A Disturbed Night

From what you’ve looked at so far, one of the statuettes would be an appropriate object to display in your office. An evil part of your mind considers switching it on and testing whether it does increase women’s libido.

Your imagination gets so involved you have to fire up to laptop and watch some porn to calm yourself down.

Having made your decision, you decide to head to bed.

You dream that you are at class, but the students before you are faceless, non-identifiable, even their hair colour blurred into incomprehension. The walls are bare of their posters revealing the marks you discovered before. And the marks are the only objects that have true substance. While everything else blurs into one another, the marks stand out, proud, their strokes darkening to a blood red, their edges defined with bold strikes, meaning drifting at the edge of comprehension. As you watch the darkening turns to light, glowing with supernatural vigour.

You’re topless, and the new body feels uncomfortable and welcome. The flab you’ve handled most of your life is gone, leaving a lean six-pack as well defined as the marks on the wall. Your arms bulge with muscles. And the tattoos the Bands of Cernunnos left on you are more clearly etched on your skin than you’ve ever seen them. They’re also changing. In the waking world they are black. In this they’re turning as red as the marks, blood-red and throbbing.

You reach out your hand to the mark on the door and it’s like electricity flowing through you. Your tattoo drinks up the mark’s power. Your body drinks up the marks power. The glow flows down your arm, flows round your tattoo and sinks into your body.

You feel drunk. You feel enervated. You pull away and you see all the marks have faded to just marks on a wall, while your flesh is glowing. You’re like an eighties sci-fi hero awash with power, highlighted by neon, lighting up the classroom, and the unidentifiable girls have their anonymity stripped away, revealing their beauty, revealing their youth. You recognise them all. There’s the cascading blond hair of Kelly, and her face is lit into youthful glory by your glow. There’s Ellie, and she’s not cowering from you, she’s enraptured. Brianna’s golden-red hair glows in your light, and her brown eyes glow even brighter. All your class are there, and all of them beautiful.

And your light carries on stripping away. Only now fully revealed it’s not their anonymity that succumbs, it’s their clothing. Their white blouses fade into irrelevance, revealing skin beneath, pale or dark, all perfect, all yearning to be touched. And none are wearing bras. And you see all their breasts, from the tiny titted to the large breasted, from smooth orbs to jagged mountains of flesh. You can’t think of your students that way. But you do. You are as enraptured by their topless beauty as they are in yours. They’re standing and edging towards you, revealing their skirts and knickers have vanished the way of their blouses, revealing dripping, needy pussies that you can almost hear calling out for you. And your penis responds, ripping through your clothing revealing its wonder to the assembled students. And they fall to their knees, and they worship it. They crawl towards it, their eyes fixed on its length, their desire for it plain on their faces.

You try to pull away. You try to break and run. But you are trapped. There are lines of power holding you in place. There are lines of power holding them in place. They reach out, their small hands grasping, just missing your erect phallus. The breeze their grasping hands excite tickles your swollen head, elicits the first pre-cum.

And you look beyond the grasping, lust filled youth to the strands holding them back, and see they come not from the classroom, but from the town. The biggest thicket emerges from the depths of the schoolground, where the burned ruins of the Pepperpot still stand, but strands come from everywhere. And all the strands pass close by you. And you could reach out a hand and pluck a strand. And when you pluck one strand it breaks with a ping. And somewhere in the heaving mob of female flesh a lust filled youth shifts closer to her prize.

You wake. Coated in sweat. Your head aching with the vision. Your penis as erect as it was in your dreams.

And the tattoos the Bands of Cernunnos left on you burning like the Bands burnt when you first put them on.