Shadow of the Tyrant (9th part posted)

[LadyTevar]

I'm surprised he could get horny with all his injuries

Still, with a photographic memory I'm sure he'll have plenty of nice images to make 'Wednesday' a fun day.

[Academia Nut]

Eric is very intellectual. Just because his body is too tired to do anything doesn't mean that his mind can't be aroused. Plus, despite the fact that he got the shit kicked out of him, he did ultimately win the fight. Against a motherfucking Tyrannosaurus rex. The victor's high would have to be pretty intense.

[Sidewinder]

The victor's high would have to be pretty intense.

I imagine he'd be full of endorphins from getting his shoulder dislocated. I also imagine he'd be ramming his shoulder against a wall to get that arm back in the shoulder socket. Ouch.

I wonder how Mary's opinion of Eric will change after his rescue of her?

[LadyTevar]

She was already seeing him as a Suitable Pairing, as the Victorians would say. Strong, intelligent, determined, sucessful in his work. She was also getting a little aroused by the idea

So, now add a touch of White Knight to it, and she will be not only grateful but possibly more understanding of why he's pushing her.

[Alferd Packer]

That was a cool fight. I can't wait for the jizz-soaked next chapter.

Seriously, though, it'll be interesting to see if Mary can get inside his defenses before he can reactivate Tyrant mode, or if he'll be able to return to the role of Tyrant before that happens.

[Academia Nut]

Jizz-soaked? Are you implying, good sir, that my prose is less than realistic, nay, outright fantasitical, in its portrayal of a mano-a-mano confrontation between a Homo sapien and a Tyrannosaurus rex? Or rather, are you suggesting that Mary will behave in a less than lady-like manner in thanking Eric for his gentlemanly defence of her person? Because I can assure you good sir that you are wrong on one count and half wrong on the other.



Next chapter should be up tomorrow.

[Academia Nut]

Once upon a time, Mary thought she understood pain. Pain was pricking your finger, stubbing a toe, or God forbid, falling off a horse.

She thought she understood sadness. Sadness was when you came in too late from an evening in the garden for pudding, you had to say goodbye to a good friend, or when one of the household pets passed away.

She thought she understood shame. Shame was when you got caught trying to sneak a cookie from the kitchen, nana saw through a fib about staying too late in the garden, or one of the maids caught you trying to get a peek at the gentleman in the parlour.

She thought she understood fear. Fear was a spider on the windowsill, wondering if father would be all right on the road, or a thunderstorm.

She had been so utterly wrong it disgusted her.

Pain was doing push-ups for half an hour with hands cut raw the day before by shards of obsidian and the burn of muscles pushed to their limit and beyond while the sun scorched your skin to point where it began to peel like old paint.

Sadness was the complete loss of everything in your life, every last person, every last location, ever last tree; familiar and comfortable, strange and fearful. Everything.

Shame was nearly costing a man his life because you weren’t careful while taking a bath.

Fear was watching said man fight a monster he had no hope of defeating to save you, and watching him nearly die a dozen times over, knowing that your death would follow shortly after.

Mary was in hell. This was the only explanation.

She was crying over Eric’s bloody, prostrate body when she heard him say weakly, “While I appreciate the view, now is not really the time.”

Mary was insensate and incapable of caring about Eric’s comment until he said in annoyance, “Listen, while the healing power of boobs is well known, that’s really more of a long term thing and right now some first aid would be appreciated.”

“What does it matter?” Mary sobs.

Eric then did something he had never done before. He hit her. Well… if a feeble head-butt to the chest counted as hitting. It was enough to get her to look down at him and the furious expression on his face.

“Play the melancholy Dane sometime else, I need fucking help. Now, get the first aid kit from its niche and some water, I’ve got only got a little more time before the pain really starts kicking in and I risk going into shock. Who knows how much longer I can remain lucid?” Eric demanded angrily.

By the time Mary had processed his words, she already had the kit and bucket sitting next to him. Even battered and broken, Eric was scary and she felt she owed it to him at the very least.

“Okay, I have three tasks for you, of which only one I can really help you with because I’m going to pass out from pain and blood loss soon. I need you to first relocate my shoulder, I repeat, first. This is going to take a lot of effort and if we try to do any other procedures beforehand we’ll just wreck them. The second is to sew up the gash in my side. The third is to clean and dress the rest of my wounds. Got all that?” Eric asked.

Mary felt like she was in a dream, nodding away.

“Okay, open up the kit and get out the purple coloured leaves and put me one in my mouth. I repeat, one,” Eric orders, and Mary complies, taking one of the funny looking leaves from the kit and putting it in his mouth. He immediately bites down and begins to chew for several seconds before spitting it out. The leaf was now a pulpy mass coloured a brilliant blue that was also staining his lips, both smelling strongly of something bitter and foul.

A glassy look had come over Eric’s eyes and he said with a slow voice, “Okay, now if my legs weren’t so cramped that I couldn’t move them, I would do this myself, but I need you to grab my right arm and yank until the shoulder joint pops back into place.”

Mary wants to ask if he is serious, but instead she just swallows hard and takes his arm. He is slick with sweat, blood, mud, and tyrannosaur saliva, but that is not the reason it takes Mary three agonizing tries to get his arm back where it should be. The main reason is that she is weak. In fact, she was crying out in fear and frustration when Eric was just grunting and trying to lend what little strength he had.

When the task was done, Mary just wanted to lie down and die, but Eric’s glare might have been glassy, but it was definitely volcanic glass, dark and cutting.

Flexing his right hand somewhat, Eric shrugs slightly from the sitting position Mary had propped him in and says, “Good enough… it will do. We can immobilize later. Now take some of the water. Begin cleaning the wound on my chest. Get all foreign material out. Do a final rinse. Then start suturing.”

Eric’s sentences were getting shorter and less grammatically sound. Obviously he did not have long left for the waking world. Mary did as he asked, working quickly with inexperienced hands, but she thought she did a good job of the cleaning. She was fairly certain she at least got all the dirt out.

And then came the sewing. It was quite possibly the most disgusting thing she had ever done, and definitely the most horrific. Eric lost consciousness part way through, but he guided her through the first few loops. She had to hold his skin, and in some cases the underlying muscle, together as she used thread to tie up the foot long gash in his torso. She swore that she saw the underlying bones at least twice, and she definitely scraped her needle across bone more than once.

It was only once she was done that she noticed something she felt she should have noticed earlier. The thread she was using was the silk thread she had recovered from her corset just the day before. The realization made her giddy all of a sudden, and she burst out into laughter. But like Eric’s laughter, it was unhealthy and bordering on a manic scream.

And suddenly, in a rush of empathy, she felt his pain. She curled up as she screamed, fire tracing its way up and down her body. It felt like someone had cut off her left breast, but she could not clutch at the wound properly because her right arm refused to move. Hundreds of cuts and scrapes burned her like the flay marks of a cat-o-nine-tails, tiny pieces of stone and gravel caught beneath her flesh, digging in.

She screamed, and the world faded to black.

She awoke to find Eric trying to patch himself up with only one arm, glaring at her. He was clearly furious, but also… disappointed.

“You were out for hours,” he points out angrily, gesturing to the sky and how now the sun was getting low.

Mary gulps but says nothing, instead huddling up more.

Sighing in frustration, Eric just says, “Listen, can you please just help me out here, I can’t clean the wounds on my back and I think they’re already starting to get infected.”

Mary did nothing.

