Whisperer awoke with a start. Unaccustomed to unconsciousness, the psychic alien was immediately confused. Where was he? How had he gotten there? These were questions he’d gotten used to asking himself of late, but this time was different. It wasn’t like the time-space shifts he had started to get used to; this time, he had slept. And he had dreamed.

He had dreamt that he was awash in a sea of electricity - a roiling, surging tempest of lightning that danced around and through him. He had been alone and yet not. It was almost as though the storm had been alive in its own right. Whisperer had known that entity. Known it like he knew a part of himself . . . and he hated it.

The creature shook himself, causing the pre-dawn light to ripple as it passed through his giant, transparent mushroom-cap body. It was just before sunrise and the growing light in the east was pushing back the blanket of stars overhead. Mere inches below him, the cool concrete roof of the dormitory building spread out like a stone carpet. Nearby there was still a hint of blood from his encounter with Sayuri. The depressed mad woman had cut herself to dull the sensations of his assault, but in the end, she had graced him with the sweet screams of ecstacy.

Realization swept the pleasant reverie from Whisperer’s mind. The dormitory - again! It seemed like fate was drawing him here time and again. But how had he got here? He searched back through his memory, trying to pinpoint where he had been and what he had been doing. The library. At night. Lucrecia. Yes, he remembered accidentally hurting the innocent new arrival during his little game. He’d rectified that hurt then started preparing her for a feeding . . .

Try as he might, Whisperer could recall no more, yet the memory did not skip suddenly to his current position. Time had passed; time that he had no memory of, not because he had ‘skipped’ it, but because he had been unaware; unconscious. And there had been the dream.

He remembered vague images in the electric maelstrom he dreamed of. Images of things both unknown and familiar. Time and again, a particular girl had appeared amidst the latticework of lightning. The brief images had been hazy, as though glimpsed from a great distance, but the beautiful redhead seemed achingly familiar.

Suddenly, he realized what had brought him to the rooftop and how he had gotten there. The living lightning he’d been in wasn’t a dream, it was very real; a part of him and yet very Other. It had been tracking this young woman, closing in on her for whatever purpose it had in mind, but when it had gotten close enough, Whisperer had recognized the quarry and that had jolted him back to ascendancy.

Jag. She was back. And she was close by.

Whisperer stretched out with his senses, locking on to the unforgettable presence of the student that he’d been about to feed from when his shifts first started. He found her easily, in the same room from which he had taken her before. There were subtle differences, but it was undeniably her. Excitement gripped the alien. Perhaps some answers were forthcoming at long last.

Psychic feelers probed into the young woman’s mind, searching for the memory that might shed light on the event that caused Whisperer’s recent plight. But excitement soon turned to confusion, then dread, and finally despair as he discovered the memory had been erased. Not suppressed, as Naoko’s had been, but expunged; gone.

The monster felt a brief flare of disappointment, but he pushed it away. Providence had brought him this chance to recreate events. At the very least, he would be able to complete what he had started so long ago.

Whisperer floated over the side of the building and down to the window to Jag’s room. He hovered just above the aperture as he renewed contact with the girl’s mind, listening in on her thoughts and experiencing her sensory perceptions.

The young flame haired girl lay half awake in her bed… she would have to get to classes soon, but had spent most of the night at the gym as usual, despite the campus curfew.

Now she lay there, merely resting, her nearly bare upper body pushing gently against the thin, cool sheet, a lacy black bra covering her large chest, her toned abs pushing in and out easily with each breath. The teen’s hands were splayed above her carelessly, while her legs were only partially covered by her displaced sheets, loose, deep red velvet Capri cut pants around her legs.

Jag hated this part of the day… laying there, unable to sleep, adrenaline just starting to wear off from her workout the night before, knowing that later in the day, most likely during classes, she would fall asleep.

Most hated, of course, were the strange dreams she seemed to have at this point of the day. Things that were wrong; things that made no sense whatsoever. Today was no different it seemed… though she was even more awake than usual and it seemed much more real. She felt as if there was another being in her mind, there with her, reading her like a book, almost… disappointed by what it found.

She shook her head, trying to free her mind of the odd state, tossing even the thin sheet off of her. Heat tended to give her strange dreams… perhaps that was the cause this time as well.

Whisperer was impressed that Jag felt his presence as strongly as she did. Though, in retrospect, it wasn’t all that surprising; he hadn’t been particularly careful when he invaded her mind. Luckily she attributed the sensation to a dream, but she would soon learn differently.

Still, the alien paused, observing. The last time he had taken this lovely student, something very strange had happened; something of which he still didn’t know the details. The hesitation was short-lived though, for as Whisperer watched Jag shift on the bed, throwing back her sheet, he suddenly felt the tug of hunger. Of course, there were plenty of other girls available to sate that need - the closest being not even twenty feet away - but the monster found himself captivated by this mysterious morsel. Whatever the consequences, he would have her; and this time he would see the encounter through to the end . . . if he had any say in the matter.

