Evening sets on the Campus, a few hours shy of curfew...and for once does not find the redheaded martial artist in the gym, practicing and training, honing her skills. No, tonight Lacey's given herself to matters of the mind...which is to say, she's been trying to find something interesting to read. And thanks to David Eddings, she's fairly certain she's succeded. Having gone through a great deal lately, she feels she deserves a little escapism; and so it is that she sets out with Sir Sparhawk on his
quest to rescue his Queen from the poison coursing through her body, restoring her to rule in the name of God, Queen and country. She normally would have checked this out and been reading it in her dorm by now...but the library is quiet, with few or no other girls around...she's not sure. What she knows is there's no distraction here, and it's such a good book...it seems a shame to put it down now...

Idly, Lacey twirls a lock of her red hair around one finger as she reads, still dressed in her school uniform, though at some point she's slipped her shoes off and started tracing her socked feet over the carpet. Her lovely, toned legs move restlessly as she reads about the brave knight's adventures, charging into battle atop Faran, his vile-tempered roan warhorse. She's already a goodly ways through the book, having lost track of time after her classes; even thoughts of homework cannot intrude into the world she finds herself in.

The book details a mystical gem with the souls of the Troll Gods sealed inside, their powers dating back to pre-history, manifesting as blue flames within the gem. Lacey finds herself shivering a bit as it details the deities' attempts to stop Sparhawk from obtaining their power, dragging creatures from the distant past into the present to waylay himself and his companions. Lean legs cross, and she leans back in her chair, the uniform she wears doing little to hide the fact that the rest of her is just as slender, toned and lovely as her legs. Even lost in the story, she feels a chill whenever they bring up monsters to serve as opponents for the protagonists...if only she herself could just cleave through the creatures on this island the way they do in the book, how different would her life here be? A great deal, she's fairly certain.

Darknesss has fallen outside the windows, but lost within her book, surrounded by the comforting smell of old and well-loved pages in the library, the redhead is unaware of the fact...something that can be very dangerous on this island. She should be tucked safely back in her dorm room, but instead she's here, out in the open...and unaware of just how alone she really is. Lost within her book, her mind dances wild with visions of high adventure and fantasy, epic battles and duels and the foiling of villainous plots, tuned out to the reality of her own perilous situation...

In his new incorporeal state, Whisperer had no need of stealth. Even in direct sunlight he could traverse the grounds unheeded. An occasional chill or burst of electronic interference might mark his passage, but that was all. And so, he wandered listlessly, alone despite the island's populace, searching for something.

Hours passed and the long rays of the setting sun chased the last students away to their dorms. Yet still he had not found what he sought. He yearned for a connection to the living, yet none of the girls had seemed right.

In the gathering darkness, Whisperer found himself near the school's library. He had been there before, while he was still alive, before Tempest had grown so powerful. He pushed that thought away. Perhaps revisiting old haunts would soothe his aching spirit. Floating in through the walls, the ghost began to wander the stacks, reminiscing. Memories of better times were a double-edged sword, though, opening wounds even while fighting off his demons.

As Whisperer drifted through the shelves, something new intruded on his melancholy: rousing tale of fantastic adventure with larger than life heroes performing epic deeds; the thoughts of a young mind thoroughly engaged with a work of fiction. The strength of these fancies was striking, full of life and hope. They drew the spectral creature inexorably toward their source.

So much energy from such a petite and lovely young woman. Whisperer felt a moment of clarity. He had found what he was looking for. This student with her fiery hair and vivacious spirit was exactly what he desired - what he needed. Even the growing schism in her mind, the scars of her dealings with other monsters, struck a chord with him. He had to have her, to feel her warmth. But, perhaps, a greeting was in order first. Still invisible, Whisperer floated over to the young redhead, stopping perhaps a dozen feet away.

Hello, Lacey. The monster's psychic voice was like a breeze rustling through pages and the creaking of uneven footfall on aged wooden floors, yet carried with it no malice.

