Finally finished! I hope someone enjoys it. Please let me know?

The cast:
Naomi, a dream made flesh.
The Master, a nightmare made real.
The dreamer, the girl from whose suppressed desires both dream and nightmare spring.

The young woman ran blindly down the deserted street, her bare feet slapping against the wet pavement in an erratic, terrified tempo. Her dark hair was like a banner, waving in the wind, whipping across her eyes when she sent a glance back over her shoulder. The wolves were coming for her. She knew they were there, even though she couldn't see them. She could hear them growling in the darkness. Ahead of her, a streetlamp flickered and died, and she raced ahead into the dark, her terror mounting as she imagined horrors waiting for her in the inky blackness. Still, they could be no worse than what lay behind her. The growling grew louder. They were gaining ground, despite how fast her adrenaline driven limbs could carry her. And then the sound shifted, and she realized that it was not the growling of wolves, but the deep, heavy thrum of a motorcycle's engine.

Her steps slowed, and she glanced back again, picking one dark shadow out of the rest...the shape of a man on a bike. She saw the shape of his hand move, and was suddenly bathed in the blinding light of the headlamp, her white nightgown shining like a beacon in the night. He gunned the motor, and she realized belatedly that he, like the wolves, was after her. Though it was far too late to make her escape, she turned and ran, spurred on by fear of what he might do if he caught her. The growl of the bike came near, easily overtaking her, and the stranger slowed enough to catch her by her waist, his strong arm easily lifting her off of her feet and dragging her over his lap. She fell hard across his thighs, and the impact drove the breath from her lungs. He didn't give her time to get settled, or to resist, but gunned the motor once again, peeling off into the night. She didn't dare to struggle, for fear of unbalancing the bike and causing a crash. With only her nightgown as protection against the asphalt, she would be shredded, and probably killed, if the bike fell. Instead, she remained very still, and very stiff, even when she felt his supporting hand slide down to cup her buttocks through the cotton of her nightgown and panties. A small, high sound rose in the back of her throat, her only protest to his actions. The only one she dared. The vibration of the bike rumbled through the marrow of her bones, and the heat of his hand seemed to scald her, even through the fabric covering her flesh.

The ride was mercifully short, and ended when he slowed again, guiding the bike into the darkened maw of a large building. The door rattled closed behind them, descending like a modern day portcullis to cut off her escape. The deep rumble of the bike stopped suddenly, and the silence it left was almost deafening. Now that it was safe to move, she did so, and she pushed at his thighs with her hands as she scrambled off of his lap. His laughter was low and mocking, punctuated by the scrape of his boots as he swung his leg over the bike and stalked towards her. Dim light filtered in through high, dirty windows, but it was enough to catch the gleam in his eyes. She backed away, her trembling legs barely supporting her, her bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. He moved impossibly fast, and before she knew it, his hand had caught the skirt of her nightgown . He crushed the fabric in his fist as he pulled her towards him, easily overpowering her. She spoke breathlessly, through a throat grown tight with terror. "Please...please don't...hurt me." As always, there was that little catch in the dream girl's voice, at just that place, separating one plea from another. He laughed again and slid his other arm around her waist, forcing her slight body to bend beneath his strength. The hand that held her nightgown released it, but formed a fist in the dark curls of her hair instead, pulling her head back with a sting in her scalp that brought a soft cry to her half parted lips. Her hands flew to his chest, pushing weakly at him, only to become trapped between them when he tightened his hold on her waist.

"Be a good girl, and I won't hurt you...much. You will be a good girl, won't you, Naomi?" Her gasp was loud in the nearly empty warehouse. He spoke her name in a voice that seemed to echo the rumble of the bike's motor. How did he know her name? The tug of his hand in her hair made her whimper. "Won't you?"

"Yes! Yes, I'll be good. Just don't...hurt me, please." Her voice was breathless and raspy, but her reply was apparently the one he wanted. His mouth descended on hers, hot and demanding. He offered no quarter in the plundering of her mouth, but marked every part of her with the insistent pressure of his lips and tongue. It was a possessive kiss, and it left her reeling when he finally lifted his head. His breath was faster too, she noticed, and it washed heat over her skin as he rubbed his cheek against hers and caught at her earlobe with his teeth. The tension in her scalp eased as his fingers relaxed. They slid through the silk of her hair, and then moved to encircle her throat.

"Mine." His thumb pushed against her pulse, and she gasped again, lifting her chin with a hint of defiance, despite her promise to be good. A low growl rolled up from his throat, and his head dipped lower, leaving her ear stinging softly from the press of his teeth. Those teeth found her throat instead, scraping against her skin and startling a moan from the dream girl. "Mine." He repeated it, and his hand released her throat to cup one of her breasts instead. "Say it." His hand tightened on tender flesh, and she trembled at the scrape of cotton against her suddenly sensitive nipple.

"Yours." She breathed it softly, her voice tremulous with fear...and a rapidly building desire. "I'm yours." She said it to appease him, but the words echoed in her ears long after she'd spoken them.