Eric growled angrily and got up on tottering legs. Towering over her, his face vanishes into shadow, and he says in a low, threatening tone, “Why won’t you act?”

With tears running down her face, Mary just says, “Because it doesn’t matter?”

“Oh? Why?” Eric practically growls.

“Because none of this is real. Because this is Hell,” Mary whimpers.

Mary could feel more than see Eric’s face tightening up in disgust. For a moment she thinks that he is going to explode into violence, but instead he does something worse.

He sits down and begins to run his hands softly over her scalp.

“Oh my dear, dear Mary, this is not yet Hell, it is not nearly ironic enough. But if you do not act, it will be very soon. If I die because you did nothing, then you will have to live with the guilt and shame of your actions, or rather lack of action, for the rest of your life, at which point I expect whatever afterlife you go to be pretty crummy considering that you will have essentially killed me. Now, if despite your inaction, I somehow manage to pull through on my own, I swear that I will become your own personal Lucifer. Oh, the things I will do to you will be terrible indeed. Truly terrible. But there will be no escape for you. And do you know why?” Eric asks sweetly.

After Mary shakes her head fearfully, he replies, “Because this is life. Life is pain, life is suffering, and the only way you can make it better is if you give as good as you get. Now either fucking stand up and hit back or prepare to be kicked while you’re down.”

At that Eric stood up, this time eclipsing sun so that it appeared that his head was haloed by red flame while his face was cast into absolute darkness. For a moment Mary thought that he was going to kick her and began to tense up against the expected blow. But instead he just snarled in disgust and walked unsteadily back to where he had been cleaning his wounds.

Mary wasn’t sure what caused her to uncurl and slink like a whipped dog over to Eric, but soon she was pouring water over his back, washing away mud and congealed blood and picking out bits of rock and gravel embedded under his skin. He was right too. Because of her inaction, infection was already setting in, and more often than not when she pried out a bit of gravel it was accompanied by a small burst of pus.

The work was long and disgusting and the sun soon set, but Eric decided to light a fire so that the work could continue. His brief respite from unconsciousness soon ended, and before she knew it, Mary was working alone. There was a simple clarity and purity to the work that she found soothing, despite the fact that she wasn’t quite sure why.

And then a vision struck her, of women throughout the ages tending to injured men. Florence Nightingale in the Crimea. A lady tending to her knight. On and on, dozens of women over the generations, the millennia, back into antiquity. They tended to wounds of bullet, blade, arrow, spear, axe, club, tooth and claw. The men fought the dragons of their time so that the women would not have to. Some fought for ideals, noble or ignoble, but most, most fought for simpler things. For their land, their home, their family.

Mary shuddered as great, wracking sobs came over her. How many countless women had had to bear the pain of tending to the men in their lives, men wounded in defence of them? Too many, and it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that the men had to suffer such wounds of the flesh and the women wounds of the heart.

After a moment, Mary’s sobbing subsided and she felt something within break and another piece refuse to break. Eric had said it well before. Life was pain, life was suffering, and it would only get better if she struck back. The Grim Reaper would not claim Eric’s soul any time soon if Mary had any say in the matter.

By the time she was done, Eric was a patchwork mummy of leaves and pieces of her corset. She even tore up and washed what was left of her clothing to serve as bandages. There was no point in modesty any more. Eric was the only one who would notice, who would care, and she had already given him her soul. The rest did not matter.

Once her task was complete, Mary snuggled up to Eric and laid her head upon his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She smiled at the strength of it, its tireless, relentless declaration of life against death.

As she closed her eyes, Mary mused that Eric had been wrong. He was not her personal Lucifer. Lucifer was the Morning Star, the Dragon. Eric was the Evening Star, the Dragonslayer. He was the champion of light in the darkness, ever rallying against the coming of night, a candle in the dark. His soul might be shadowed, but it was not blackened.

If he ever met the actual Lucifer, he would head-butt the bastard.

Mary drifted off to sleep.

And she dreamt.

This was the first dream she had since arriving in this place, and its vividness astounded her.

She was running through a forest, the trees leering down at her, branches like clawed hands reaching out to grasp at her, tearing at her dress, trying to snare her, slow her down to let the monsters following her catch up.

And then she was in a clearing, and a root reached out to trip her. Crashing hard to the ground, she rolled over and tried to scramble away, but the monsters were already appearing from the shadows. They were great dragons, or perhaps they were tyrannosaurs. It was hard to tell with all the shadows flickering about them.

Just when it looked like all hope was lost, two figures arrived from the grey sky above. Both wore full armour like medieval knights, but they were as different as night and day. One was white and shimmering, carved from alabaster and gold and born upon wings of glowing white feathers, surrounded by a halo of purest white light. The other was encased in obsidian and rusting wrought iron, born aloft by leathery bat wings and surrounded by a swarm of buzzing insects.

Both fell without a word upon the horde of dragons, the angel fighting with gleaming sword and shield, the demon with an enormous, viciously jagged two handed axe. Blood spilt and flesh rent, teeth and claws met steel and the screams of the dying rent the air.

And then it was done. The dragons lay dead upon the ground, eyes turned slack up into the sky, and the two knights stood, exhausted from their efforts.

She said in a small and weak voice, “Thank you.”

Both knights turned to look at her, lifting their visors in the process. Beneath the gleaming white exterior of the angel was a demonic visage. Sickly grey skin was pulled taut over a skull like face, pulling the lips back from pointed teeth and a forked tongue while yellow, reptilian eyes rested beneath jutting horns. Encased within the demonic armour was an angel’s face, pure and clean and radiant of expression.

And both faces were Eric’s.

When they spoke, they spoke in stereo, sinister and comforting at once, blending into Eric’s voice. They said, “You’re welcome. It was our duty.”

Mary asked, “Your duty?”

Nodding as one, they say, “Our duty. We promised to protect you.”

Mary gulped. She remembered this promise.

Each pulled out half of a battered and bloodstained contract and read out, “The Tyrant’s Promise. We pledge to protect Mary Tennyson from all the monsters in this world, in exchange for one soul. Our duty.”

Mary gulped. She wondered which one of them would collect on that promise. She wondered which one she wanted to do the collecting.

But instead of doing anything, the two of them just stood there, more interested in resting after their battle than collecting their due.

A new voice entered to fill the void at that time, low and husky and feminine.

“You know, now is the perfect time to strike, to take not just your soul back, but to take his soul too,” the voice says behind Mary.

Gulping, Mary turns about to find the most horrific creature she could imagine sitting down behind her. Long black hair radiated away from her head like a dark halo, wild and untamed. Her skin was smooth and flawless, but coloured a deep red. Her body was tight and curvy, muscled or plump in all the correct places to make men drool. And since she was naked, any man who saw her would find it difficult to run away.

And of course, except for the horns, she wore Mary’s face.

“Oh, don’t be so shocked, we’ve known each other our whole lives, you’ve just tried locking me away for the past few years,” the demon says charmingly. Putting on a pout that would have men lining up around the block to make her smile, she says, “I was the one that taught you how to get your way when you were a little girl.

“It was so simple for you to manipulate your father, you know. A little pout here, a crocodile tear there, and then he’s putty in your hands. You could get away with murder. But then, somewhere along the line, you decided to cut me out of your life. I hadn’t even begun to start encouraging you to go from being naughty to naughty when you decided I wasn’t good enough for you. Why did you do that Mary?” The demon asks.