Sounds in the dark assail the Knight and his merry band; a creature hidden in the darkness, invisible to them though its hisses and sighs reach them, malicious and hateful. They've encountered it before, fought it before, as well as the minions it enslaves with its mind to bring them harm; they know that trouble is somewhere near, though they can't tell where exactly. All they can do is ready for a fight. The redhead's heart trip-hammers in her chest just from reading the tense story, concern for the characters in the forefront of her mind and--

A whisper of wind, creaking floorboards, a sigh of leaves. Terrifying because she's in a library with cement floors; none of those things should be happening. And even if they SHOULD happen, they shouldn't be saying her name while they do. The redhead kicks her chair away from the table, diving to the left, rolling and coming up ready for a fight, turning and facing...nothing? Her eyes widen as her mind recalls passages about a malevolent creature in the dark, whispering for the lifeblood of brave Knights. She's no knight herself, not by a long shot; but far too many things on this island seem to have an interest in her blood, among other fluids, that she just doesn't feel like sharing.

Green eyes, bright with fear and fury, scan the area and find nothing. Her imagination? Not likely...that had been a voice. And not one in her own mind, either. Well...not entirely anyway. "Who or what....you know what? I don't care who or what you are. Leave me alone." She's tired of the dance of sign and countersign, asking who the thing attacking is only to end up ravaged regardless of the answer. She's tired of it all! The voice hadn't sounded hateful or eager to do her harm...but then Ania had sounded like silk and honey while she'd been breaking the redhead's thumb. Roses and thorns, et cetera.

Which direction had it come from? No physical sound, impossible to say. She presses her back to a wall; if nothing else, whatever it is can't come at her from this angle, right? Needless to say, talking to her at that moment with a disembodied voice had managed to scare the redhead to a ridiculous degree of caution...and she STILL can't see whatever it is! Is she going crazy after all...? You're already there...a terrifying thought indeed...she knows her mind is under great stress, but she's not willing to accept that she's THIS far gone. Not yet. "Please...please just leave me be..."

A fearful reaction was to be expected, given his sudden and direct greeting. And Lacey's expectation of what was to transpire was accurate. Whisperer couldn't fault her for her exasperation. In a way, he shared it. He wished he could just leave her alone . . . but it was too late. He was committed. He needed the warmth of a living touch and none but hers would do this night. Besides, if not him, then something worse might come along.

I will not hurt you . . . Whisperer sent, earnestly. In fact, the thought of another breaking her thumb - for whatever reason - saddened and angered him.

But I cannot let you go. The ghost's psychic voice carried a note of remorse but also of longing. He had a need, unpleasant as it might be for the young redhead, that must be fulfilled. Yet still, he was determined not to cause more suffering than necessary.

Though Lacey purported not to want to know more of him, Whisperer revealed himself anyway. He manifested his ghostly presence for her, appearing as a large ball of shimmering, multi-colored flames. Still hovering in the place near the table from which he had first hailed her, he made no move toward her.

In life, I had been called Whisperer. The entity's flames twinkled and danced in time to his psychic sending, beginning a mildly calming hypnotic pattern.

"Heard that line before...it always hurts, just not necessarily my body..." The words muttered beneath her breath in response to his promise not to hurt her. She doubts saying it quietly makes it any harder for the creature to hear; something about the way they're talking tells her that she could likely not speak a word and have the entire conversation just fine. It's not a thought she's willing to entertain, however. She does NOT want these creatures in her mind; been there, done that. If it can look through her mind, it'll be able to see that in the short time she's been here, all manner of things have come after her, even in her dreams. Little wonder she's losing her grip a bit at a time...

"Cannot isn't the same as will not. Don't gloss it over." Still...something about its words, the way they're delivered...whatever this creature is, it doesn't seem to be lying. Maybe another creature like Birch, who does what he does for survival...? Even so, she doesn't like it...doesn't want it...doesn't want to be touched and held against her will and forced into the act and...she calms herself before she can fly into a panic or a rage...or worse yet let herself get worked up in another way. None of those will be helpful here...

Lights! She orients on them, still in her stance...and feels her stomach drop and her heart lurch. It's...fire? something like that...how the hell is she supposed to fight THAT?! They dance and swirl, and she keeps her eyes on them, wary of an attack...but relaxing a bit when none comes. Maybe...a distraction? A glance around the library reveals nothing else around her that she can see...just the lights. They stay where they are, dancing, swirling...rather pretty, actually. She stays wary, but feels a little less abrasive towards the creature for the moment. "Whisperer...is that...you?" She asks hesitantly.

