Finn had no idea where he was or what had happened. One moment he was in the woods searching for poachers; the next, he was lying in a room that was dark...yet not dark, for he could see light casting a vague glow off his nose and cheeks. Both silent and not, despite an absence of sound. And it was neither warm nor cool. In fact, he couldn’t even be sure it was a room because he was unable to locate any of the walls encompassing him...just like he was unable to find any source for the light shining upon him.
But what was worse? He sensed he was not alone.
He was stretched out on a bed...that wasn’t a bed. It felt like there was nothing beneath him but air, simple air holding him up. He knew he was still in his clothes — a well-fitted suit in a fine modern cut, neat tie and Oxfords, completely inappropriate for tramping through the shrubs and sticks of a forest but, being a detective-sergeant, he’d had little choice.
The call had come as he was en route to Clayton-Magna to meet some friends, and the male caller’s tone of voice was panicked. At least, that’s what the call center had said. Strange lights whispering through the forest. Animals scattering away from it in fear. Concern it might be a drug deal going down, or what was worse...yobs poaching. Uniforms were on their way but were fifteen minutes behind him and, since he was a Detective Sergeant, they felt he was best to at least make contact with the person reporting the incident so as to initiate a proper beginning to the investigation.
He’d agreed to do it because he didn’t feel it would take too long and could hand it over to another DS, as soon as he arrived. Plus, he knew his friends would be understanding. The life of a cop, sort of thing. He’d made a hands-free call to Prue, the woman who’d arranged the get-together, to let her know he was running behind then turned down Mid-Clayton Road to double back for Lower Clayton-Merrill.
He gave a soft chuckle. Prue was the reason he’d worn this particular suit. It was fitted in all the right places, showing off his trim, well-formed torso and colt-like legs, though it was a bit...well...snug around the derriere and...um...frontal area. However, he felt very male-model in it, and knew she would be impressed. At least, hoped she would be. Since she was a biologist, an unspoken part of that hope was perhaps she’d also now see him as not only a prime specimen of the male figure, but a possible bed partner and, if all went well, eventual husband. He was ready to start a family, having now settled into the area and it being just past his thirtieth birthday. Find a nice cottage someplace local, somewhat similar to the Cotswold’s. Not too far from the Criminal Investigations Division and DCI Blethyn, his superior. Base his life from there. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child on the way, so he also hoped this was a subtle sign she might be considering him as more than a mere boyfriend. And the idea almost felt cozy and warm.
By using a bit more speed than he should have, considering the narrowness of the roads, he’d arrived to the stated location only to find...nothing. No lights. No fresh tracks from foot or vehicle. No animals, either. The forest was still and dark, despite it only beginning to approach dusk. He’d wondered if he’d gone to the wrong side, but double-checking his GPS showed he had gone to where dispatch had said.
He’d tried to go a few meters into the trees, just to get a sense of the place, but the brush was thick and he could see no path to follow. He hadn’t wanted to push in too far because that would mess up his aren’t-I-hot suit, so he was about to back away when something had struck him.
The forest was completely silent.
No sounds whatsoever.
Not even the hint of a breeze to rustle the tree branches. That had been decidedly odd, especially being this close to the Channel.
Then about a hundred meters to his left he’d seen a light. Not like that of a torch or lamp, just a soft blue glow behind the trees.
Surrounding a lone figure.
Headed towards him.
He’d jolted and begun to back away, saying, “Hello! Police. I’m Detective Sergeant Winterbourne,” and the blue light had swirled around him —
And now he was here, with no idea how he got there or what was going on.
“Did I fall? Knock myself out?”
That had to be the explanation; the figure hadn’t been close enough to reach him, and there was no indication of a weapon firing, so he’d stumbled, hit something, been struck unconscious and was dreaming. It was the only thing that could make sense.
He tried to sit up...but he couldn’t move. Not his legs. Not his arms, which he finally realized were now held behind him by something that felt solid and firm, like thick cuffs. He could shift his eyes around, and could swallow, and he could breathe. That was all.
“Hello?” he called, not so much expecting an answer but only to see if he was capable of speech. He heard no echo in the chamber so figured he probably only thought he was speaking. Now he was certain he was caught in a dream.