Before she can reply, the demon answers, “I think it was the day when you stopped playing dumb and started being dumb. The sweet, innocent girl who knows nothing act was useful, but you took it too far and forgot that it was just that, an act. And now you’ve forgotten how to be that clever little girl of old and just how clever other people can really be. The only one you underestimate worse than Eric is you.”

“I’m lying to you,” the demonic/angelic pair says in stereo.

“And you’re lying to you,” the demon Mary says, smiling broadly. “You know, understand, more than you want to let on, want to admit. Because somehow you got the idea stuck in your head that good girls aren’t supposed to know anything. They’re supposed to be dumb little dolls that sit in the corner when company is around, prattle off a few frivolities if asked anything, and then shut up. That’s not you though. You’ve already worked out the lie behind the Tyrant’s Promise; you just don’t want to admit you’re really that smart.”

“The truth behind the lie also scares her,” the knights add on.

“Thank you, I had forgotten that part. Or rather, because this is a dream, you didn’t,” the demon Mary says.

The words spill from Mary’s lips without her control, and she realizes that she is saying it along with the demon version of her, “The lie behind the Tyrant’s Promise is revealed with a simple question: why does a strong tyrant need a weak soul? The answer is that no tyrant is as strong as they appear. They need to control others so that they can steal their strength. The tyrant promises protection, but most of the strength they use comes from those they rule. Thus, weak subjects are useless, just weaker ones.”

“He’s been digging me out since we arrived here you know,” the demon Mary says lovingly to Mary. “He knows you’re weak, stupid, and incompetent. He needs someone strong, smart, and capable. And if not for that little bit of stupidity on your part and nobility on his, he would have eventually had the strong woman he craves while retaining control. But now… now he needs you, us, and we can seize upon that. He’s injured, weak. Now we can be the tyrant, and he the servant.”

“But I…” Mary begins before being cut off.

“You’ve built yourself around being quiet and submissive, so do that now girl,” the demon says spitefully. “You have powers you try to avoid thinking about, strengths you don’t understand. The white knight in him craves a lady to serve. He is tired of being his own tyrant, tired of taking responsibility for everything he does. He tyrant in him fears being deposed, but lusts after your body, for he fears extinction of his line more. All you have to do is start making little promises and little favours and you can snare him. A pout here, a crocodile tear there, and he will be putty in your hands.”

The demon then smiles wickedly and says, “But then again, what you want in your hands is not meant to be soft as putty when you touch it. Do not look so shocked girl, you taught me everything I know on the subject. Every new discovery you made about the relationships between men and women you buried away with me. Again, you’re smarter and more knowledgeable than you want to admit.”

The demon cupped her own breast, and to her horror Mary discovered that she was mirroring the actions, which caused the demon, and Mary, to throw back her head and laugh while proclaiming, “This is a dream, and I am you! We want this, don’t you know?”

Running a thumb over a nipple, the demon and Mary say in unison, “He longs to do this to us. We see it in his eyes. More so, we long for him to do it to us.”

The two knights vanish in a haze of smoke and are replaced by a scholarly, gentleman Eric.

“We wept inside when you denied us this dream,” the two parts of Mary say as one. “We will not be denied again. This is what we want.”

And so Mary’s hand began to move lower. The sweet, innocent girl cried out in shame and guilt when it arrived at its destination, while the demon cried out in victory and pleasure.

“Can you feel that? Feel how good it is? Why have you been denying us this?” The demon demands alone.

Despite the tears rolling down her face, Mary continues, unable to stop and instead cries out, “Because it’s wrong!”

“Who told you, and more importantly, what did they want from you?” The demon demands before they both shudder in delight at once.

Mary can only weep.

“His… equipment… might be different, but he feels the same thing, or at least similar enough. He wants for us to do this to him, make him feel this good, and make him forget the pain in his heart and mind. We can be strong where he is weak, and he will gladly sign away his soul to us. He will protect us from the monsters of the flesh; we will protect him from the monsters of the mind and be in control!” The demon says in exultation.

“But it’s wrong!” Mary cries out as the dream explodes.

She woke up crying out as her whole body burst forth with an exquisite fire that made her toes curl and her fingers tighten around whatever was available as if to hold her down so that she did not fly away. Unfortunately, her unoccupied hand was resting on Eric’s right shoulder when she squeezed.

The both opened their eyes and screamed at the same time, although for very different reasons.

Mary collapsed shuddering and panting onto Eric’s chest while he tried to figure out what was going on and why he was in so much pain. For a few seconds Mary just stared slack jawed and cross eyed at Eric before the reality of the situation sank in.

She shrieked and ran, horrified and ashamed beyond reason by what she had done. She didn’t have many options of places to go without leaving the lair, but she still tried to find a corner to cry in. To some extent she was glad she didn’t have any hair left on her head, because she would have been tearing it out in a blind panic.

Hair… she looked at her right hand, at how wet and slick it was and nearly threw up. She started to drag her hand across the nearest stone wall. She had to get clean… she had to…

Her descent into guilt induced insanity was interrupted by Eric showing up and gently taking her hand away before she scraped it raw.

Mary was amazed at how calm he looked. She had just aggravated the shoulder he had dislocated the other day, and he was fine with that.

“I… I…” Mary tried to say something, but her tongue was thick, her nose was overloaded with mucus, and her eyes were blurred by tears.

Sitting down next to her, Eric leans in and says, “Shh… there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But… but…” Mary stutters out.

“But what? Tell me what’s wrong with what you did other than poor location,” Eric asks softly.

“It’s dirty… a sin… hair… I…” Mary manages to get out between the word garbling sobs.

Still holding her hand in his, Eric licks it to Mary’s shock and disgust.

Considering it for a moment, Eric replies, “Of the three vintages I have sampled in my life time, the bouquet of yours is the most distinct, probably a result of generally less fat and concentrated sugars in your diet, to say nothing of the lack of artificial substances. While you probably could have washed since yesterday’s excitement, I find nothing objectionable.”

After a moment, Eric adds on, “I am so glad that I have a photographic memory, because the look on your face will bring a smile to my face until the day I die.”

Finally Mary manages to get out a horrified, “WHAT?”

Shrugging casually, Eric states, “It’s pretty hard to pass your tongue across a girl’s genitals when she is aroused and not get a taste.”

“WHAT?” Mary screams frantically.

“I told you we come from very different times. Perhaps one of the biggest differences is the understanding that sex is a part of who we are as people, and that there are many, many more ways of expression that aspect of ourselves than straight up missionary position between a man and a woman,” Eric explains while placing his left arm over her shoulders and hugging her in tight.

Mary’s brain was trying and failing to process all the information Eric was giving her. Eventually she managed to ask, “But…”

Sighing, Eric shakes his head and says, “Look, all your objections stem from one source that I will get to later. But to start with, what do you have to be ashamed about? What do you have to be guilty about? Shame and guilt only have meaning when there are other people around. I’m the only other person here, and obviously I’m not disapproving of your behaviour.”

“But…” Mary tries to object again only to die away when Eric shakes his head.

“As far as health concerns go, all of the things you have heard about sex and masturbation range from myths to outright fabrications meant to deceive you. You heard me refer to masturbation as ‘cleaning the pipes’ the other night, right?” Eric asks gently.

Mary just nods her head.

“Well I meant it like that. I can whack off once a week and flush out the old material, or I can let it build up and either leak out in my sleep and make a mess or risk problems with my prostate and urinary tract later on. Plus it lets me get out some of my frustrations, and it feels nice. That is perhaps the most important bit about why people do it. Sometimes we don’t have anyone around who we can have sex with, but we still want to enjoy sex. It’s understandable, it’s natural. So don’t worry about it. Your palms will not turn hairy, you will not go blind, and you will not get sick and die if you rub your pussy,” Eric states firmly.