She feels a bit more at ease now, though she can't say why...its 'voice'? Something else, maybe...but it's a knife-edge sort of calm, and dogged heavily by a weary sadness and frustration. "Why? Why do you...why do all of you do this to us...? Why won't you leave me alone...?" She's asked it before, though she doesn't know why she bothers; even on the occasions she gets an answer, knowing why doesn't help. It doesn't help at all...and sometimes it only hurts worse. But she has to know...it's a morbid sort of curiosity. Like asking what the purpose of one's life is at the gates of heaven...it's just the sort of thing she feels she has to know. This isn't heaven...not even close. But she still wants to know...she can't escape the torment, no matter what, so she feels she has the right to know the reason, at least. "Why me...? Why ANY of us...?"

It was a fair point. While his attentions would not be physically harmful - or even painful - he recognized it was still an attack on her person; one that could further damage her psyche. The differentiation of cannot and will not was not as simple as she supposed, however. For he was willing to let her go, but he knew his need would drive him to seek her out again and so the result would be the same. Better to be up front about it.

I am here. Whisperer shifted slightly to the side as he 'spoke,' confirming that he was the fiery sphere near the table. His flames continued to twinkle and twirl, pulling subtly at Lacey's consciousness, holding her attention.

I can promise no pain . . . But I truly cannot let you go. Indeed it was already getting difficult to keep from reaching for the lovely girl, but he wanted her to be as calm as possible before he started. It would not do to have her hurt herself with her struggles. Thus he continued the dialogue, his hypnotic pattern of dancing flames slowly growing in strength.

I need you . . . need to feel your warmth and life. Whisperer's statement was practically a plea of its own. I appear to burn, but I am cold, robbed of my living vessel because I began to care too much . . .

Something about this creature is so sad...so much longing in its words, in her mind. She can relate, to a degree...her own heart hurts constantly.. Everything that wants to touch her only wants to use her...save for a precious few students...and Birch. And even Birch does what he does out of need to a degree...is Whisperer like that? Something inside her says yes, most likely. Instinct? Intuition? Does it matter? She watches the lights bob to one side then the other, answering her question with motion as well as words.

The creature called Whisperer swirls and dances with ever more intricate design. It's enthralling to watch...maybe this is why she's so calm? Calming your mind...Hypnotizing you! Putting you at ease. Easier to attack! Sad. False! True. Deception! Her thoughts spiral chaotically for a moment, contemplating means and motivation...before the redhead just whimpers, pressing her back to the wall, sliding to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks even as she continues to stare at those dancing lights. It never used to be like this for her....she's always had focus! So what is this...? Why must she constantly fight herself? Ever since she first came here, had her mind and body forced to others' whims and desires...part of her loves it. She hates that fact...hates that side of her...but it's there. And it won't go away....it's all too much...

Don't cry, little camellia...Even now she can hear her father's soft words in her mind, kind and warm...and it does little more than make it worse. How can she do anything BUT cry? The nightmare won't end, the monsters won't leave her...

"Didn't anyone ever tell you about making promises you can't keep...?" She whispers the words bitterly. It always hurts. Everything hurts...that's just the way it is. She presses her hands to her head, slowing her breathing before she can start sobbing, trying to get her tears under control. It's difficult...thoughts and emotions burn wild and bright through her very soul, and trying to tame them is about as easy as taming a rabid tiger...but she manages somehow, gradually. Her shoulders shake a little with the riot of emotions.

Lacey shakes her head, a soft and bitter little laugh escaping her lips as she does so. "Because you care too much, huh? I'd give a great deal not to care at all anymore. But I can't do that..." Deep breath. Its promise to cause no pain was doomed to failure from the start; she carries it with her wherever she goes, and just speaking with this creature, with ANY of the inhuman element, causes it to surface, tearing open old wounds even as fresh ones come along. "It'd be so nice to be numb and cold...I'd trade you in a heartbeat if I could. Why you'd want to feel any of this is beyond me..."

