Later That Night...

Sleep falls on you quickly. Perhaps by the magic of the transformation, but more likely by the exhaustion caused by the day. Your breath falls heavily on the night air, even more so than Nero's, and your mind takes you away to an intangible sort world that's so much like the real one, yet still too foreign to recognize. It tugs at the edge of your consciousness, and images begin to flutter through your mind. You see a man, the gladiator, from before, a cool and confident smile on his face. You see mistress, arms crossed, powerful, imposing, and unyielding. A question flits through your mind, why do you call her mistress even now? Neither the image nor question last long as you find yourself in the embrace of Aefleda.

The shy girl you first saw when entering the cafe has been replaced by a tall, confident, almost sisterly figure. You're wrapped in her embrace, smothering the fears in your mind. She hugs you from behind, and there begins to nibble at the side of your neck, just above where your neck turns to shoulders. It's sensitive. Even in your dream shiver bumps ripple across your skin, and a crips gasp floods your lungs. You can feel her teeth, almost tickling, almost tearing, a delicate balance between a lovers tease, and a predators gnash.

In your dream, you feel her hands begin to walk down your belly, slowly, patiently, playfully. There the walking digits find their destination, and slide between your thighs. You squeeze tightly, and whimper. Not there... Not again. However, a quick twist of your tit distracts you, giving her hand that inch of leeway it needed. There, despite your silent protests, her fingers begin to caress your outer lips. You wiggle in protest, but your face begins to flush in spite of yourself. It's a tickle that promises so much more. A touch that begs exploration. You deny it valaintly... for prides sake... but by now even you know the effort is merely a pretense.

It's not long before your beginning to rut awkwardly against the mattress, trying to drive her hand deeper into your awaiting snatch. Alas, the deft digits are more nimble than your lumpish efforts, and always seem to dance away. Your dreary mind gives way to longing and your realize that somewhere in the exchange you've gone from holding her back to seeking her touch. At last she gives it, Her finger run as deep as they can, then back out to rub ferociously against your plump lips, and only slightly more delicately against the little nubby clit. It's mere moments before you've made a mess, dribbling your longing out on the sheets of the bed...