Instead of saying anything, Mary just bites her lip and nods.

“Ultimately though, all the objections to sex and masturbation and all that wonderful, natural stuff, comes from religion. You said it was a sin right? Well guess what? The Bible says just about everything is a sin. Especially the enjoyable stuff. Well guess what else? Aside from all that stuff being bullshit written by a bunch of goat-fucking assholes trying to control a bunch of other goat-fuckers, we are beyond God now.”

Mary shuddered in fear as the statement bounced about her head, her mind resonating like a struck gong at the terrible, terrible, blasphemous statement.

“Look at where we are. Look at how we have suffered. Do you think either one of us did anything to deserve this? Where is God to right this injustice? He either does not care about us or he did it himself, in which case he is an asshole and we should oppose him; he cannot help us in which case he is powerless and does not deserve our attention; or he simply does not exist. Any way you look at it, we are beyond the bastard. We are beyond the things called sins. All that matters is how we live with each other. We do not need some man in the sky looking down on us, judging us by some set of inconsistent and silly rules,” Eric says, true venom rising into his voice.

Mary stares at him and wonders. Wonders at his words, before finally asking, “But… but… how can you live with that? Live in a world without God?”

Smiling, Eric says, “There are two things to do when you cannot face the world as it is. The first is to change the world into the world as it should be. Pretty hard in this case as it requires you to make God exist. The second is to change your facing. Now, if you want to ignore my words and feel intense guilt every time you get aroused and want to put your hand between your legs, then there is nothing I can do to stop you, but maybe you just have to look at it a different way.”

Mary remembered watching Eric yesterday as he put on the mud, and how his demeanour had physically changed as he had finished the task. He became harder and more distant, less human beneath all the mud. It was terrifying… and yet… seductive. To become another person, to become something different. Something stronger.

And when Mary remembered her dream, she wondered about several things that she could not bring herself to ask. She did manage to ask one question though.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Mary asks.

Smiling cheerily, Eric says, “Because right now I have one arm mostly out of commission until I can strengthen the ligature, and a wound that limits my freedom of motion and strength on the other arm and there is a great deal of work that needs to be done. Thus, I need you to be my arms and not be an emotional wreck.”

Mary gulps and asks, “What do you need to do?”

“Well, for the next couple of weeks I won’t be able to draw my bow properly, thus limiting my capacity to hunt. So we need to exploit the easily available resources we have right now or risk starvation,” Eric explains.

Mary mouths the words “Easily exploitable” before her eyes go wide and she says, “The rex!”

“Yes. I would have preferred you learn the arts of butchery and skinning on something simpler, but we need the meat and skin, and the bones and teeth will make useful tools,” Eric says.

Mary just looks at Eric wide eyed and scared.

“Look, you can’t stay up here forever. Don’t worry though, it takes a couple of days for the bigger scavengers to get over their fear of tyrannosaurs and the smaller ones will run at the sight of something as big as a human,” Eric states, smiling as if that explanation would make it all better.

“But…” Mary begins.

“Oh, and I’ll lend you some of my pants seeing as you tore up your clothes to make these bandages. Thank you for doing that by the way,” Eric says.

By the time the sun had set, Mary wanted to know nothing more about tyrannosaur meat, or preservation techniques. The day had been hot and gruelling and disgusting, and seemingly pointless as they had to discard as much as they took as it had already gone bad the previous day. The only good part had been when the day was ending and Eric called it over and let her go wash up in the stream.

Right now Eric was boiling some water and mashing up some funny looking leaves, talking about antibiotics and trying to flush out the wound tract. Mary wasn’t quite sure what exactly all the technical aspects were, but she knew it had to do with the gash on his side. Over the course of the night and day it had swollen up and gone all puffy and discoloured. Eric had already drained it of pus and fluid once, but it looked like he needed to do it again.

Mary was scared now. Eric had been getting worse as the day wore on, and undoubtedly the infections he was suffering were only just beginning. He had already written down instructions for medicines to give him, how to prepare the food to make it last as long as possible, and a myriad of other things.

He was expecting to be out of action for quite some time.

Maybe even forever.

Mary hung her head in shame. This world was teaching her all sorts of new forms of emotion. There was the sharp terror of watching the fight and now the simmering, nervous fear of watching Eric deteriorate, still fighting a battle long done.

And there was nothing she could do. She had found Eric’s bow in the morning and tried to pull it. It was impossible. The sinew that made up the drawstring was pulled tight enough that it was like steel, completely unyielding to her. And that bow had at best irritated the beast.

She was too weak to do anything.

Wallowing in her own self pity and misery, a voice at the back of her head told her that there were still things she could do. She could help Eric by tending to him while he recovered. She could help by doing the tasks he could not.

She could help him by shedding her weakness and becoming stronger.

As the sun set and night settled upon the land, Eric climbed up to his point, no instrument in hand, obviously ready to do an unaccompanied performance.

Clearing his throat, Eric says to the whole world, and probably himself more than Mary, “Now, in light of yesterday’s events, I think it would be criminal not to sing this song tonight. Ahem…

Now on the day I was born
The nurses all gathered ‘round
And they gazed in wild wonder
At the joy they had found

The head nurse spoke up
Said, "Leave this one alone"
She could tell right away
That I was bad to the bone

Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Bad to the bone

I broke a thousand hearts
Before I met you
I'll break a thousand more, baby
Before I am through

I wanna be yours pretty baby
Yours and yours alone
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bad to the bone

Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Bad to the bone

I'll make a rich woman beg
And I'll make a good woman steal
I'll make an old woman lust
and I'll make a young girl squeal

I wanna be yours pretty baby
Yours and yours alone
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bad to the bone

Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Bad to the bone

Now when I walk the streets
Kings and queens step aside
Every woman I meet ha-ha
They all stay satisfied

I wanna tell you pretty baby
What I see I make my own
And I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bad to the bone

Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Ba ba ba ba ba ba bad
Bad to the bone”

As Eric finished his song and Mary once again questioned his taste in music, and more so what kind of place his time was to produce such bizarre lyrics.

But it also made her think. Her whole life… no… no… the demon from her dream had been correct. There had been a time in her life when she had been less than a good little girl, innocent and sweet and dumb and helpless. There had been time when she had been a clever, manipulative little schemer. True, she had been a child then, but those skills were surely more useful than knowing how to discuss the differences between Indian cotton prints and English ones.

The song resonated within her. Mary was tired of being good. Good in her world was defined by people who wanted to control her. So many people in her life had been tyrants, and few had actually lived up to the promises they made. So far the only one who had been honest, or rather honest enough, about his intentions and responsibilities had been Eric. He was the only tyrant in her life that had earned that privilege.

But the shadows of tyrants past still hung over her; the ghosts of futures unwritten still had their chains in her. So long as they defined “good” for her, she could never be the person, the woman, her worthy tyrant needed.

So she had to become bad.

She didn’t know how, but already an idea was forming in her head, forming about Eric’s words from the morning.

If you can’t change the world, change your facing.

---

Bad to the Bone is by George Thoroughgood

[Sidewinder]

A good chapter, but...

The needle that Mary used to sew up Eric's wound. What is it made of? I doubt Eric brought had it on his person when he came to the Cretaceous period-- who carries a sewing kit on his person at all times?

Did Eric make it out of bone? (I strongly doubt you can make an obsidian needle.)