Such a display was too much for Whisperer. He had no wish to cause so much pain, yet the very storm of emotion Lacey endured made her even more appealing to the ghostly entity. Watching her fight to control herself, a simultaneous display of both strength and vulnerability drew him to her even more strongly than before. Unconsciously, the ghost began to reach out for the young redhead, flaming tendrils emerging and snaking slowly though the air toward her.

I am sorry. I meant that I promise to cause no physical pain. Whisperer kept up his light show, hoping the calming effect would ease some of her emotional suffering. Granted, it had shown to be of little help in that regard so far.

And I am very sorry to cause such emotional anguish. That was not my intent, though I she how it was inevitable. Whisperer slid his fiery tentacles gradually closer, moving gently and carefully, but not stealthily. Ironically, his thought was more to comfort Lacey than even to fulfill his own need.

But, though I would gladly take from you this pain you feel, I would never wish my hellish existence on you or any other. Finally, Whisperer's tendrils moved to surround the young redhead, not to ensnare and entangle, but to support and lift. Never assume that being cold and empty is to be without pain.

Coming for you...moving towards you...she sees the tendrils that Whisperer extends towards her, knows what end they likely bring to her...but for some reason, she can't move...and she doesn't think it has anything to do with the hypnotic dance of lights that's so captured her attention. Well...not EVERYTHING to do with it, at any rate. The tendrils move in slowly while she listens to its words, not sneaky so much as...unhurried? No...more like gentle...

It's ironic...those lights, that hypnotic dance...it calms her even as it sets her nerves alight with alarm. She likes the way it looks, likes the way it twists and swirls...and she hates the fact that she likes it. It suggests peace and safety, but those two things have been denied her ever since she came here; she's not ready to accept any such thing. It suggests calm but within her heart and soul, calm are hard to accept; it's a weakness, a place for these things to strike from. Even as Whisperer dances, more tears stream down her cheeks, knowing that peace and calm are a lie, an illusion...and to some, a weapon. But...Whisperer...something about its words rings true...There IS no truth here! The hypnosis makes it SEEM true! No...maybe. But she doesn't think so...not really...

Moving closer! Escape now, before it's too late! Before it has you! It had her from the start. It could have her whenever it wants to; that's a depressing truth of this island. This one, in particular, had started off invisible; she only sees it now because it wills things to be this way. There's no way she CAN escape this creature; she can see that much.

But this doesn't feel like a hunt...it's answered her questions, and even now reaches out less with lust than with a desire to comfort...and it'd be lying to say she doesn't desperately need some sort of comfort. After all, that's why she's reading in the first place; to escape how horrible this island is. "I know...I know you didn't mean...any of this..." Her voice shakes, all the fear and anguish and sorrow and agony she's suffered through this place coming to the surface despite her best efforts. You don't know any such thing! But she does. Somehow she does, though she can't explain how.

Don't let it touch you! Don't let it take you! Tendrils wrap around her frame, gentle and cautious; it's not a caress, as such...something closer to a reassuring hand on the shoulder. She can feel that much through its thoughts, its intent clear. "It's not...it's not easy, you know? Living in this place...knowing that things want you for...for pleasure, for abuse...for whatever else they want from you...sometimes even sustenance. It's not easy...being food..."

She shudders. Those tendrils...they look to be made of flame, but they're so cool to the touch...it's calming in its own right. Something about this cool touch, these soft impressions of emotion...it makes her share. It makes her speak of her problems...odd that she has an easier time doing this with the monsters on this island than with the other human beings...even the ones who have suffered even as she has. "It hurts...it drains you and wears you down...it breaks you over time, and there's nothing I can do about it...nothing anyone can do about it..."

BREAK FREE! RUN! GET AWAY! Part of her is in an absolute panic, screaming for action, for escape...while the rest of her seeks that comfort desperately. It seems foolish; this could easily be a ploy to torment her heart and soul further, to break her down even more...but she doesn't think so. Whisperer...doesn't seem to have any such thing in mind. It lifts her up with its tendrils, holding her in a gentle grasp. It would be frightening, how easily it lifts her up...if only that weren't the norm for this island.