Then he felt a whisper of air around him, like the soft caress of fingers...but nothing was there. It traced over his clean cheeks, his fine lips, his bright open eyes, a cool blue under light brown lashes. He felt it on the eyebrows he’d trimmed last night in anticipation of his date. Felt it travel through his thick curly hair, cropped close to keep from becoming too unruly. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous; he knew that, but he also knew his face was well received by most young women...and the nothing-air was touching every inch of it in ways that made him very uncomfortable.
It moved over his chin, well-shaved not an hour ago; he had issues with a light five o’clock shadow, which Prue had once mentioned in her flat Belfast brogue, and he wanted nothing that might prevent any kisses. He had even showered and changed into this suit, at the department.
He noticed the nothing-air was also caressing the back of his head and nape of his neck. Whatever it was he was lying upon made no difference; the sensations merely displaced the feeling of support momentarily as they travelled across his shoulders and down his back...then up his sides?!
What sort of dream is this?
The nothing-air in front was pacing that in the rear as it drew over his chest, tenderly exploring under his suit coat to play with his nipples. Which surprised him. He’d never had anyone finger those, before, and the fact that it sent a jolt of pleasure through him was even more startling.
Then it continued down his fairly taut abs to his groin.
He moaned with both pleasure and discomfort.
Oh...oh, no. This...this isn’t real. It’s all a dream.
Except it certainly felt real. Especially when the nothing-air traced over his trousers to...to fondle his crotch?!
And massage his ass?!
“What’re you doing? What’re you doing?!?!” he cried. Or did he merely think it? He still couldn’t tell. But it had become deplorably invasive and he wanted it to stop.
After even more intimate caressing, the nothing-air traveled down his thighs and over his calves to his feet, making him cringe and try to pull away as short grunts of disbelief burst from him.
“What is this?!”
Still nothing but silence.
Then he felt the beginning of an erection.
He couldn’t believe it. The nothing-air was so sensuous in its touch, he was responding?! His body was enjoying it? He was shocked beyond belief. The one positive was, he’d worn his new tight CK boxer-briefs, and those might keep him from becoming too embarrassed.
He tried to move, again, but still could not; just remained floating in the silent nothingness. He knew this was not sensory deprivation because he could see light reflecting off his face and feel himself being touched. He swallowed, fear starting to build in him.
Then he felt his shoes being untied and removed!
“Bloody hell, what’re you doing?!”
No response. No echo. No proof of any sound coming from him. Just off with the shoes and a soft clunk when they dropped to the floor. Then the nothing-air caressed his soles and toes as it removed his socks, a new pair he’d worn because the only other pair that matched this suit had holes in them. Next, his suit jacket was shifted off his shoulders in soft, loving movements that were close to tenderly demanding.
“Stop! What’re you doing?! I’m a police officer! Stop! STOP IT!”
His tie was undone and his shirt slowly unbuttoned.
“It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream,” he gasped. Or maybe he was just thinking it. Hoping it. Wishing it. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could feel every single solitary thing the nothing-air was doing. Each touch was insistent. Each caress was too real. Each movement over him was meant to lead him closer to something carnal and prurient. It didn’t help that he’d been going through a dry spell and had been more than hoping Prue would take him to bed, that evening, instead of his hand being his only partner, again. But this?
This!?
Living with his grandmother...his Nan, where his mum and dad had dumped him as an infant so they could follow their own bliss...he’d had a couple of what she called Emission Dreams. She’d told him they were completely natural for boys hitting puberty.
“Both of your uncles went through this,” she’d said, “as did your father, despite his claims to perfection. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just make sure to give yourself a good wash.” Then she’d taken his sheets and pajamas without further comment.
She’d always been the level-headed one in the family, not typically British in her understanding about sexual needs. She’d lived on a commune in Wales, traveled to Monterrey, California, and even stayed in some temple in the Himalayas for some form of awareness. All of that had carried with her, and he was glad he’d taken more after her than either of his unknown and very self-interested parents. Remembering this helped calm him and let him focus on the reality of the moment.
As soon as he could figure out what that reality was.
To start with, he knew this could not be happening except in his mind. So no matter what the nothing-air did, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Despite what his body was telling him.
That helped when the nothing-air pulled his shirt open to reveal his undershirt — tight, white, and just a little see-through — then slipped the crisp cotton down and off his arms with a touch that was almost worshipful in its caress. The shirt was softly whispered past his hands even though they were still caught behind him...which made no sense, but that was the reality of this dream.