[Academia Nut]

Yeah, it was made of bone. Going to cause a lot of trauma to the surrounding flesh, but still a lot better than letting the gash remain open.

And a tailor might, not that Eric was a tailor, but remember that Mary remembered going to sleep in a carriage and then woke up in the Cretaceous. They're getting snatched seemingly at random, so you never know what you might have on you when it happens.

[Alferd Packer]

Interesting. Has Eric been able to brew liquor of any sort? After all, our ancestors brewed booze in stone barrels 12,000 years ago. Hell, all you really need is some rotting vegetables or fruit. The only problem with that is that it wouldn't be strong enough to act as a disinfectant. I suppose it'd be possible to create the bottom a crude pot still out of a soft stone, then hollow out some plant for the condenser. It'd probably be horribly inefficient and you'd probably have to replace the condenser frequently, but as long as you're able to to collect some alcohol, you have yourself something strong enough to clean out your wounds(I probably wouldn't drink it, though).

[Academia Nut]

Hmmm... hadn't even thought of alcohol, but no, Eric's got something a bit more potent than that as a sterilizing agent. One of the massive advantages he has is that from living in our time and having absorbed the principles of the scientific method is that one of his first projects was to analyze and catalogue the various effects and properties of the flora around him, with one of the big things he was looking for being substances with anti-biotic properties.

He found one.

More next chapter.

[Alferd Packer]

Ah, makes sense. The only reason I mention it is because I happened to peruse an article today detailing the Stone-Age booze find, and I thought that if they could do it, Eric certainly could.

[TithonusSyndrome]

Motherfucker, you ask me to come look at a nice fanfic about dinosaurs, and instead of something cardboard and pulpy that I can take in and forget, you make me squirm and suck me in like so. That is NOT fair warning.

So yeah, good work, to say the very least.

[Academia Nut]

Hehehe... it's got dinosaurs, but its so much more, don't you agree? It's more about character interaction really, plus a healthy dosage of social commentary. Oh, and an excuse to make up a strange ecosystem to play around in.

Glad you liked it.

[LadyTevar]

I can't wait to see her 'change her facing'.

[Academia Nut]

Next chapter dear lady, which I will hopefully get done before I leave the country for a week.

[Darth Fanboy]

Damn it. You stop writing other fics I like...in order to write ones I like even better.

A very talented writer indeed.

[Alferd Packer]

Next chapter dear lady, which I will hopefully get done before I leave the country for a week.

Humbly, I submit that you post whatever you have finished before you go, even if it's not a complete chapter. We'll understand.

[Academia Nut]

I was thinking I might do that, but I leave late Saturday night, so there is still plenty of time to get the next chapter done.

[Alferd Packer]

I was thinking I might do that, but I leave late Saturday night, so there is still plenty of time to get the next chapter done.

Then I apply that statement to whatever you might write after you post the next chapter. Come on, man! I need my fix!

[Academia Nut]

I think this chapter can be summed up as "Mary's Day Out (of her mind)". I would also like to give a mild NSFW warning. This chapter is definitely rated R for mature (or rather in context, immature) content, which is a sad statement about our society. Anyway, I hope no one gets upset with all of this. I can assure you I know what I'm doing here.

---

No demons haunted Mary’s dreams that night, but that was because ghosts had already booked that night. Unlike the vividness of before, these dreams were indistinct and fragmented, snippets of people from her past… who had yet to be born because they were far in future… time travel was confusing… flashing past her eyes. Some she missed, but most she seemed to be looking at with new eyes, seeing the chains they had wrapped around her for the first time.

She woke up more tired than when she had gone to sleep, but not feeling like more rest would refresh her.

Groggily getting up, she wandered over to where Eric was lying next to the embers of the fire. Picking up some of the prepared logs, she tossed them in the fire. They caught quickly, the wood being quite oily and flammable.

Eric was not up yet, and was in fact looking even worse than the day before. His tanned skin had gone pale and he was sweating profusely. Lifting up the blanket of woven plant fibres Eric had wrapped about himself, Mary blanches at the sight of the hugely inflamed wound on his side.

Eric had left instructions about this. First she drew up some water, and while waiting for it to boil on the fire, she got out the strange leaves Eric told her to use to treat him. They were a brilliant, emerald green on the top, but had what looked like black mould growing on the bottom. Placing a few in a stone bowl, Mary picked up the pestle that came with it and began crushing up the leaves as Eric’s instructions ordered.

Trying not to gag from the noxious smell released, Mary picked out the leaves and placed them in the boiling water. After a time she took a small, hollowed out horn and drew some water out. Picking up a bit of the mash sitting at the bottom of the mortar, she dropped it in the horn and then swirled it about a bit to promote mixing.

Setting the horn carefully aside, she then picked up a small, hollow stem and cut off two pieces with one of Eric’s many knives, making sure that each piece had a slanted section. Gulping profoundly, she poked one of the straws into the top of the wound and the other into the bottom. Picking up a small, waxy leaf, she made a small funnel about the top straw and then started pouring.

The mixture in the horn had cooled quickly, but it was still quite hot. Perhaps not hot enough to scald, but still enough to sting. As the hot fluid flowed into the funnel, the slow drip of blood, pus and straw coloured fluid out the other end began to increase as it was flushed out. She also carefully helped the expulsion along by applying some pressure along the way, careful to not cause the accumulated fluid to burst out from between the sutures.

With each run through the discharge became clearer, until eventually she was just flushing clean fluid through. Once she was certain the wound was clear, she took the rest of the paste from the bottom of the mortar and smeared it across the wound, concentrating on the top and bottom where the stems had been inserted. She then fished the leaves out of the water and applied them over the wound.

Once all of that was done, she took the now mostly empty horn and drew some more water, this time to wash out the mortar and wash off the pestle, letting the remaining bits of the leaf matter drip into the main water pot. With that finished she drew a horn of water and gingerly propped Eric up so that she could carefully get him to drink the mixture.

Mary wasn’t sure exactly what was with those leaves, but Eric certainly thought that they were great stuff because he wanted to have some practically every hour.

Getting some more water, Mary began to boil that to begin clean-up. Eric had positioned himself at the top of a slight incline so that anything leaking from his wound would slide downhill and off the lair rather than pool about him. In theory anyway it did. In practice the discharge didn’t tend to go very far and was thus still a hazard, so Mary had to wash it away.

Once everything was washed up, Mary finally got around to her own breakfast, which consisted of charred tyrannosaur meat that was on the verge of spoiling. It was rather unappetizing, but Eric had told her to eat anything almost spoiled first to stretch out the lifespan of their stocks.

Her stomach somewhat full, Mary wandered back to check on Eric, and found that already he was looking a little better. A bit less pale, and now that it had been drained the wound looked far less gruesome.

Mary looked down at her own breasts, bare due to Eric lacking any chest coverings that would not cause her to have a heat stroke in five minutes, and wondered at what would have happened if the same wound had happened to her. It would have been truly unpleasant to see. Of course, theoretically no one would see because she should have them covered and…

She was still uptight about having them on display for the whole world to see, but right now the whole world consisted of one sick man who she owed everything. It infuriated her though that she couldn’t let go of all of her hang-ups. She kept covering herself when she wasn’t paying attention.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to put her hand beneath the poorly sized loincloth Eric had leant her, only to discover that it was like trying to push her hand through a solid wall to get it past her bellybutton. Intense waves of shame and guilt washed over her as she tried to proceed, before finally she gave up, feeling disgusted with herself. One part disgusted that she would try something so vulgar, the other part disgusted that she had been unable to do something so simple.

