The Archivist’s Apprentice- Sweet Dreams

A thick haze of smoke hung in the room, filling it with a sweet and tart smell of tobacco with fruity undertones. Arabella exhaled more smoke, then set down the long, slender pipe to gaze at the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Her study was vast, filled with books she never read, furnished with chairs nobody ever sat on. It was empty, wasted space. The most boring room of her Keep. Once it annoyed her so much that she made an effort to bring in some of her friends and ensured that they fucked on every piece of furniture available.

She reclined in her high-backed chair, cushioned lavishly in purple and bearing gold trim for the sake of looking impressive, though it was not as if anyone ever came in here to judge her choice in finery. The Lilim of Love’s Faire picked up a golden goblet encrusted with gems, and took a long, unsophisticated swig of wine. She wasn’t sure what kind was, just probably something expensive.

The paperwork seemed to tower above her desk, almost looming at her with the promise of dull, sluggish responsibility that wanted to eat time that could have otherwise been spent drinking, fucking, or otherwise being frittered away upon hedonistic pursuits. She heaved a great sigh, slumping in her chair a bit.

    “Something the matter, mistress?” Came a bright voice underneath the desk. Arabella looked down to see the cheery blue eyes of her pet werewolf looking up at Arabella from between her legs, having taken a brief respite from servicing her master. Arabella wore her silk robe, and nothing else, lounging around with it open, since she would hold no shame in the beautiful demonic body that was the calling card of her demonic heritage. She smiled, reaching down to scratch between the ears of her faithful pet. “Nothing, Lucie.” The lilim cooed. “Just that paperwork is the bane of my existence… thankfully I have your skilled tongue to help me throught it.” She added with a lascivious little chuckle.

    The werewolf nodded, “Of course, Mistress. Anything to help!” She said before getting back to work. Arabella felt the warm tongue once again being dragged across her most sensitive spots. Lucie had been her pet for at least two years now, and definitely knew Arabella’s weaknesses. She knew the perfect pace, pressure, and places to drag her long, canine tongue and grinned little open-mouthed smiles to herself whenever she felt Arabella tense up as another gentle orgasm washed over the Lilim of Love’s Faire.

    Arabella caught her breath as she came down from her latest orgasm, her head propped up on one arm resting on the chair. She brushed her disheveled silvery hair out from in front of her face, before she disinterestedly reached out to pick up the topmost piece of paper from the looming pile. She let her gaze wander lazy through the words. “A request from Bianca? That’s odd…”

    While her pet continued to lap up every honeyed drop from between her lower lips, Arabella’s mind focused inward, the machinations and gears turning. The paper was a request for another apprentice, apparently the last one had found a husband and cancelled her apprenticeship. Arabella thought long and hard before picking up a brightly colored purple quill and penned the word ‘Denied’ across the paper. That was the fifth monster apprentice that had quit after finding a husband. No more monsters, thought Arabella, a plan forming in her mind. She reached for another piece of paper, this one blank, and set about to writing, smearing the ink a bit as the latest of her orgasms caused her to grip the quill too tightly.

When she was done scratching away at the paper, she allowed the ink to dry before folding it up and sealing the letter with her signet ring and some candle wax. She called in a servant, then handed it over. “Get one of my couriers to deliver this to the Historian’s Society in Lestrath.” She said. With that handled, Arabella sat back into her chair and dozed for a bit. One down, she thought, and began losing herself in the inexhaustible attentions of Lucie’s tongue.


***From The Journal Of Lysander, Apprentice to The Royal Archivist***


The job of an Archivist is not usually purported to be a hard one, especially the life of an apprentice like me. I would have been one to agree, at least at the start of my tutelage. The movers and shakers of the world are often far more impressive than the ones who write down the movements and shakes. However, I always thought of my job was a necessary one, even if it wasn’t as glamorous. After all, who would learn from history if it was never written down? Besides, the scratching of a quill and the splash of ink was far safer than the song of swords and magic.

    As far as hardships go, I would have to say that the most difficult one of my life had been learning how to read. Or rather, it had been the hardest before my masters gifted me with the crystalline lenses that stopped words from swimming in my vision. After that, I felt the life of an archivist’s apprentice was a life of quiet dignity. That is, until I learned of a far greater challenge.