She smiles a sad smile at the ghostly creature before her. "I'll have to take your word for it...but from my side of the fence, your grass looks a lot greener than mine does." She shakes her head. "Telle est la vie...the grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side. A worn little pearl of wisdom...but I find it to be more true every day..." The panic dies down, slowly but surely; it's too late to escape anyway. It's been too late since Whisperer first decided it wanted something from Lacey...but at least there's some small comfort here. She decides to accept comfort before the other shoe drops. What can it hurt?

Whisperer was grateful Lacey's internal struggle did not translate into a physical one. Of course, his hypnotic power had a little to do with that, but he was not applying that at anywhere near its full potential. In the end, it was her choice to accept what small comforts he could provide, despite suspecting where that must inevitably lead. That act alone thrilled the lonely phantom greatly . . . but the touch, the feel of her! That was truly divine. It had been so long that he had almost forgotten the warmth of life, yet now it seeped into him from this lovely girl.

Whisperer was silent as Lacey aired her troubles; partially because he was still in awe of her touch, but mostly because he had no words that could really help. Still, he listened and more importantly accepted her grievances. It was the least he could do in return for the gift she had given him and for the liberties he was bound soon to take. If fact, perhaps he could do more . . .

Experimentally, Whisperer opened his spirit to the young woman lying in his tentacles. He tried to let her emotions flow into him, claiming some of her hurts for his own and letting them fill some of his emptiness. He couldn't heal her wounds or take all her pains, but perhaps he could lessen them for the a while, at least as long as she was in his company.

The effort was draining and Whisperer's flames dimmed significantly. For a moment, he feared he would drop Lacey, but the idea of losing contact with her was too much to bear. With great effort, he refocused and closed the gateway, swallowing the emotions he had absorbed and locking them in a mental vault. He would deal with them later. He only hoped the ordeal was helpful. The ghost extended more tentacles to gently enfold his precious cargo more securely. It was then that he realized he had given her no warning or explanation of what he was trying to do.

I'm sorry . . . I tried to take some of your pain away . . . How do you feel?

The tendrils are so cool and gentle against her...she knows what they'll do soon enough, but for now...it's not unpleasant. She feels feverish...she always does when she starts thinking about her situation, how trapped and incapable of escaping or fighting back she feels. She can't get free from this place and the things here, she can't fight back against them, she can't bargain them away...but she can't stop trying. She can't just let herself fall into their whims...though she finds herself doing that so often anyway. Sometimes aided by drugs they pump into her or pain they force on her, sometimes just to escape from the horror of it all...

Whisperer listens to her story; it doesn't have to, obviously. It...no...he. He has her in his clutches, could do with her as he pleases...but he just listens. It's another comfort. He listens to the little redhead as she pours out her breaking heart, holding her so gently with the cool flames of his tentacles, supporting the weight of her lithe body and weary mind with equal ease. Some of that coolness actually feels like it's inside her mind itself...green eyes widen. It IS inside her mind itself...attacking her mind? "N-no, don't...!" A trick to get you to open yourself and...! She starts to cry out, to struggle as she feels a similar touch upon her mind as her body, though obviously not as physical...

And stops as she feels something come of that touch. His...self? His very being...more than just the flames...it opens to her, connects with her own self...it's hard to explain what she feels, even in her own mind, but she knows it. It feels exactly like it does when he listens to her words...only infinitely deeper. She can feel some of her anguish, her turmoil...actually draining away. Not masked by hypnosis, by medications, by trickery but...actually leaving her mind! Her memory remains perfectly intact...but the pain of it lessens by degrees...

Her body arches unconsciously in his tendrils, a wave of hope and joy she hadn't realized she's been holding back in fear of the other shoe breaking through her, bringing with it a physical sensation similar to an adrenaline rush...only sweeter and less fear-based. "Oh...!" She gasps softly, tears continuing to stream from her eyes...though now, they're not as bitter as before. That fog of pain and sorrow and weariness lightens in her mind...letting her recall the good things that have happened to her, too. Meeting Izumi and Mildred...finding an equal and a friend in Becca...the kindness Birch had shown her when he'd saved her life and offered her safe haven...the second chance she'd received from Vera after making a fool of herself...there's more than just pain here.