"Good girl..." The slight curve of his mouth made her heart skip a beat. She had just enough time to register that her hands were still on his chest...not pushing him away, but curling in the fabric of his shirt, holding on for dear life. And then his teeth were at her throat again, biting harder, almost breaking the skin. She cried out, ending on a high, thin note, and he made a small sound in his throat that sounded like excitement. His hand at the small of her back yanked her closer, crushing her against him. His fingers spread over the upper curve of her backside, and his palm pushed at her sacrum, thrusting her hips forward against his. She felt a hard ridge against her pelvic bone, and pushed back against his hand, but her struggles only seemed to spur him on. His tongue traced over the indentations his teeth had made in the flesh of her neck, and the slick heat combined with the lingering pain to send a shudder down through her body. She was consumed, the air too thick to breathe...and then he stepped back. The cool air rushed in, but the heat in her cheeks rose to meet it. His eyes shone, bright with hunger and purpose as they swept the length of her, down and then up again, until he caught her pale grey gaze with his own dark one, and held it.

He took a step towards her, and she stepped back. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he dropped a hand to his crotch, strong fingers pushing inward against the hard flesh thrusting up against the confinement of leather pants. The movement of his hand dragged her eyes with it, though she looked away again quickly, the blush in her cheeks darkening. He took another step, and so did she, timid eyes rising to his. A pang of pain sang from the bite mark on her neck, and she lifted a hand to cover the reddened skin, as though she could protect the tender flesh from him with her fingers. She took another step, and he angled slightly to one side, taking two for her one, forcing her to back up faster...or to let him catch her. She didn't realize she was being herded until she felt solidity against the small of her back. She caught her breath, and risked looking away from him long enough to see the rows of tables behind her, mere shadows within shadows. Workstations in a factory, silent now, and empty. When she looked back to him, he'd moved closer. Much closer. She knew he was toying with her, but she couldn't help her rising panic from spurring her into motion. She turned, scrambling knees first onto the table behind her, hoping that she could at least get this bit of furniture between them. If she could gain that much space, she could gain more. But before she could reach the other side of the table, she felt his fingers close around her ankle, and with a rough yank he pulled her leg out from under her. She went down hard, the thump of her body against the tabletop echoing in the wide open space. A whimper crawled free when he used her still captured ankle to drag her back towards him, until her hips were at the edge of the desk. His body pinned hers in place, his groin against her backside, his chest against her back. His breath was hot against the side of her neck, and his fingers were almost gentle as they smoothed her hair to one side. "Tsk. I was just beginning to trust you, kitten." His lips grazed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. "You'll have to be punished, now, so you'll remember your place."

"No, please!" Her voice was thready and thin, a little wail of desperation that escaped when he stepped back enough to push her nightgown up. She struggled to rise, but his hand shoved at her back, and pinned her in place against the hard table. White cotton panties were a thin barrier over the round contours of her bottom, but even that was too much protection for what he had in mind. He hooked fingers in in the waistband and yanked, hard. Elastic and cotton dug into her hips, and then tore, shredding like tissue paper after that first moment of resistance. His hand was hot and rough against her skin, stroking from the top of her exposed rump and sweeping slowly downward, his fingers tracing the groove where the curve of her ass gave way to the softness of her thighs. And then his hand left her...and returned with a hard smack that startled a cry from the trapped girl. She renewed her struggles, hips writhing in an attempt to escape the next descent of his hand, the sting of the slap of palm to skin. There was no rhythm to the impacts made. Two blows came swiftly, and then a long moment drew out before the next fell. The anticipation of the next strike built the tension in her already trembling body to a feverish level, until it was almost a relief when he ended the anticipation with a hard swat. She cried out each time at first, but after a while her protests fell away into whimpers, as the sting of one scored spot blended into the next. When her flesh burned pink, his hand fell one last time, gently now. His fingers swept over the stinging skin of her blushing bottom, and she made another soft sound, a small, thin moan.

"There now. That wasn't so bad, was it? And you'll behave now, won't you Naomi? No more trying to get away." His voice cooed into her ears, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from saying anything that might invite more punishment. His fingers pressed down into bruised flesh, and she gasped aloud. "Answer me."

"I...I'll behave." But could she really promise, without knowing what he meant to do with her? His fingers dipped between her thighs, and brushed against the swollen lips of her sex. The low roll of his chuckle, self satisfied and smug, mocked her.

