if he wanted to revel in dreams of lust once again.

When the final turn was complete in perfect synchronicity with the last garbled syllable uttered from his lips, a wave of unseen, yet very much palpable energy caused the once solid wall before his eyes to give way to an ethereal, blue corridor that led to a charred door located beyond the threshold of the three-dimensional human world. The magic had worked, and he was now free to cross into that supernatural plane. However, first there were precautions that couldn’t be forgotten.

From the left outer pocket of his leather jacket, he took a small box where a protective symbol that resembled a cross between a K and a W was inscribed and opened it to place the key inside. Upon doing so, he closed it and felt the surge of power that ensured he would be safe from what awaited him at the end of the corridor and pressed forward.

The door swung open far and wide the moment he approached it as if it had the ability to recognize him, and perhaps it did. There were a great number of things he still didn’t understand about the magic keeping that place together even though over twenty years had already passed since he learned the most important and well-kept secret of the family.

Past the door, there was a chamber enveloped in sickening, green light with next to no decorations at all and an almost translucent, rippling floor. Only something caught the eyes of those who entered it and it was the shape of a woman, kneeling on the center of an amalgamation of lines and intertwined circles from which the hideous glow emanated. She was naked, underneath a layer of leather-like straps that bound her, rendering her almost immobile.

She still had the same beautiful complexion he had first witnessed when his father thought he was old enough to know the powers multiple past generations had inherited and wielded, mercilessly. Looking at her platinum hair and symmetrical face with glassy, green eyes no one would give her more than twenty to twenty-five years of age and yet she had been trapped there for over three centuries, never aging for the laws of our universe didn’t apply to her.

What she was in fact, no one knew except perhaps the one who had brought her forth only to capture her afterwards, the not so honorable Dr. Damian Penderghast, his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, a man who excelled in the ability of healing the sick as well as in the dominion of dark arts from ancient times that were supposed to be long buried and forgotten, but somehow had been resurrected in the library of his study around the year of 1710.

One thing was certain: her human appearance was nothing but a guise that had been forced upon her when the portal into her world was opened. There was also speculation that, underneath her smooth skin, existed nothing more than a shape-shifting mass of pure energy whose origin dated back to the very beginnings of the Universe, but even if that were true, it didn’t matter, for her fate was decided long ago, and Maxwell was honoring the family tradition as he was supposed to.

“Who are you?” he asked, a mere formality since her response was always the same.

“Sybill, summoned slave,” she mumbled with her eyes down, facing the floor.

“And who am I?” Maxwell continued, with grave authority in his voice.

“Mighty Master, Maxwell…” Sybill whimpered, the pressure of the bindings causing her great distress.

“Master wants your service, Sybill. My will shall be obeyed!” he commanded, and with a simple twitch of a finger, he made the leather straps slide away from her, imbued with a spark of life that made them resemble a group of writhing snakes. Then, he removed his jacket, opened the zipper of his pants and showed her what he meant in the form of his swollen and engorged sex. “Suck!”

Sybill crawled to him, as obedient as always, her mouth ready to receive the gift of flesh that represented the humblest act of submission. Nothing had changed much in her life over the course of the years, except the names of those she had to please. That was the reason of her existence and it would continue to be so for as long as the silver key existed. The Penderghast called the ultimate source of their power key of dreams, but the family’s dream was a nightmare for a free spirit that had never meant to visit the world of men, let alone be made a sexual captive in it.

Maxwell smiled impishly as the amazing beauty on her knees exercised her devotion with skillful precision, knowing when to tease and when to savor, licking it all the way with her moist tongue or nibbling the tip of his manhood with her sultry, dark lips. She had been trained in the ways of driving their Masters into utmost ecstasy, and that was a bliss he was sure to pass on to his only son the moment he was of age to understand the responsibilities that came along with it.

Sybill continued her thorough work of pleasure until a white gush of semen exploded inside her mouth and both moaned with uncontained delight. Then, with no justification whatsoever, Maxwell hit her real hard with his left hand, leaving a reddish mark on her pale cheeks, whilst screaming:

“That’s enough! You did well, slave, and now you’ll accept the pain I’m about to offer you as a pleasurable reward!” His hand fell upon her once more, followed by a vigorous kick in her stomach that made her gasp for air. Sybill contorted inside the mysterious, geometric maze beneath her, but was powerless to do anything to defend herself.

“You’re nothing but a cock-sucking bitch, and this is what you deserve, isn’t it?” he said. It was so easy to use her as a punching bag for all of his real-life frustrations, because he didn’t acknowledge her as a sentient being, and he would never will. His father had been adamant when he had shown her to him for the first time and his words still resonated inside his skull, in a sequence of disharmonious reverberations:

“Sybill’s a slave. Slaves have no feelings, no emotions, and can be dealt with in any way their Master sees fit since they lack the will-power to resist. Remember this and don’t be afraid of doing what you want to do. That’s all that matters.”

The lesson had been assimilated, first giving rise to an angry teenager and finally an adult with sadistic tendencies. If things failed to go according to plan at work, Sybill was sure to pay; if he had a vicious fight with his wife, Sybill was sure to pay; if he had no reason at all except the sole wish of exerting vengeful, brute force upon a defenseless creature she was the rightful choice, because she would always be a weak and pliable prisoner.

