Donate powerstone - for more advance chapter's.
Mike shut the back door softly behind him.
The silence of the house returned, but his mind was anything but calm. His breath came in shaky pulls. His hands were still trembling—partly from what he saw, and partly from the strange pulse of energy he felt coming from the book.
He stood still in the hallway for a moment.
The bedroom—the one where Selene and Leon lay tangled in lust—was just a few steps away. He could still hear faint whispers, faint sighs.
He turned and walked away, slowly, deliberately.
Back to his room.
He locked the door.
The lace panties he had stolen earlier were still tucked in his hoodie pocket. He pulled them out slowly and stared at them. He didn't understand himself anymore. What he was doing… what he was becoming.
But he didn't stop.
Instead, he sat down on his bed, the old mattress creaking under him, and placed the book in his lap. The cover still glowed faintly—like it had absorbed something out there in the dark. Or someone.
He opened it.
The pages flipped almost on their own, like the book was alive and eager.
Mike read the first line aloud, his voice low.
"Desire fuels the spark… but obsession opens the door."
He stared at the page. The words shimmered faintly, then sank into the paper. The text rearranged. More words surfaced.
"The one who watches, becomes the one who sees more. The one who listens, learns to control what is heard."
Mike ran his fingers over the strange symbols that followed. They weren't English. Not Latin either. They looked ancient—like they were never meant to be read by human eyes.
But somehow… he understood them.
"Are you teaching me, or using me?" he whispered.
A whisper replied—not from the room, but from inside him.
"You found me. That makes you worthy. Or dangerous. Or both."
His pulse spiked. He flipped another page.
This one had a title etched in dark ink:
Dream Infiltration – Level I
He stared at it. Beneath the title were a few sentences:
"Speak the name of the target. Visualize them. Touch an item connected to them. You will appear in their dream. Use caution—reality may blend."
Mike's eyes widened.
He glanced at the lace panties in his hand.
Althea.
Their maid.
She'd been working in the house for almost three years. She was beautiful, yes—long dark hair, smooth skin, always polite, always proper. But lately, Mike had been thinking of her more than he should. And now… now he had access.
"Althea," he whispered, lifting the lace fabric to his face. It still held her scent—faintly floral, like a lingering trail of perfume.
He placed the panties on the book, closed his eyes, and whispered again.
"Althea…"
His mind went dark.
The air shifted.
A pull—like falling backward into a tunnel—dragged him down.
Then—
He stood in a room.
But it wasn't his room. Or hers. It was foggy, with no walls. Just a soft white bed, endless floor, and warm, hazy light. And there—across the room—stood Althea.
She wore a simple white nightgown, translucent in the soft light. Her hair was loose, flowing down her back. She looked confused, her lips parted, her eyes searching the space.
Mike stepped forward. She didn't see him at first.
"Althea?" he said softly.
She turned, startled. Her eyes met his.
"Mike?" she asked, blinking. "What are you doing here? Where am I—?" You were 4 years old then how did you become more than 18 years old??
She looked around. "Am I… dreaming?"
Mike smiled slightly.
"Yes," he said. "You're dreaming."
Althea's eyes narrowed, unsure. "Then why do you feel… real?"
Mike stepped closer.
She took a step back.
"This is just a dream," he said gently. "I can leave, if you want me to…"
She paused.
And then something shifted in her gaze. The air between them thickened. Her body relaxed—but her eyes still held questions.
"Why are you here, Mike?" she asked again. "Did you… bring me into this?"
Mike tilted his head. "I wanted to talk. That's all. I wanted to see you without the rules."
Althea looked at him, then slowly walked toward him. Her bare feet made no sound on the dream-floor.
"You've changed lately," she said softly. "Your eyes… they weren't like this before."
Mike didn't answer.
He looked at her lips. The way she bit the lower one gently. The way her breath caught when she got closer. He didn't need to say anything.
He reached out.
His fingers brushed her arm.
She gasped—then didn't pull away.
The dream rippled slightly around them, like the world itself was reacting to the contact.
Althea stared at his hand.
"Mike… what are you doing?"
His voice came low, deep. Different from before.
"Whatever I want. In here… I can."
Her breathing quickened.
"Why do I feel like I can't move?" she whispered. "Like something's keeping me still…"
Mike leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
"Because I'm learning," he said. "And dreams… are the first step."
Althea's lips trembled.
The room darkened, just slightly.
And then—Mike stepped back.
He didn't push it.
Not yet.
Instead, he smiled.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Althea."
Then he turned, and whispered the reversal words the book had shown him earlier.
The world dissolved.
He woke up.
Back in his room.
The book lay open in front of him, the panties still resting atop the page. The air around him felt heavy, charged with something… unnatural.
He sat up slowly, blinking. Sweat on his forehead. A cold shiver down his spine.
But he was smiling.
He had entered her dream.
She had felt him.
And she didn't resist.
Not fully.
This was only the beginning.
The next chapter in the book was already glowing faintly, words starting to shift across the page.
Mike looked down and whispered, "What else can you teach me?"