Whisperer dismissed his reservations. There was no point in worrying about something he had no control over. Besides, this encounter might lead to the truth. He’d never know if he turned back now. Mind made up, the creature projected his call to the resting girl. The psychic lure triggered her subconscious to produce the sensation of someone whispering her name from just outside the window.

Jag . . .

The alien had little control over what voice his prey’s mind chose to represent his call, but it was generally someone familiar and trusted; someone with whom the victim would feel at ease . . .

The wind swept through her cracked open window as she laid there, cool air blowing across her mercifully, sparing her from the radiant heat of the island. She could swear she heard a voice, but shrugged it off as some joggers out early, chatting it up.

However, the voice didn’t go away… it didn’t repeat so much as echo within her mind. “Jag…” it called to her, as if it were an intimate friend. It seemed so familiar… like an old acquaintance that she none the less had never known. Frowning, she rose to her feet and looked around briefly, walking over to the window. Who was this voice? She couldn’t place the voice at all, yet it sounded so… familiar.

“Hello?” she asked quietly, essentially to herself. She shook her head afterwards, red hair fraying this way and that. She was talking to herself… maybe the lack of sleep was just getting to her. Already up, she stood by the window, peering out at the first rays of the sun as they fought their way up over the island.

The first rays of the dawning day wavered and shimmered has they passed through the transparent bulk of the monster lurking just above his prey’s window. Were she to look up, she would likely find the spectacle unusual - and possibly as familiar as the strange voice.

Whisperer simply watched for a moment, taking in his prey’s beauty even as she took in the sunrise. She was perhaps more delicious now than she had been before. From her fiery hair set ablaze by the first rays of the sun . . . to the large lovely mounds that strained against her black bra as they rose and fell with each breath above the perfectly toned muscles of her abdomen . . . to the gentle flare of her hips beneath that trim waist and the long, sexy legs that were only hinted at under her loose-fitting pants, Jag was a marvel to behold. Whisperer suppressed a quiver of anticipation.

Jag . . .

Just as she started to dismiss the strange voice his call produced, Whisperer sent it again. As before, it seemed to sound from just out of sight, though still not far outside her window. If anything, the speaker was right next to the aperture but up against the wall where the angle of view prevented her from seeing whoever it was.

The crafty monster readied his stingers as he waited to see if his quarry would take the bait. If she opened the window to lean out and investigate, she would soon find herself paralyzed and in his clutches - just as she had so many months ago . . .

The young woman had just turned and begun heading back to her bed when again she heard the voice calling for her, faint, as if it might only be in her mind. Unaware of just how accurate that description was, she made for the window again, slightly annoyed but curious as to who would be calling for her at this hour of the morning. She had made almost no friends yet on the island…

Upon returning to the window, however, she again found nobody. Wanting to be sure this time, however, she opened the window a little, enough to peek her head out, aware of her state of undress, just to be sure that there was nobody directly below her.

“Hellooooo…” she offered, though quietly, more for her own benefit. She was sure that she was hearing things now…

Though Jag only opened the window a little, it was enough. Whisperer tensed to launch his attack, stingers primed with shock and venom, graspers ready to surge into the room and secure his prey before she could fall. Yet the monster paused one more moment; just long enough to project his call again.

Jag . . . This time the ethereal voice sounded as though it came from his true position - directly above where she had poked out her head.

Then, even as the young beauty registered the ‘sound,’ Whisperer struck. Hr slung his feathery stingers into the narrow opening of the window, two on either side of the unsuspecting girl. They arced in low before slashing upward to strike at her shoulders and sides. Four thicker tentacles followed close after; two to catch Jag under the arms and two to open the window the rest of the way.

Just as she was about to turn away, she heard it once again… above her. Confusion was etched across her face as she looked skyward, only able to note what seemed to be a strange mix of colors, and a blobbish outline, before several long tendril-like projections reached around her.

Though the attack didn’t cause great pain, she could feel the stingers drift over her flanks and across her shoulders… a trapper’s attack, meant to stun, but not to damage, it seemed. She would of course only realize this later; at the time all she could think was that her legs, indeed, every one of her muscles seemed to contract for a second before weakening… quickly and greatly. Within seconds the normally strong teen was stumbling, then falling, backwards.

Long before Jag could reach the ground, Whisperer’s graspers found their marks, surging between her arms and body to wrap around her torso. One of them spiraled upward to coil lightly around her throat, providing support for her neck. The other curved the other way curling around her bare midriff, then behind her rump, scooping her off the floor.