"You're wet, little slut." Her cheeks flamed when he stroked her again, and then rubbed moisture against the inside of her thigh, so that she couldn't deny the slick evidence of her arousal. And then his fingers pushed past those swollen lips, and probed at her entrance. She whimpered again, and gripped the edge of the table, trying to pull herself away from his hand. Punishment was swift. His hand came down against her sex, striking tender flesh. She yelped, and then released a soft sob of surrender, though her hands did not relax their hold. The hard edge of the table bit into the softness of her palms, but it wasn't enough to distract from the push of his finger into her. She moaned, and though she tried her best to remain still, she couldn't help but push her hips back, and invite his intrusion deeper into her body. His other hand left her back, trusting to that last, intimate swat to keep her in place. The leather of his pants rubbed against her legs as he stepped between them, and pushed her thighs apart with his knees. With a firm grip on the back of her thigh, he lifted her leg, and guided her knee to the edge of the table, spreading her further open for his perusal. And all the while, his finger probed, working its way deeper into the tightness of her cunt. She heard the rasp of his zipper, the snap of a button, and then felt the hot, velvet of the tip of his cock against the still burning flesh of her bottom. She flinched from the first touch of it, and could not silence a whimper when he rubbed it harder against the hot, round curve of her ass. He withdrew his finger, and she held her breath, only to release it in a soft, ragged cry when two fingers returned, pushing into her, forcing their way past the tightness of her opening to the soft tunnel within. They pumped in and out, the tips curling to stroke her tenderest places, stretching her open further with every hard, quick thrust.

Pleasure took her by surprise, and she revealed it to him in the almost questioning tone of her moans, for he could not see the wideness of her eyes, or the circle of her mouth, open to voice those pleasured sounds. He did not alter his pace, but plunged his now slick and shining fingers harder and harder into her cunt. Soft, wet sounds filled the space between them, mingled with the moans that had now taken on an edge of desperation. She pushed her hips up and back to meet him. And then she cried out, a sharp sound that trailed away into the sweet, helpless sounds he always sought to pull from her. He felt the convulsing of her flesh around his fingers, the first spasm of orgasm, and yanked his fingers free, only to replace their thick intrusion with the greater thickness of his cock. He gave her no time for adjustment, but adopted the pace his fingers had set, thrusting into her with such deliberate power that his body smacked loudly against the sore redness of her bottom with every thrust. He carried her along the crest of one orgasm, and onto another, until she writhed on the table beneath him, sobbing aloud as pleasure tore through her. And still he did not relent, or give her time to catch her breath. His fingers found the silk of her hair, and closed tight in the mass of curls, yanking her upright and forcing her to choose between the death grip she held on the table, and the searing pain in her scalp. She gave up her grip immediately, and instead scrambled to shove hands against the tabletop, to push her body into an arch that eased the burn of his punishing grip. She was rewarded with the loosening of his fingers, but they claimed her throat instead, gliding down the slender column to feel the vibration of her moans against his palm. He grunted satisfaction, and to her surprise, that small sound set her off again. Her arms trembled beneath her as her head fell forward, dusting the table beneath her with the ends of her hair. She was aware of none of this, of nothing but the hard smack of his body against her own, the spearing of his flesh into her own, and the pulse of ecstasy that throbbed within her. His hand left her throat, and pushed up beneath her nightgown instead, his palm scalding its way across her thigh and belly, until his fingers closed around the softness of one breast. He curled his fingers into the flesh, and grunted again, scraping the roughness of his palm over the tender, tight bud of her nipple. Fingers dug into the flesh of her hip as he increased the pace, and drove another ragged cry from a throat that was fast becoming hoarse.

He bent close to her, until the heat of his breath washed over her ear. His voice was filled with tension, rough with desire, between the pleasured grunts that were coming more and more frequently. "Scream for me, Naomi..." His fingers dug into her flesh at hip and breast, and the nipple caught between his fore and middle finger was cruelly squeezed. With the brush of his thumb over the red, sensitive plane of her backside, she cried out, but it wasn't loud enough. He raked nails down over the crimson curve of her ass, and was rewarded with a scream. And then she screamed again, feeling the thickness of him within her swell. He growled behind her, yanking her body back against his own as he thrust harder, faster, deeper than before...and stilled, emptying his seed deep into her body. She whimpered and writhed for him again, and he rocked his hips back, only to push deep inside of her once more. "Shhh..." His lips grazed her cheek as he held her to him, letting her come back to herself by degrees. "There's my good girl." The rub of his hand on her breast was gentler now, though her nipple was achingly sensitive in the aftermath of pleasure. So much so that even that gentle touch caused a small, mewling sound to crawl up from her throat. He licked at her cheek, tasting the salt of sweat and tears on her skin. "Good girl..."

They both looked up at the sound of footsteps nearby. Light speared through the darkness, sweeping over the tables. The dream and nightmare were gone before the security guard's flashlight found them. They vanished into the dreamscape that had birthed them, leaving only the disturbed dust as evidence of their existence.

The dreamer woke, tangled in sweat soaked sheets. Her body bore the pleasant ache of recent release, and she pushed both hands between her thighs, curling them against the soaked cotton of her panties. Biting her bottom lip to silent a moan of her own, she pushed herself up in bed...and reached for her dream diary. It was best, she'd found, to document these disturbing, vivid dreams freshly upon waking, or the details of it would, like the dream and nightmare, fade away.