And somewhere along the way, she'd forgotten the truth about pain; it helps you grow. She's stronger now, despite new wounds and troubles. More capable than she'd been before she'd come to this island, more determined. She'd almost forgotten the good things and let herself drown in the bad...until Whisperer had taken some of the poison from her own mind into himself. More tears...again, an unexpected hand reaches out to help...again she finds herself saved by something she'd regarded as a threat, hateful and greedy...and again she finds herself at odds with this feeling. She doesn't want to believe that any of them really want to help her...but with Whisperer, as with Birch, there's nothing else TO believe. They may do what they do for survival...but they seem willing, even eager, to help her and to ease the pain. What is she supposed to think? How is she supposed to react?

She's a little dizzy, and her thoughts whirl and twist and turn as logic and emotion battle each other and themselves...but her mind isn't a mire of pain and sorrow anymore. She's not cured; this feeling compared to what she felt before is akin to the difference of a broken bone versus a hairline fracture...but she's definitely better off than she has been in a while. A great deal better off. "I...I feel..." She murmurs, shivering. She feels incredible...her heart feels lighter than it has for what seems an eternity.

More tendrils reach out to grasp her, and for once she doesn't panic, doesn't flinch away. Trust? Maybe...he's certainly earned that much. A tendril hovering nearby soon finds her cheek resting against it, of her own volition. Her eyes close for a moment as she enjoys his cool touch with new-found appreciation. "I...thank you...thank you so much..." Her voice is soft, little more than a whisper; there are still tears in her voice...but for now they're far more joyful than they had been. Amazing how much someone can change when someone else cares, just a little...

A reciprocal touch and . . . trust? Whisperer was astonished at how profound an effect his psychic soothing had generated. If only he could just hold Lacey for a while, or better yet, let her go with her heightened sense of well-being intact. But it was far too late for that. Already his flaming tentacles were twitching, moving almost of their own volition to writhe gently against the young woman's lithe form. So far, most of the contact had been in relatively innocent - and clothed - areas, but the desire to explore her body was growing quickly. Soon he wouldn't be able to hold back anymore.

Lacey's words, and the feeling of appreciation behind them affected the phantom creature deeply. He felt a rush of joy as well as a stab of guilt. His acts of kindness had been better received than he had hoped, yet he couldn't stop the inevitable. He could only hope she could forgive once it was all over.

Using the tip of the tentacle pressed against Lacey's cheek, Whisperer brushed her tears away, then gently traced her jaw-line. The feel of her soft, smooth skin was exquisite, straining his resistance even more.

I am glad I could help. The alien ghost's flames continued to sparkle and swirl, but there was no longer any compulsion to their scintillating dance. But please don't thank me, for my reasons are not altruistic.

Whisperer slowly slid the tentacle tip down his captive's lovely neck until it nestled in the crux of her blouse's collar. The monster's dancing colors increased in intensity as his desire mounted.

They were a way to give before I took . . . a way to apologize.

At the limit of his resistance, Whisperer relented to his need. He suddenly shifted his tentacles around Lacey, moving to entwine each of her limbs separately even as he continued to support her as gently as possible. At the same time, he wormed the tentacle at her collar under the neck-line and down her front. He slid it under her bra and between her breasts as he pushed quickly southward. Once he had traversed her lean firm abdomen and encountered the waisband of her skirt, he quickly pulled the tentacle up and away from her body. Fabric shredded and buttons flew as the monster worked to lay his captive's torso bare.

The tendril wipes away the little redhead's tears while she gives vent to a murmur of thanks. The same tendril strokes down her face to her chin, making her shiver a little at that cool touch...comforting and somehow also hungry. Whisperer is hungry, in a loose sense of the word...she can tell that much. That brief contact between her living soul and his ethereal one...something's different in her, beyond just feeling a little lighter in her heart...though she isn't sure what it is yet. A sense of...something opening inside her, some doorway previously shut...