The other two transparent tentacles threw the window open wide to facilitate extraction of the captive redhead. Once all was in readiness, Whisperer slowly, carefully began to draw his quarry out the window, intending to take her to the roof where their previous encounter had been mysteriously interrupted so long ago.

No sound came from the redhead save a soft exhale… the venom had already taken effect completely, numbing her… and yet, not. She couldn’t move her muscles, couldn’t even speak, though she could still feel everything. She could feel the tendril-like protrusions of… whatever had attacked her… wrapping about her neck, though not choking her. She could feel them around her belly, even as she gently inhaled and exhaled, her strong stomach expanding and contracting just a bit against the tentacle. Another swept her feet up and, with that, she was being carried, up, out of her room… up to the roof.

As soon as he had pulled his prize clear of the window, Whisperer shifted her into a more secure position. Six of his bristly grasping tentacles formed a sort or sling for her to lay back in, facing upward toward her transparent captor and the brightening morning sky.

Then he carried her up away from prying eyes. Up to the roof that had become a favored spot of his in recent days. A place that he felt drawn to again and again. The broad, empty space provided an excellent view of the sunrise, but it was likely neither predator nor prey would notice. Whisperer, for one, was too busy examining the luscious tidbit he had snared (for the second time).

There was something different about her - some minute change he couldn’t quite put a tentacle on, but no matter. She was clearly the same woman as before, though, perhaps more innocent. Perhaps even ‘inexperienced’ enough to provide his favorite appetizer . . .

The clothing would have to go eventually, but for the moment it suited Whisperer to let them remain. The lacy, black garment covering his intended targets would hamper him little in any case. Besides, he had learned recently how the cloth could be used to intensify the sensations of his assault - at least for a time.

The air wavered as two larger appendages protruded from the creature’s central mass. Each one produced for tongue-like tendrils as they approached the helpless beauty’s impressive chest. Those tongue-flaps slid lightly over the material of Jag’s bra, causing it to rub gently over her tender breasts.

A soft exhale was the only protest that jag could manage, her body paralyzed by her attacker even as it carried her off to… god knows where.

Which, as it turned out, turned out to be the room. She could already feel the first rays of sunlight breaking over the trees surrounding the campus, caressing her skin and warming it from the cool air of the night. As she looked up, she couldn’t quite understand what the thing was that was carrying her. It seemed… the word jellyfish came to mind, but it wasn’t quite the same as the sea creature. Obviously it could fly… it had poisoned her… it could carry her…

Her wonderment was ceased as it set her down, waiting a moment before extending its strange appendages towards her again. This time they didn’t pick her up, but rather pressed at her bra-clad chest, gently fondling her large breasts and rolling the firm flesh, even still slightly clothed as she was. She could do nothing to stop it, nothing to even protest… though, strangest of all, she could feel everything it was doing. The poison hadn’t deadened her nerves in the slightest; she could feel the pressure on her already sensitive breasts as if she were fine.

Whisperer’s grasping tentacles remained wrapped around his prey’s body, forming a web-like buffer between her and the cold, hard roof. The two trunk-maws he had extended proceeded to fondle her lovely breasts through her bra with gradually growing intensity. He caused the material to shift and slide over their sensitive surfaces, teasing the captive orbs with hints of the stimulation he could lavish upon them.

Throughout, the monster paid special attention to Jag’s nipples, tantalizing those sensitive peaks with light strokes on the cloth covering them. Slowly, deliberately, Whisperer strove to arouse the young woman’s luscious orbs until they would threaten to drive her mad with the desire for more direct stimulation.

The girl was screaming on the inside though you couldn’t tell by looking. Her body lay perfectly still save for the rising and falling of her breasts, pushing into the maw-like things now practically encasing both of her large, barely clothed mounds of flesh. The firm mounds kneaded easily in its grasp, sending shiver of pleasure coursing through her body. A few faint flickers of her eyelashes and a soft though noticeably louder exhale might clue in her tormentor to the effect he was having upon her sensitive chest. Her heart beat faster as it continued to rub at her breasts, even through the fabric.

Whisperer ‘heard’ Jag’s inward cries and they were like music to his psychic senses. It was a good start, but the creature was not ready to relent yet. His tongues danced across the still-covered surfaces of Jag’s marvelously sensitive breasts, mercilessly teasing the poor girl. He relentlessly rubbed and patted the little peaks that betrayed the locations of her nipples. He wanted to make them so hard they ached before he finally exposed them to the morning light.

As he slowly turned up the heat, Whisperer carefully monitored the girl’s reactions, watching for the precise moment at which the unveiling of her glorious breasts would yield the greatest benefit. That perfect instant in which the exposure itself might be a shamefully pleasurable sensation for the lovely student. Then he would grant that sensation, slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders and peeling the cups down off her large, firm mounds.