In her mind’s eye, the image that had been forming since the previous night began to begin final crystallization. All that was left was to figure out how to pluck that image from her mind and transform it into physical reality. No easy task.

Her first step would be to go down to Eric’s storeroom and see what he had on hand there.

The entrance to the storeroom was located at the back of the cave where he kept the stack of books. While not exactly claustrophobic, the tunnel was rather small and required Mary to crouch to avoid hitting her head and to grope about in the dark while she went about a tight spiral down into the rock. Eventually a pale light became visible, and soon she was standing in the large chamber Eric used for storage.

The place was for the most part dry, but because it had a natural vent out the top, the source of the light down here, it could get damp when it rained, so Eric had organized everything so that the most moisture sensitive materials were away from the chimney, which meant that they were where Mary was standing. This was useful because those items tended to have the highest turnover anyway so having them near the tunnel back to the surface was doubly practical.

And while things like rocks and such were stored towards the back of the cave, it was the middle bit that Mary had to look through, unfortunate because Eric had not organized that section very well. Or rather, he had organized it by his own system, but with a photographic memory and no one else around, he had seen little need to actually document what he was doing.

Mary began looking for what she needed on the right side of the cave, only to quickly retreat due to the smell. Eric had warned her about that the previous day, but she had forgotten. There was a crack in the stone that lead up to where the latrine sat. Eric kept it mostly clean, and really only liquids ever percolated down, but the smell was pretty bad. He had also invested a great deal of effort in building and placing two large casks down there, although why he had allowed them to become crusted with nitre she would probably never know.

Looking about on the other side of the cave, Mary began shifting through large quantities of what she would call rubble. Why was he keeping all of this ash down here? And if he had charcoal, why wasn’t he using it? He had sulphur. Why did he have sulphur down here? And while she understood the need for piles of obsidian and bones for tools, why did he have all these chunks of hematite stacked up next to them? He certainly didn’t seem to be making jewellery. He had a bunch of other stones in his collection as well, but Mary had no idea what they might be.

Finally Mary found what she needed: stacks of wood that Eric did not use for the fire, but building material. Rifling through the piles, she eventually found a piece of wood that was just the right size for her purposes. Mostly flat with a slight curve, it was perhaps half an inch thick, a foot long, and half a foot wide. Perfect.

Retreating from the cave, Mary first went to check up on Eric before continuing with her own project. Giving him another horn full of the strange tea he had her brew, she left him to his rest and then went to take a look at the piece of wood she had taken.

She ran her fingers over it, feeling the texture. The inside was quite smooth, while the outside was rough and cracked. She suspected it was originally a piece of bark or some such thing, which explained the curve. Setting it down on a flat stone, she looked at it, and wondered how she was going to turn this into what she imagined in her mind.

She picked up a bit of horn she had borrowed from one of Eric’s numerous tool kits. The first thing she needed to do was make some holes. Roughly measuring them off, she used a pinch of ash taken from the fire to mark the points she needed to hit.

Then, pulling back, she slammed the point of the horn into the first marking. Or at least, she tried. She missed by about a half an inch. At least she knew she could punch a hole in the wood with the horn. So she kept trying, until she had all four starter holes punched, which meant she had about seven holes in total.

Thinking on it, Mary then realized that perhaps she should check the alignment again. Lifting the piece of wood up, she frowns as she realizes that she got one of the holes wrong and will need to punch another one. Sighing, she puts another two holes in the wood before getting it right.

Putting the now battered looking horn away, Mary takes out her knife and begins to cut. While the wood was quite soft, she had to keep stopping to sharpen the obsidian blade as it kept chipping as she worked. When she was done, she had a piece of wood with four somewhat elliptical blobs cut out. It was quite rough, and no matter how she tried with her knife, she could not get rid of all the splinters.

Thinking on it, Mary knew that Eric had to have some way of smoothing out the wood he worked with, removing the splinters. Perhaps a blunt stone instead of one that cut? Picking up a few bits and pieces, she tried along the edge until she found one that took out splinters without making more. Once she had finished smoothing out the edges of her cuts, Mary realized that she would need two more, smaller holes.

Picking up the horn again, she shrugged and started slowly drilling out the holes along opposite edges. It took a lot more time and effort than just punching through like she did before, but she could tell just by looking at the wood that it would splinter at the edge if she tried that.

Stopping to look at her work, Mary frowned. It was nothing like what she imagined. It would have to do though, for now. She needed it now more than she needed it good. There was at least one more thing she could do though, she supposed.

Taking her knife back up, she gouged four lines into the wood.

Looking at it, she nearly laughed at how comically bad it looked before nearly crying at how pathetic she must be to do something so stupid.

Setting it down, she looked at the sky and wondered if Eric would be able to get up at all today. If he couldn’t he had told her to boil some of the meat into a stew and feed him that.

Going to check on him, Mary found him still sleeping, although his fever seemed not quite as bad as before. He had told her to let him get some sun, but not so much that it would burn him, so after checking on his wound to make sure that it had not become inflamed again, she dragged Eric over into the shade, a difficult prospect considering how heavy he was. His frame was quite gaunt, but he was tall, and what meat he had on his bones was muscle and gristle.

Once she had him settled again and had given him his third dose of tea, Mary went to back down to the storage cave and returned with a short length of cured sinew. Returning to her project, she threaded the sinew through one of the holes and tied it off. Then, bringing it up to her face, she donned her mask and tied off the other end.

It was crude and fit poorly, limited her vision, and most of the weight rested upon her nose, but she had changed her facing.

Whatever Mary had expected when she put on the mask, it didn’t happen. No sudden change of personality, no sudden anything.

Hanging her head in shame at having ever thought this was a good idea in the first place, Mary tries to hold back the tears. What had she been thinking? Why was she so stupid?

This wasn’t helping Eric at all.

Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was her breasts.

What had Eric said the day before?

Ah yes, something about the healing power of boobs.

He seemed to mean breasts, but why would he call them boobs?

That was a funny name for them.

Looking at her breasts as if this was the first time she had seen them, Mary poked one.

Squishy.

She then flicked it.

Ow. That hurt. Look at them jiggle though!

She then wobbled her chest from side to side, watching and smiling at the way her breasts moved. It hurt a bit if she went too fast or far, but they were fun to watch bounce around like that.

Giggling, Mary grabs a hold of them to stop the jiggling, and then feels their weight.

More giggling, until she brushed a thumb across one of her nipples.

Oh! That felt nice! Do it again!

Five minutes of playing around later, Mary had come to an inescapable conclusion.

Boobs were fun!

Boobs were funny!

And since laughter was the best medicine, boobs obviously were good medicine!

Eric was right, again!

He was so smart.

She would have to see him right away to help him recover with the healing power of boobs.

Getting up, Mary was forced to pause again and turn about to examine herself.

Poking her buttocks, she marvelled at how firm they were.

How had she not noticed this before?

Or how nice her legs were?

Placing a hand on her right buttock, she flexed her leg to feel the motion of the muscles beneath.

It felt nice!

It seemed that all those years of learning how to dance at balls had not been a waste.

She had a really nice butt to show for it!

Running her hand across the smooth skin, she was suddenly struck by how naughty this all was.

So she spanked herself!

Laughing cheerfully, she cried out excitedly, “I’m a naughty, naughty girl!”

The slap of her palm upon the flesh of her rear tingled a bit, but she wasn’t really hitting hard enough to truly hurt, and the noise it made was funny.