    During my apprenticeship with the Historians, a call had come in from a nearby Demon Realm. It wasn’t as if we had never had contact with demons. Demonic trade was common in this area of the world. I had grown up in Lestrath before joining the local cell of Historians, but this was the first time we had direct correspondence with the so-called denizens of Love’s Faire. Of course, I hadn’t thought much of the message, other than the message bearer was quite attractive. I went about my day copywriting some old books that were getting too decrepit to read and starting to disintegrate with age. That is, until I was called to the Headmaster’s study.

The exact details of the message were not revealed to me, only that I was to pack my things and ride back with the courier. “Lysander, my boy.” The old master had said. “You have been chosen for a great honor. You will ride into Love’s Fair, to be apprenticed at one of the greatest Archivists of our time.” I did not know what to think at the time. Part of me was excited to be chosen, part of me was scared to venture forth into a Demon Realm alone. I packed my bags and traveled back to Love’s Fair with the demonic courier. We talked little, for the way she kept looking at me unnerved me to silence. That was five weeks ago. I had never seen a demon before my current Master, Madame Bianca, and quickly realized how hard my life was going to become.

    Archivist Bianca was the most beautiful creature I had ever witnessed on this earth. Granted, I will admit that she was more female company than I ever had, but I don’t consider myself lacking in restraint. I challenge any would-be archivist to try and get any work done with that demon around. She was apparently a demon called a hakutaku, and while I had never before thought I could be so entranced by a woman’s charm, I soon realized that there were few things I would not do just for the chance to spend time with her. She seemed to exude this comforting allure.

I had heard of demons being overt and predatory. That they didn’t wear clothes, or that the clothes they wore only served to entice and entrap. It was almost strange then, that Miss Bianca wore clothes less racy than some humans I had seen, going about in a white sweater and a long purple skirt. Oddly frumpy wear for what one would consider a sexual predator, and surely enough the outfit would appear so on a less gorgeous creature. Not Madame Bianca, though. Her loose-fitting garments seemed to hug the curvature of her form, caressing her alabaster skin in ways that made me shake with jealousy. Never before had I thought to be envious of a sweater.

    Perhaps my plight had become evident by now, but it was Archivist Bianca that made my life a challenge. Too often had I needed to excuse myself to take care of my baser instincts brought on by the unearthly beauty of my current Master.I often convinced myself that it wasn’t an indulgence, but a necessary occurrence of my life to ensure my mind was sharp at all times. Being distracted by Miss Bianca’s form often caused my thoughts to wander and the quality of my work to suffer. Unfortunately, such desires seemed to only strengthen with time, and my sneaking away grew more frequent. So often, in fact, that Miss Bianca soon became curious.

“Are you quite all right?” came the lyrical voice of my master mere seconds after I had. Red-faced, and so out of breath that I was panting, I only just managed to contain my dignity as Miss Bianca came around the bookshelf. I had stolen away for another bout of self gratification, brought on by a sideways glance and a smile, and thoughts of how those bright purple eyes might smile back at me bent over my writing desk. I thanked the heavens that by virtue of her race, Miss Bianca’s feet ended in hooves, allowing me to track her around the room by sound.

    “Never better.” I said in utmost honesty, crumpling a sheet of paper in my hand behind me in an effort to wipe away the sticky dredges and hide the damning evidence of my effluence. I stowed the telltale paper in my robe pocket, catching my breath.

    “You look flushed.” Said my master. “I do hope you are not falling ill.” Despite her apparent concern, her face never left the warm, smiling expression I had only ever known her to wear. Even when her face was neutral, her lips bore the hint that the slightest occurrence would curl them into a smile. I often wondered if it was in her to not smile. Of course, she always made such notes about my absences, and I wondered if her smile knew more than she let on. If she did know, how MUCH did she know…

    “No, Miss Bianca.” I asserted, determined to make as little deal of the matter as possible. “I was simply doing some cataloguing…” I said, absentmindedly reaching for a tome off of the nearby shelf. I looked it over in my hand, and the title read ‘Sweet Dreams.’ I had never seen this one before. I opened the pages curiously, momentarily forgetting my attempt to weave a convincing excuse. “…Miss Bianca, there are no words in this book.” I said after a length.

    She took the tome from me. “That is because these are more than mere books.” She said. It took me a moment to register her meaning, for I had never imagined the great Archivist Bianca to use the words ‘mere’ and ‘book’ right next to one another. “They are experiences.” She continued.

“Experiences?” I asked.

She smiled that smile of hers, “Sometimes words cannot express the true feeling of what they are trying to convey.” She placed a hand on the book. “These are my attempts at doing just that.”