Her green eyes open as new movement pulls her thoughts back to the here and now. Tendrils twine about her arms, her legs, every bit as gentle as the ones that have been supporting her this whole time...but their purpose is obvious to her. Her contact with this creature, particularly after opening himself to her, and herself to him, lets her know what he's feeling even more keenly than words; he doesn't want to hurt her. He hasn't been lying about that much...but he can't possibly let her go. Not now. Always a price...nothing comes from nothing...these thoughts float through her mind, but somehow...they're not as bitter as they had been before. It's just...the way of things. He needs something she has...something she can give...and it's hard to be upset about it knowing that he truly does need it. Particularly after giving her something she hadn't realized she could have again...peace of mind, even if it is only temporary.

A way to apologize. A way to give back. Why not? There's so little giving in this place...outside of pain and sorrow and shame, anyway. She can live with this much. "Hhhhn..." A soft sigh and a little quiver in the cool embrace of those tentacles is her response as that one on her chin slides down the slender column of her neck...over her breastbone and between her breasts themselves, slipping beneath the perky mounds as it pushes beneath her bra...further still over her taut tummy, his cool touch gliding over her soft, warm skin and tracing down her frame...he stops just shy of her hips, touching her skirt...and she blushes a little as she realizes that she's arching her hips and back, trying to get him to go further, a hunger of her own responding to his. His feathery touches are teasing somehow...gentle and sweet..."I'll thank you for it...just the same..." She whispers softly. In her mind, she's gotten the better half of the bargain anyway.

"Ah!" She gasps softly as the exploring tentacle pulls up and away from her sharply, tearing her bra from her, ripping her shirt open and scattering buttons everywhere...her athletic body lays there in his embrace for him to see and touch to his heart's content, creamy skin smooth and warm and soft and inviting...modest but perky breasts rising and falling in time with her quickened breathing, their peaks standing proudly, dusky pink and aching to be touched...her slender curves enticing him to unwrap the rest of her, to touch and taste the young martial artist's body. The whole while, there's not a sound of complaint from her...she simply lays there in his grasp, her body squirming ever so slightly, more with pent up energy than discomfort.

The mood's shifted at some point; his hunger drives him now, and her own responds in kind. She can feel that familiar heat in her core, that tingle spreading through her body in a hot rush as he lays her bare from the waist up. Her arms and legs splayed in his grip, she looks like nothing so much as an offering to the ethereal creature before her, the flames of his being swirling and dancing eagerly as he beholds his prey.

She watches him, watches his light pulsing and flaring up, escalating with his want of her...finding an oddly familiar rhythm to the way his flames flicker and swirl...a heartbeat. That's what it reminds her of. He's at least as excited as she is. The blush on her cheeks only deepens at that thought, her toes curling a little inside her socks as he holds her like that...her lips part as her breathing picks up a little more, her heart going a little faster. "Touch me..." She breathes softly to him, her voice quiet and gentle, but not so much as to disguise her own sudden urgency. Her warmth, her life...he hungers to touch it...even as he stokes the flames in her body, making her yearn for his cooling touch every bit as much.

Such warmth, such passion: this remarkable young woman knew her predicament, knew what was to come, knew the need that drove her captor; yet she was yielding, accepting, forgiving . . . even inviting. And her own desire . . . Whisperer had not expected to feel such urgency from her; certainly not so quickly. This was an experience he had never known, even in life; and something within him responded. In the depth of his soul, he felt something ignite: a flame of pure joy sparked to life. Though tiny and lost in the maelstrom of other colors, its golden flicker seemed to hold a promise . . .

But Whisperer couldn't focus enough to wonder about that, not while he held such a lovely and accepting morsel in his tentacles. Lacey's slim, toned body was a feast for the beast's psychic senses, one that cried out to be devoured even as much as he wanted to taste it. Still, before he started in earnest, Whisperer finished what he had started, sliding a fiery yet cool tentacle up her spine to grip and tear away the remaining tatters clinging to her back and shoulders.

Still, the phantom made no move to remove his captive's lower garments. In fact, he hardly touched her below the waist, save for the tentacles that wound around her legs to help support her. Despite his desire - their mutual desire - for more, Whisperer had always been methodical, even in the grips of his greatest hungers. Some habits died hard . . .