Plus, she felt that this was somehow naughtier than before.

There was only one cure for that sort of behaviour. More spanking!

Falling to the ground giggling, Mary wondered why she had got up in the first place.

Thinking hard on the matter, Mary began drumming her fingers on her stomach.

While she tried to discern the great mystery of why she had stood up in the first place, her fingers tapped their way lower, like a caterpillar inching its way along.

Oh! What was this then?

That had felt really good.

Peering down, Mary tried to get a good look between her legs. There was a ticklish spot there that she wanted to know about.

She could sort of see, but the angles were all wrong. She tried to fiddle around, but she kept tickling herself and that made it hard to concentrate.

Frowning profoundly, she began to bend over to try and get a better angle. Soon she was upside-down, with her butt in the air and her shoulders resting on the hard stone, with her head bent and trying to get a good look between her legs.

Inevitably, the awkward somersault went from slow motion to full speed in the blink of an eye.

Lying spread eagle on the stone of the lair, Mary looked up at the brilliant blue sky in a daze for a moment.

“Oh! Fluffy clouds! Look! That one looks like a giraffe!” She calls out to no one in particular.

After a few minutes of staring at the clouds, Mary notes that she is rather uncomfortable on the ground as sharp rocks kept poking her.

Sitting up, she then contemplates the profound mystery of why she was lying on the ground.

She was lying there because she fell over.

She fell over because she was in an awkward position.

She was in an awkward position because she wanted to get a good look at the ticklish spot between her legs and she had been unsatisfied by the other views.

Hmmm… quite the conundrum. She would just fall over if she tried to do that again.

There had to be a way.

Hmmm…

Oh! Eric would know. He was smart. He had also seen between other girl’s legs, so he must know about it.

Eric knew everything!

Wait… Eric!

She was supposed to heal him with her boobs!

Wait… wait one second… there had to be someway to fix all this…

She wanted Eric to help her with the ticklish bit… Eric was sick… if she healed him with her boobs… then he could help her with her problem!

Genius!

Getting back up, Mary had to spend another five minutes marvelling at her own butt before she remembered her original mission.

She really did have a fine butt.

Skipping over to Eric, because walking was not as much fun and didn’t make her boobs jiggle as much, Mary finds him resting comfortably in the shade.

Sitting down next to him, Mary suddenly realizes that she doesn’t know how to use the magical power of boobs! Oh the irony!

Pouting deeply, Mary places her chin on her fist and tries to work out what exactly to do.

Let’s see…

Boobs are fun.

Fun things are good for you.

Things that are good for you are good when you are sick.

But if you are too sick, you sleep a lot and thus can’t do fun things.

So…

So she would just have to wait for Eric to wake up and then shower him in boobs to make him feel better.

It was a sound plan.

For a few minutes, Mary was content to simply sit and watch Eric slowly breathe in and out, eagerly anticipating him waking up. But as time passed, the eager smile faded from Mary’s face.

“Come on! You’ve been sleeping all day lazy bones!” Mary whines, poking Eric in the side. When he just moans and shifts in his sleep, Mary’s frown deepens.

So she pokes him again.

She didn’t want to touch the wound on his side, it was icky looking. But everywhere else she poked was like hitting rock. She doubted she could get him to wake up just by poking him.

Tickling him maybe?

But he was so hard that she wondered if there was a ticklish spot on his body.

A sudden mischievous grin spread over Mary’s face.

Maybe Eric had a ticklish spot between his legs too?

Her mouth having gone dry, Mary glanced about her to make sure no one was looking. She then said quietly, “You’re not faking are you? You’re really asleep, right?”

After a few moments of steady breathing, Mary licked her dry lips and took another glance around before carefully moving forward on all fours, trying to not make a sound.

Pausing, she listened to herself and then retreated, taking a single step forward before retreating again. She did this several times before she was confident she was not making a sound.

This was a mission that demanded absolute sneakiness.

Having advanced silently until she was crouched down next to Eric, Mary had to fight to control her breathing. She was getting all excited, afraid of being caught, wondering what mysteries she would find under his loincloth.

Reaching out tentatively, she first carefully pulled away the blanket covering Eric up to his stomach. Then, with infinite caution, she took the edge of the flap of leather covering his front between two fingers and began to lift.

Struck by a sudden loss of patience, Mary threw up the loincloth, but thought better of it halfway through and thus retreated with a shriek and a squeal that soon degenerated into a fit of giggles.

Looking back, she frowned when she discovered that the flap of leather had fallen back into his original position.

“Phooey!” Mary declared before a fit of giggles returned and she said, “Well that was certainly naughty!”

After another time out for spanking, Mary managed to regain her composure. Well, mostly. She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Every time she tried to be all serious she found the action to be innately funny and thus she cracked up. So she stopped bothering.

After all, grinning madly from ear to ear couldn’t affect her ability to be stealthy, could it?

Repeating her cautious and quiet approach, Mary made it over to Eric without waking him up.

Grasping the edge of his loincloth again, Mary slowly lifted it up with the care of a treasure hunter opening the lid to a chest full of gold coins.

Her eyes wide and eager, Mary beheld that which Eric kept secret and was both delighted and unimpressed.

“Oh. So that’s what a man’s penis looks like,” she stated simply.

Letting the loincloth fall out of the way, Eric kneeled down and peered at the curious contraption hanging between Eric’s legs.

She poked it.

She immediately broke down giggling.

His balls jiggled!

That was hilarious!

Shaking her chest, Mary observed the jiggle of her boobs.

Flicking his balls, she observed their jiggle.

Contemplating the two for a few moments, she came to the conclusion that she preferred the jiggle of boobs. She would have to get Eric’s opinion on the matter when he woke up.

Wait…

Boobs…

Eric…

Oh yeah! She wanted to tickle him so that he would wake up so that he would have fun when she showered him in boobs so that he would get better and could tell her about the ticklish spot between her legs.

This plan was getting more complex by the minute!

Returning her attention to the thing dangling there, Mary could not hold back her mirth and burst out laughing again.

It was just so silly looking!

She flicked him again, and burst out laughing again.

At this point Eric had evidently had enough, as his penis and balls started to move and shift.

Curious, Mary moved her attention over to Eric’s face. Was he awake without telling her?

Something brushed her hand.

Shrieking and retreating, Mary looked around for the snake she was sure was near. She would smash that snake good for scaring her!

Instead she discovered that Eric’s penis was… was… bigger!

Mary watched as it slowly shrunk back down.

It was like a cobra it was! Rising up when disturbed before relaxing when the danger was past.

Slinking back with considerably more respect for this awesome force, Mary brushed her hand against it lightly before retreating.

Evidently this was enough to get a response, as it rose again before falling perhaps ten seconds later.

Fascinating.

Continuing to experiment, she found that light touches seemed to work best at getting a rise out of it.

Satisfied with that bit of knowledge, Mary decided to see what would happen if she touched it again after it rose.

As she suspected, it rose a bit more and stayed up longer. It also got bigger.

Rubbing gently, Mary was pleased when it stood straight up and then, again, just like a cobra, it flared its hood and out popped a funny looking top.

Clapping lightly at the impressive performance, Mary exclaimed, “Oooooooh! Aaaaaaah!”

Moving closer, she peered at this new version for a time, taking it all in before nodding and saying decisively, “It’s much bigger now!”

She had heard somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, that men liked to brag about the size of their penises. It wasn’t talk a proper lady should hear, but then again Mary was a naughty little girl, so it wasn’t like it mattered.