    I was at a loss. I knew what the words meant in an individual context, but Miss Bianca seemed to hint at some deeper meaning. “I am not sure I understand.”

“Let me show you.”

    There was a flare of energy, and the world went dark. Words spun around me, at least, I thought they were words. They blurred and became pictures. Sensations. A voice in my head. Next thing I knew, I was not as I was.



Sweet Dreams


From the Memories of Mason, the Horse Breeder.


The dreams came again.

She, came again.

As before, clad in silks and smelling of blackberries and orchids. She appears to me in the night, and fills my dreams with such delectable pleasure. She shows me things a simple horse breeder has no right to see, no right to experience. Life as a noble, as a King. As an adventurer, a sailor, or even a quiet existence as a happy father and husband. A thousand lifetimes I feel I have lived in my dreams. Past lives? I do not think so.

    The gatekeeper to my dreams is lovely, black hair with dark blue eyes that seem to peer into the depths of my very soul. I do not think there has been a night in recent memory where she did not visit me as I slept. She shows me such wonders that I almost wish to never wake, yet I always do, back in my hovel, back to my horses.

    The life of a simple horse breeder is not without merit. I am proud of my craft, and my life. My horses fetch far more than a fair price, and my name is respected among those who know horses. How though, could this life compared to the ones I live in my sleep? Nowadays I work tirelessly through the day, throwing myself into my chores so that I may exhaust myself to the last, and find sleep that much sooner. I wake every day with renewed vigor, stronger and more durable. It gets harder and harder to exhaust myself fully, but I keep trying. Such is my desire to dream again. To see her another time.

    Eventually, I found myself resenting her nightly visits. What cruel temptress was this, to show me such splendors, such things I could never have in the waking world? Perhaps I should have counted my blessings, my nights were restful, and my body was stronger than ever. No, I could not let my nightly visitor keep taunting me with what could never be.

    I sought the local Order priest, who merely told me to engage in evening cleansing rituals before I slept. I did, and they did nothing to deter my visitor’s twilight rendezvous. Perhaps it was Fate that chanced a wanderer to pass by one day. Perhaps it was just luck, or coincidence. I do remember seeing the figure in the floral dress walking down the road. She wore a sun-hat, and the widest, cheeriest smile I had ever seen in a traveler. There was something… off about her. Off in a way that made me think of the woman from my dreams, though for the life of me I could not imagine why. My nightly visitor had hair black as night, and eyes of deep blue. This woman had hair white as snow, and eyes red as coals. I had never seen someone with red eyes before. I figured she had to be one of those mages from The Order.

    I offered to buy the thirsty traveler a drink, and she did not turn down the prospect of free ale. I was compelled to tell her of my nightly visitor, and inquired if she had heard or seen anything like it in her travels. To my surprise, the woman laughed. She almost spilled her drink from laughter, such was her mirth.

    “You’re in luck! I’ve heard of something like that.” She said, causing my heart to almost skip a beat. At last, I would have my answers. “How much do you know about demons?” She asked. I shook my head.

“Uh, nothing, really.” I said, know little of the matter. “I mean, everyone’s heard of them. Dangerous monsters that lurk in the shadowy places of the world, eating people.”

    The stranger listened to my words, setting her mug down after a length. She took a deep breath, as if trying to carefully choose her words. “There are many kinds of demon, and they’re not just in the shadowy places of the world.” She said, waggling a finger at me. “You seem to be getting visits from a certain kind that visits dreams and sips on your spirit’s mana.”

    I blinked, confused. “That can’t be right. I’m no mage.” I said. She shook her head. “You don’t have to be a mage to have mana. All souls contain mana.”

I thought about her words, unable to speak as this information sunk in. That was why it showed me such wondrous things. It had tricked me into wanting to sleep so much, leaving myself vulnerable to its influence. “…How?” I asked with a dry throat, barely able to make words. “How do I fight it?”

    The woman laughed again, pushing the last of her ale towards me. My throat must have sounded as parched as it felt. “Dream demons only have power over you if you’re asleep.” She said. “Simply pretend to be asleep, and you can catch it pretty easily.” The woman then smiled wide, almost unnervingly. “Then you can make it do all sorts of things~”

    There was something incredibly off-putting about the way she said that. I payed her tone little mind, as I wouldn’t even try  to twist the demon and use its power for personal gain. Everything about that idea sounded like it could end badly. No, I would kill it and be free of it forever. I thanked the woman in white and bought her another mug of ale before giving her enough coin to pay for a night’s rest at the inn. It was the least I could do.