His breath was coming faster as he fought to keep panic at bay, and his well-formed pecs were causing the undershirt to shift a little over his now tender nips. He was proud of how he’d built himself up, after having been born underweight and sickly, and it seemed the nothing-air agreed, because it ran over his muscles and fondled and flicked and twisted his nipples through the fabric, making them tent against the light cotton, every touch shooting fire into his groin. He was in shock at how lovely it felt. How fantastic it was. How he didn’t want it to stop. How a tingle behind his balls was actually making him groan from pleasure.
Christ, is this what I want Prue to do to me?
Then the nothing-air ripped his undershirt open to reveal his smooth, barely tanned skin was laced with a dash of tawny hair that swirled down his abs to his groin. He yelped as the caresses ran across his belly and over his shoulders and along his arms to guide the shirt’s remains away in ways that seemed to sear the heartbreaking prurience of its touch into his very soul.
His breath grew sharper. Heavier. Was punctuated with grunts of fear. He fought to keep one thought in his mind.
It’s NOT real, Finn, it’s not real, it’s not real.
But he was losing the battle. The sensations brought on by the nothing-air were too demanding. Too consistent. And on top of it, his dick was growing fat and hard, in response.
Even though he could not move his torso or arms or legs.
Just an emission dream, that’s all, just an emission dream.
Then his trousers were unbuttoned!
He fought to picture Prue being the one doing it. Picture how lovely she was. Round in all the right places. Peaches and cream skin under golden red hair cut just right. That Belfast brogue. He’d been attracted to her the second he met her on a murder case. She’d been a suspect, for a little while, so their beginning had been tainted by that, but it was Blethyn who’d made the accusations, not him. After some stumbling, he’d been able to get her to know him and let him know her, and now...well...using the image of her helped him refocus and make this nightmare into something he could handle. If he was going to be dream-mauled, sexually, at least it would be by someone he wanted.
His zipper was lowered, almost teasing, and his trousers were guided past his hips and rear with the same tenderness and beauty as was done with his shirt. And under those briefs, he was totally ready to go. The nothing-air danced back up to play with his dick and balls through the cotton, not only whispering around them and over them and under them and along them but making the taut material surrounding them feel like something alive and needy. It also massaged the cheeks of his ass as if they were ripe melons. He didn’t have a bubble-butt, but it was a nice size and fit him just right. Apparently the nothing-air agreed, for this continued as his trousers were maneuvered down his legs to his ankles while the caresses wafted over the soft down on his thighs and calves. The elegant sensations were beginning to overpower his ability to concentrate.
Then the waistband of his CKs was grabbed...and they were pulled down to his ankles, where his trousers waited, exposing an erection that may not be the biggest dick ever but was certainly above average. At least, none of the women he’d been with had complained. He’d even caught a few lads in the gym casting him glances of either envy or interest, or both.
But now?
Like this?
As he was being violated?
The trousers were gently removed, then off went the CKs with even more caresses over his calves.
And he was now completely naked.
Completely vulnerable as the dreadful intimacy continued.
I’m handling it. I’m handling it.
Then the nothing-air slipped between the cheeks of his ass and touched his rectum.
“NO! STOP! THIS ISN’T RIGHT! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” he screamed.
He fought to squirm away but his body still would not move. His breath was fast and furious, and while he could shift his eyes to look around and move his mouth to speak and knew damn well he really was yelling and snarling words into the nothingness, he also knew his nips had grown pointy and his balls were happily being juggled and his dick was being stroked while every other part of his body was also being mauled.
Bloody hell. Is this an alien abduction? Are those bloody stories true? No, I have to be hallucinating. I have to be!
Now the nothing-air danced over his nips to send more lightning through every nerve in his body. Caressed the hair on his abs and wandered through his pubes like they were rafting down a river that cascaded into gentle pond. Glided over his ass. Fondled his dick and balls in ways that seemed more like worship than sexual need. Sensations swirled up and down his thighs and calves, adding to the build of erotic need within him.
His dick was now as hard as it had ever been, and he was whimpering at the incessant manipulation of it taking him almost over the edge...but never quite. Stroking. Caressing. Loving it. Holding it straight up so that he could just see the head of his penis if he looked down with his eyes. He felt some form of covering glide over it, like a condom, but so far as he could tell nothing was actually being put on him.
“No, no, no, no...” was all he could murmur, now. He knew his cries and screams and pleading would do no good, but they still jolted from him at each step in the invasion.