A sudden smile came over her face.

“It’s the biggest one in the world!” She cried out happily, clapping her hands together while squealing delightedly.

Gently using the tip of a finger to trace out one of the larger veins, Mary then adds on, “And it’s all for me!”

Giggling again at her scandalous statement, Mary wonders exactly what to do now.

It was supposed to go somewhere, of that she was sure. She just didn’t know where.

Hmmm…

Thinking back, Eric had evidently put his face between a woman’s legs before and used his tongue.

Was that where it was supposed to go?

Mary had heard another scandalous, improper conversation once about French ladies and the things they did.

Did that mean it was supposed to go in her mouth, or that it just could?

Running her finger up and down along its length, Mary considered what to do next.

Hmmm…

It was firm, but it didn’t feel like there was a bone or anything in there.

Was she supposed to bite it, chew on it?

Looking again, she shook her head. Maybe she was supposed to, but both those options sounded like they might hurt. Best wait for Eric to wake up and ask.

Oh, she had so many questions for him! Why wouldn’t he hurry up and wake up so she could ask them?

Continuing to play with it with the tips of her fingers, Mary scurried back again when it quivered and a bit of clear fluid leaked out the top.

Quivering with fear, Mary looked up at the wound on Eric’s side.

Had she hurt him?

Leaning in, she tapped her finger on the top. The fluid came away readily on her finger and felt a bit like some of the expensive liquid soaps her mother brought out for special occasions. It was both slippery, but clung to everything.

Examining it between her fingers, Mary sniffed it. Didn’t really smell like anything. A little odd, but nothing along the lines of the stench the stuff that came out of the wound made.

Sticking her fingers through the mouth hole on her mask, Mary took a taste.

Strange. More than a little bitter.

She preferred fruit.

Shrugging, she looked at Eric again. He seemed to be okay.

Peering at him intently, Mary wondered what he tasted like normally.

Sticking out her tongue, she discovered that the mask made such things a little difficult as she was afraid of getting splinters on her tongue or on Eric.

Oh well, just have to take it off.

Mary had her tongue half-way up Eric’s penis when the sudden realization of what she was doing hit her like a brick wall falling on her. She did not scream, did not run away. She simply put her tongue back in her mouth, backed away, stood up and then slowly walked away.

Eventually she found herself sitting staring wide eyed out at the gravely plain, knees hugged up against her chest. She didn’t feel shame or guilt, just a deep sense of being disturbed by how… easy it had been to behave that way.

She had never imagined that she had such… perversity… in her. And it scared her. What else was lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed?

Snorting with a laugh that died half-way through forming, she looked at the crude mask in her hands. She had wanted to throw it away as soon as she got clear of Eric, but her muscles had tensed up and she felt as if another hand was holding her back. While it was hard to accept, the mask was not to blame. She was the only one who could account for her actions.

Barely though. The longer she had the mask on, the more out of control she felt, less like herself and more like someone else. But it had felt good! Not just the touching, but in general. Not only did she feel completely free, but the world was brighter, things made sense. Oh, she was scatterbrained and easily distracted with the mask on, but that was because she was trying to think all thoughts at once. More so, even if it took time for her mind to get to where it was going, at least she got there! Normally she had a tendency to just give up when a problem posed itself.

Mary looked at the mask and knew she was the opposite of Eric. Eric’s mind was fragmented and he needed to exert absolute control to be effective. Mary’s mind was so constricted that she needed to become fragmented to slip outside of the bonds that kept her weak and useless.

Mary wondered if Eric found his self imposed tyranny or his madness more enjoyable. Probably the tyranny. He seemed in real pain the one time his mask had slipped. Then again, he had also seemed stark raving mad the one time his mask had slipped, so it was hard to tell. Maybe he liked being mad?

No… no, that seemed unlikely. If he liked being mad then he wouldn’t put so much effort into controlling it.

Mary looked at the mask again and sighed helplessly. How could she control this situation? How could she control herself when she was essentially trying to be as out of control as possible when she put on the mask?

In a darkly ironic manner, she realized that she would probably be able to figure out a solution if she had the mask on. The only trouble was remembering what she needed to do while in that state.

How had Eric done it? How had he imposed order on chaos like that? Did he go mad bit by bit while he was learning to control it, until he was a boiling over inside but calm and collected on the outside? Or did he simply break and then one of the pieces took over, for good or for ill?

She had to force herself to move. She had to force herself to release her arms about her legs stand to stand up. All she wanted to do was sit and stare dumbly out at the word, caught in endless loops of thought that did nothing to help her. Right now, there were only two people who could make things right: Eric, and her.

She was too afraid to let go again to try and figure things out, too afraid to think beyond the superficial. Eric had the experience she needed to help her get through this. But he was unconscious due to fever and infection. Right now the only option she saw was to help him recover so he could help her.

A part of her normally locked away managed to whisper that she had been trying to do exactly that before, and it had ended with her licking Eric in an inappropriate place.

She had no real rebuttal to that, so she just told that part of her to shut up for the moment.

Finding Eric still sleeping soundly, if still uncovered from before, Mary put a hand over her eyes before proceeding to blindly grope about for a moment and cover him back up. Once that was done, she took a look at his wound. Despite the hours that had gone by since she had first drained it out, it had not become nearly as inflamed as before. Apparently the stuff in those leaves was doing its job.

Giving him another dose of the tea, Mary settled in behind Eric, resting his head upon her lap. Just having him near was enough to calm her frazzled nerves. Despite his sickly state, Mary only had to run her finger across his skin to feel the strength hidden behind the feverish pallor. The fact that he was not dead after what he had done was proof enough that his frame contained a strength and endurance she could not match.

Yet.

Frowning, Mary wondered what that thought had meant. There was no way she could even come close to Eric’s strength. He was a man and she a woman. There was no comparison. Well, she supposed that dragging about all the things he needed her to move while his arms were incapacitated would make her a bit stronger eventually, but that was only temporary.

Right?

Looking him over, Mary felt an ambivalent expression come across her face as a frown and smile fought for real estate on her face. Eric could crack a walnut between his buttocks, a fact that made her jealous and want to drool at the same time.

Where had this butt thing come from?

With the midday approaching, she decided to nap on it, not wanting to move in the growing heat.

Her last thoughts were to wonder if the proximity of her breasts to Eric would help him heal.

[Sidewinder]

This chapter provided an interesting glimpse into Mary's mind, but I found it less entertaining than "Eric Vs the Dinosaurs."

I'm curious about this line, though.

They were a brilliant, emerald green on the top, but had what looked like black mould growing on the bottom.

Is the mold Penicillium, from which penicillin comes from?

[Academia Nut]

Definitely the same idea, possibly a related strain, although the behaviour is a bit different as the mold is living in a symbiotic relationship with a plant. Not the organism we know today, 65+ million years of evolution and genetic drift will guarantee that.

[LadyTevar]

...... She made The Mask, didn't she.

[Academia Nut]

More or less. Perhaps I should have been more clear as to what the "four curved lines" were, but they were horns. She was creating a outer physical manifestation of the demon from her dream out of the desire to find some way of slipping past the various psychological blocks she, rather rightly at times, feel are holding her back.

The results were rather more dramatic and rather more subtle than she initially imagined. Rereading her dream conversation with the demon will provide some clues as to the mind set she assumes when wearing her mask.

And I'm still debating whether or not to bring [++Spoiler deleted by order of the Inquisition++] into the story later. Could make for some interesting times.