After Whisperer had discarded the last shreds of fabric, he formed a web of tentacles for Lacey to lay in. He held her suspended beneath him, facing up into his swirling mass of flames. A moment later, he extended a tendril downward. He aimed the twisting, twirling appendage at a point just above her navel where it touched down like a tornado of sensation. For a moment, he held it there as he focused on the meridians of the young redhead's body, sensing for the channels that would help him stoke her living passion to greater heights. Soon enough, the swirling tentacle split into three separate appendages, each heading upward along one of those lines of bodily energy. One moved straight northward, while the others angled and curved to either side, dancing along the nerves of her flanks as they then paralleled the course of the first.

Eventually, the three met again above her breasts, swirling and dancing around those precious mounds, exploring the network of channels that converged in them. All the while, Whisperer reveled in the touch of the student's smooth satiny skin and the warmth that flowed from her body and soul.

He doesn't say anything to her; he doesn't need to. She can feel what he wants just as easily as he can feel her desires. "Ooh..." It doesn't stop the redhead from murmuring her approval at his tingling touch, running up and down her spine ever so gently as he strips the last tattered remains of her school blouse and her sensible cotton bra from her upper body. She trembles a little in his embrace; what's next? Her hips wriggle slightly in anticipation; skirt, panties and socks are the only things keeping her from being completely nude before Whisperer. Surely that's his next move?

"Mmh..?" Soft and questioning is the sound that slips from her lips as he...lays her down on a webwork made of his tendrils. It's like being in a hammock....if a hammock had a cool touch that caressed you to your very soul. She stretches for him, looking up at him as she lays where he's placed her...slender body eager for his touch. The skirt has to come next, it HAS to...she's not sure she can wait too long. Her own hunger and his....they feed each other, swirling endlessly against one another and pushing each other higher and higher by the second, as long as they're in contact. She knows he wants her...and he must know she wants him right back, so very very much...there's no way that he could stand this kind of need, is there?

"A-ahh!" Lacey's slim body quakes as that tendril sets itself against her core muscles, juuuust barely north of her hips, right at a sensitive spot. His tendril swirls and twirls, the lights themselves dancing even as the tentacle does the same against her body, vibrating and stroking against her, making her quiver...right before it splits into three. One stays at the front and center, while the other two take their spiraling dances to her sides. The cool touches meet smooth, soft skin...and seem to find every sensitive point in the redhead's lithe body as they explore her, slow and sweet. "Oooohhhhh, Goddddd..." She whimpers, her body going into a slow, tight arch as it follows the progress of his trailing feelers. He's teasing her...how can he stand to tease her like this, not to just take her? What kind of willpower does he have?! She feels like she might go crazy if he doesn't take her soon...

But he doesn't take her. Slow and steady, tender and teasing...up her sides, up her tummy, the tendrils make their slow journey. She burns for him, hot and feverish against his cool caress. Her fingers twist and twine in the tendrils above her head, clinging to his net for dear life while he makes her world spin. She lays there beneath him, unable to do anything more than dance for his tentacled touch...up over her ribs now, tickling ever so gently against her nerves, teasing her body...how does he do it?! How does he know just where to touch her?! More...she wants more, so much more! Her body revels in his teasing, his sweet torture as he draws out more of her own appetite. She quivers under him, body arched tight and hard, trying to push more firmly against those teasing tendrils...

Vibrating, twirling, swirling tentacles slide over her, converging on her breasts. Soon...soon he'll give her that touch she aches for so sweetly...the caress she burns for so much...soon. And then after that...then he'll take her. And yet...he doesn't do any of those things. Again, he continues his teasing assault; the tentacles dancing seductively around the perky, modest mounds of her breasts, twirling between them, above them, below them, to the sides. "Mmmmhnnn!" She moans softly; his touch is heavenly, even as it makes her yearn more, hunger more. "Ple...AH! Please...Whisperer...wa-nnnhhhh!....want it...touch me...!" The redhead pants, lips parted as she breathes heavy and fast. She feels like she can't get enough air...her body is so hot, thanks to all of his teasing...she wants it so much! Green eyes gaze up at him, half-closed and begging with her need...so much of it now...