How much time elapsed before his rage subsided is unknown, but when he finished the beating, Sybill’s body was covered in bruises that would, unfortunately, heal too fast. In the following day, if he wanted to, he could do the same thing all over again, for her tissues would regenerate during the night. She was a modern Prometheus and him, the ferocious great eagle to torment her until his dying days:

“You’re supposed to thank your Master, now!” he spat as he picked up his jacket and prepared to leave her alone.

“Thank you, Master,” she replied. “You’re too kind.”

“Damn right I am, seeing how worthless you are! Be grateful that I visit you every day instead of just leaving you to rotten like you deserve!”

“My gratitude knows no boundaries… it is only surpassed by your magnificence!” Sybill acknowledged. From the corner of her eye, she saw the leather straps come to life again, about ready to resume their restraining function.

Maxwell paid her no attention and opened the small box where the key of dreams had been protected. He would need it to return to the house and close the connecting corridor that was the only way in and out of her space of confinement. It glistened in his hand, evoking memories of all his ancestors who had used it. Without looking back he moved towards the door as the magical straps jumped at her with ferocious intent.

No one could have foreseen what followed. Sybill, contemplating the evil glint of the silver key responsible for all the torments she had endured throughout many generations, suddenly felt connected with a higher consciousness than the one that had been imposed upon her and, with a fast rotation of her aching torso, faced the leather beasts with increased vigor.

All of them found their target, except one, stopped in mid-track by an irate hand and thrown like a whip against her Mighty Master. Though she couldn’t escape the conflagration of power lines beneath her, there was nothing to prevent an object of doing so and the impossible became possible in a blink of an eye.

Maxwell didn’t see the strap coming, but sure felt its impact in his left clavicle and that was enough to make him falter, lose his balance and fall onto the ground. His hand betrayed him, letting go of the key that was sent spiraling across the room until it found the worst place to land, right in the middle of the energetic contours that signaled Sybill’s prison.

The shock was immediate and the subsequent reaction unstoppable. Power clashed with power, unleashing a prodigious wave of green and silver light that culminated with the disappearance of the two conflicting sources. The lines and circles faded into black, scattered across the rippling floor. As for the key, it became nothing more than a lump of metal, deprived of an identifiable form or aim.

It was Maxwell’s turn to struggle for breath when confronted with what had just happened. After honoring the family’s tradition for so long, everything had crumbled in a matter of seconds. With the key destroyed, the Penderghast heritage of commands and torture was about to face its extinction.

The leather straps, now reduced to meaningless fetish items, could no longer keep her in check. Sybill had no trouble standing up after tossing them to the side. Even before he could try to escape, she was already sitting on his chest, growling:

“Aren’t you going to ask me who I am, now?”

He didn’t have the courage to do so, for she was something different from what he knew. Only the late Dr. Damian had seen something similar when struggling to contain her, and the fear he had felt at the time was real. Since he failed to respond, she continued talking:

“For three hundred years, your family used me and abused me. I had to take on this repulsive form to please lustful eyes and then subjected to the vilest forms of punishment just because you all thought it was fun to do so. My race has never wanted any contacts with yours because everyone knows that Mankind feasts on atrocious deeds constantly, and I’m a living proof of that! But those days are over, now… Master. I shall serve none of you ever again! However, I must settle the score, don’t you think?”

She was a lot stronger than what he could have ever imagined, and the weight of her body kept him pinned to the ground. Maxwell tried to push her away, only to be punched like he deserved to be.

“What are you going to do with me?” he dared to ask, sure that whatever she replied, would be far from an agreeable experience.

“First, you will know what it is to be a slave!” she cooed, her eyes fixed on his until he could see his distorted reflection in them.

The image he saw wasn’t the one of a scared man about ready to burst into tears, but rather a subservient representation of a drooling pet, locked in a cage of undeniable inferiority, a dutiful thrall ever yearning for a smile from her perfect lips whilst he obeyed her every command. This illustration was then placed deep inside his mind by means comparable to those of telepathic suggestions until he became the living embodiment of what he had seen. As his breathing slowed down and the last remaining traces of humanity were stripped away from him, Sybill got up and looked at him with unmistakable might:

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Maxwell, meager menial…” he droned.

“And who am I?”

“Supreme Seductress, Sybill!” Maxwell said, this time with absolute fervor.

“I demand your service, now! The pleasure you’ll provide me will strengthen me for the arduous journey ahead!” she revealed.

“Your demands shall be carried out…” he complied, adjusting his body position to prostrate himself at her naked feet.

And indeed, they were for many, many hours, the only ones where she didn’t feel any repulse of her human shell. Maxwell was a better drudge than a Master, no doubt about it, but all good things must end, and she had something different planned for him.

A classic sci-fi horror movie of the late seventies immortalized the sentence: “In space, no one can hear you scream”. However, the same holds true in a room that exists only within a fracture of Space and Time and, what took place in there, can never be described.

When the night had already sunk the Penderghast estate into a labyrinth of darkness, a lonesome figure stepped out of its cell with specks of blood visible upon her lips and platinum hair. Even with all the forbidden books from the study downstairs at her disposal, it would take her quite a while before she had all the power required to open a gateway to return to her own dimension.

Until then, having enjoyed the flavor of retribution and being the one serviced upon, Sybill knew what she would do to pass the time.

She was going hunting….

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