    That night, I prepared. I’d hid all manner of implements around my hovel, a weapon in every corner to be ready for whatever evil the night would bring. I got my sleep early in the day, awakening at twilight. I did not want to accidentally fall asleep and be victimized once again. No,  this time I would have the upper hand. I grabbed a knife, and lay down on my straw mattress. I pulled my blanket over my head, and waited.

    The wait was long, perhaps made longer by my anticipation. I found myself worried at every sound; every creak of the house became some manner of ill portent. My heart raced when I finally heard it, the sound of hooves. Not unlike a horse, but no horse ever trod that softly, or that close to my bed. I lay there, waiting for the demon to get close enough to lunge at with the knife. The footsteps drew ever closer, sounding exactly like soft hoofbeats. Images of red devils raced through my mind, and I gripped my knife tighter. Then I froze.

    A soft voice rang out in the quiet air of the night. “I wonder what sweet dreams we’ll have tonight…” It cooed sweetly, before something snaked under my blanket. I had expected teeth or claws to make their way to my neck, though I admit I knew nothing of how a dream demon fed. What caught me off guard was a soft hand slipping under my blanket, over my trousers, and sliding toward my manhood.

    Alarm overcame shock and I jumped up from my bed with my mightiest war cry, holding my knife out. I stopped myself from driving it into the creature’s neck when I realized that it was alarmingly human-looking. She cried out in alarm as I did, and stood shivering as I brandished the knife at her, her eyes misty as if she might burst into tears. We stood there in silence for a few heartbeats, frozen in time. I saw her, the woman from my dreams. Well, not exactly the woman from my dreams, but there was a resemblance. Her hair and her eyes were the same, but she was decidedly less curvaceous. For one thing, the woman in my dreams did not have the lower body of a horse.

    The trembling creature before me ended her resemblance to a human from the waist down. Instead of two legs, her abdomen rested upon a blue-haired equine body with ghostly flames above the hooves. The creature continued to look at me in wide-eyed fear as I stood there, knife in hand. In her hands was clutched some sort of ornate scythe. More silence dragged on until I grew uncomfortable enough to break it.

    “What are you doing!?” I demanded, shaking my knife. Not the best thing I could have said, but such a shock I was in, I could think of nothing better. Sure, she had a scythe, but she clutched it to her chest almost defensively. I was expecting to confront a dream devil, but instead I was face to face with this… girl. “You’re the dream demon, aren’t you?”

    The girl continued to tremble as she made motions with her mouth as if to speak, but seemingly could not find words. The effect was as if watching a large fish try to breathe air. “Answer me!” I yelled, though it was not as full of conviction as I meant it to be. I found myself unable to be angry, such a pitiful sight was this demon girl.

“Yes!” She squeaked, nodding frantically. “I’m your nightmare!”

“Nightmare?” I asked. Was that what those dreams were supposed to be? Nightmares? My dreams had been rather pleasant to my memory. Was that what demons considered nightmares? The girl nodded, “Yes.”

I narrowed my eyes, remembering my conversation with the wanderer. “So you’ve been drinking my soul while I slept!?”

“Yes!” She said quickly, her eyes never leaving the knife I still held at her.

“And touching me in weird places!?” I continued yelling, if only to assure myself of my dominant position. I had expected a fight, instead I get this quivering mess. She nodded and squeaked again in retort.

    “Is that what you do? Just go into men’s dreams and fondle them while they sleep?” I asked, moving from the bed to stand in front of her. She seemed scared of the knife, which was odd considering she was a dream demon. Not to mention she had a scythe in her hands. Still, she made not the slightest indication that she knew that she held a weapon. Maybe some magic prevented her from using it? I hadn’t expected such a simple tool as my knife to scare a demon. Then again, the wanderer did say her power was only in dreams. She shook her head no, which surprised me.

    I blinked a few times, before asking “No? What do you mean no?”

“Not men. Just you…” She said, looking away from the knife. Or me. Possibly both.

“Me? Why me?” I asked. She said nothing. “You like torturing people with visions of things that they can never have?” I said, growing angrier. She shook her head, looking back to me. “No, that’s not it at all!”

“Then what is it?” I demanded.

“I wanted to show you how happy we could be together!” She blurted out, then seemed to take a step back, covering her mouth with her hands.

