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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Behind the Curtain"  You hadn't forgotten what Sydney said this morning as you were leaving Saratoga Falls: that she wanted you out of the mask and inside her. But she'd said nothing more about on the thirteen-hour drive, so even after checking into the motel—as father and daughter, naturally—you had assumed that she changed her mind. But apparently she hasn't. You sit up. The room is dark, but you can just make her out in the other bed. "Are you serious?" you ask. "Will," she says. "Can you stop being that narcissistic jackass and start thinking about me?" Narcissistic jackass, you think. Boy, she got my number in a hurry. And I thought we bonded, father and daughter. But you also grin a little to yourself. It's nice to be wanted for yourself and not for who you are pretending to be, even if he is a hunky TV actor. But you also can't help hesitating. You've kissed Sydney, but only in a puppy-dog kind of way. Now she wants to go further, she wants to go all the way. Paul could take her without a second thought, but you are a lot more nervous as you imagine yourself divested of his experience and confidence. But she's waiting. "Hang on," you mumble. "Be with you in a minute." You drop your head back onto the pillow, lay your hand over your brow to grasp your temples between forefinger and thumb, and pull while muttering a mystical incantation under your breath. * * * * * You're woken by something soft but hefty bouncing off your face, and sit up with a snort. "Whuh—?" "About time, Will," a voice says from the dark. "I was about to come over there and get serious with you." Your hand touches something cold and hard on the coverlet as you sit up, and you flinch. But it's just the mask. "What's wrong?" you ask. "I think you fell asleep on me." "Well, it knocks you out, you know, when you put those things on or take them off." "I know, but you were out for, like, twenty minutes. I got tired of waiting so I threw a pillow at you." "Okay, gimme a minute." With a sigh you lever yourself from the bed and stumble for the bathroom, where you flip on the light and splash some water on your face. Yyou look up from under your brows at your reflection. The face in the mirror startles you, and at first you wonder "Who's that stranger?" for you've been inside Paul Griffin's mask so long, and gotten so used to seeing his reflection in the mirror, that the face of Will Prescott is a shock. Not the most pleasant shock, either. Your expression naturally tends to curdle into a rabbity wince; your hair is a stiff like straw; and your body is lanky and loose-limbed. Paul's body, by contrast, is well-groomed and muscled, and his resting expression is one of radiant self-possession. You can't help flinching a little. But then a little half-smile twitches onto your face. Except Sydney wants me, not him, you think. I got in a fight with him using magic, the real stuff not that bullshit on that TV show he was on, and I won, and now I can pull him on and wear him like a body stocking whenever I want, then peel him off and hang him up. You see and feel yourself straightening, standing taller. Your expression is still a juvenile jeer, and Paul's white t-shirt hangs limply off your shoulders, but there's a cocky jaunt in your walk as you put out the bathroom light and strut back to where Sydney is waiting. * * * * * She is still wearing Becky Oliver's mask, but you don't query that. You peel off the shirt and boxers, and she throws back the coverlets to let you in. She groans softly as you lay next to her, your faces close, and your hand cupping a breast. You lean in and kiss her, deeply and softly. It feels very natural and instinctive as you caress and bite at her. Every muscle and limb—and other things—stiffen and stretch and unfurl with anticipation. Your push her gown up, and your fingers twitch down the front of her panties to dig into the wiry hair, to caress the flesh within and beneath. It surprises you a little how easy it is for you to do this. Maybe I've still got some of Paul's memories, you idly wonder, and snatches of memories with other women do come back, to mingle with the present experience. But they fracture and dissolve as Sydney lifts her hips and pulls her panties down. "Get them off me," she gasps in your ear. "Get it—! Get inside me!" You scrunch down under the covers and help her push her panties below her knees. She wriggles and kicks them off. You get between her legs and your swelling cock brushes up and over her bush. With one free hand—her other hand is gripping you by the back of your neck—she grabs it and guides it in. She is velvety and wet and hot but very, very tight, and you gasp and choke—and feel yourself pulling a very comical face—as you find yourself getting impossibly long and impossibly big inside her. It's like your cock is trying to burst through the skin, and your hips tremble violently. Sydney is squeaking, and she grabs one of your butt cheeks and squeals as she thrusts upward to pull you in. Then she rises and clamps her mouth over the side of your neck, and the force of her muffled scream ripples through you. There's a hanging moment when you almost pass out. Then you are pounding her into the mattress. * * * * * You cuddle with each other, aching with exhaustion, she cradling your balls and you resting a gentle hand on her bush. A grayish light pervades the room—morning is coming. By it you study her face. Becky's face round and soft, the face of a contented child. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is deep and regular, but she sighs softly as you push back a strand of the dark hair that trails down and over her cheek. You kiss her on the nose with dry lips, and she says "Mmm!" and squirms up closer to you. It was quite a night. You fucked hard, and fell back exhausted, then came awake with a start when the phone on the bedside table chimed softly. You worked yourself up again to another climax, and fell away again, to be roused by that same, gently insistent chime. (The third time it happened, Sydney confessed that she'd set a timer. She pouted a little when you made her turn it off, saying that you'd need to get some sleep at some point.) You went down on her when you were too sore to get it up again, and she went down on you, though you don't remember coming and have the vague impression you must have dozed off. Once she got up to refresh herself in the bathroom, and then you moved into the other bed because her bed had got too hot and messy. Besides, you needed to make it look like both beds had been slept in. You look at the clock now and decide that you really should think about getting up: either you make Vegas tonight, or you're going to get stuck someplace really shitty. Becky doesn't argue when you crawl out of bed and pad into the bathroom with your kit. You shower and soap and shampoo and shave, and the water refreshes and rejuvenates you. You dry yourself, and wrap one of the small, rough bath towels around your waist, and return to the room. Your clothes are folded and resting on the low-slung cabinet that the TV is sitting on, and you quickly get into them, studying with a professional's interest your face and features in the mirror that hangs on the wall opposite the beds. You are raking a sturdy comb through your hair when Becky sits up in bed with a contented sigh. "Good morning, Daddy," she says. You look at her in the mirror, past your ear—Paul Griffin's ear, for you spent half the night inside his mask, even as you fucked his daughter—and smirk at her. "Morning, sweetheart," you say. * * * * * The next day is the same as the first: boring road games and light talk to burn up the miles. You arrive in Las Vegas at a little after six, and have dinner at a Chile's. Becky, naturally, wants to see one of the casinos, and you take her to the MGM Grand, which is the one Paul usually visits—two of the fan-cons he attended were held there. Still, you're a little surprised to hear your name shouted while you're standing on the floor with a handful of chips, deciding which table to play. You look over and are astonished to see Alison Knox, one of your co-stars from Enchanted U, waving at you. With a gushing smile she comes over to hug and greet you. It takes only a few minutes to catch up, for all the news is on your end as you introduce your daughter, which surprises and delights her. For yourself, you know perfectly well that she's landed a new TV gig, as one of the "bad girls" on a new CW primetime soap. More intriguing, though, is the hungry expression you read in her face as she talks to you. My God, you think, she wants me. Even with my daughter standing right here. Well, you are looking for new disguises. She could be the next. Next: "Home Sweet Hollywood" |
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