    I blinked even more, flabbergasted. “You what?” I asked after a length. “You want to… be with me? Why?” She looked away again.

“I saw you…” She said, still not looking at me. “You were kind to your horses. You took care of them. So I wanted to see your dreams. They were bright and colorful. Then I smelled your soul, it was strong and healthy…”

    “And you touched me because…?” I asked, eyeing her warily. For some reason, I wanted to trust her. She did not seem to be lying, but of course, she WAS a demon. The wanderer said she had no power, and the wanderer had been right about everything else. “Umm… ahem.” She began, nervously. “Spirit energy is mostly concentrated in… ahh…”

    She didn’t seem to be able to complete the sentence, and merely pointed at my crotch. Gears clicked in my head, and suddenly I knew. “You’ve been raping me in my sleep!?” I yelled, affronted.

    “I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself!” She protested, throwing her hands up. I continued to make a show of my rage, though in reality, I couldn’t be too mad. It wasn’t as if I had much female company in my work as a horse breeder. How many times in my waking life did I fantasize about the woman in my dreams. Sure, the reality was far removed from that fantasy, but part of me still felt betrayed that I had been tricked.

    Perhaps it was the fact that this pitiful creature had taken advantage of me so, or some hidden smoke from the ethereal flames addled my mind. I found myself thinking the same carnal thoughts I had thought about my nightly visitor. It was as if all of that unrepressed tension directed at a ghostly visage in my dreams, now had a focus. She wasn’t repulsive, as I had expected from a demon. Her features looked soft, and enticing. As I took a deep breath, I remembered the smell in the air from my dreams. Blackberries, and orchids.

    I walked around her in a wide circle. Her gaze followed me until I was behind her and she could not turn any further. “What are you doing!?” She asked, alarmed as I disappeared from her peripherals. The small room did not allow her to turn easily. She squeaked in protest as I slid the blade under her tail. Her leg twitched as if to kick, “Don’t you dare.” I said sternly, and she ceased her fidgeting. In my mind I heard the wanderer, ‘Then you can make it do all sorts of things~’

    I slowly lifted her blue tail. “W-What are you doing!?” She demanded again. “Don’t just look there!”

“Only taking some payback.” I said, looking at her rear. As a horse breeder, I knew how to interpret the signs. The demon was winking, and dripping. The tangy scent caught my nose and didn’t let go. I felt myself suddenly grow very hot, and my pants became uncomfortably tight. I looked up, and the fear in her purple eyes only seemed to spur me on. “Payback?” she asked, hints of delicious confusion in her voice.

    I wasn’t aware of the conscious decision to undo my trousers and slide them down, I felt like a beast possessed. I had heard The Order teachings and sermons, of how dangerous demons were and how their influence could drive a man insane. At this point I flung myself eagerly into insanity as I moved her tail out of the way once more before stepping up. I was immensely grateful that she seemed to be almost the perfect height as I jut my hips forward and my length rubbed the outside of her glistening lips.

    She seemed to go rigid, taking a sharp breath as my tip kissed her entrance, making little squeaking noises that I could not tell if they were protests or encouragement. I don’t think I cared at that point. The sight, the smell, the warm feel of her outer folds against the admittedly neglected tip of my length drove me mad with lust, and I pressed forward without any more ceremony.

    There was a little resistance, but as I pressed more of my weight forward, my cock suddenly slid its length into her depths, the walls of her sex slippery with her arousal. She gasped in pleasure at the quick invader, spurring me on to hilt myself into her. My hips met her plump ass with an unrepentant squelch of fluid. Sinking myself so deep into her had displaced the accumulating aquae, sending it leaving a trickle down my legs that grew almost chilly as the air hit it. I payed the chill little mind, such was the warmth currently enveloping the entirety of my cock, which pulsed with my desire to claim the demonic quim I had captured.

    For her part, she continued to quiver, her legs shaking in an apparent attempt to hold herself up. The fact that I could make a demon tremble like a blushing maiden seemed to only add fuel to the growing fire that was whatever had taken hold of my senses. I grabbed her equine hips and started thrusting. She started to cry out, moans of “Ah! Ahhn!” Only serving as encouragement to my bestial state. Her sodden depths continued to squelch, filling the room with clear evidence of my claim to her. Her walls clenched either in effort to keep me in, or keep me out. It didn’t matter, for I relented to neither in my frenzied thrusting, removing my length to the tip only to drive it back in at my discretion.

    In my mind’s perception, she changed. At some point, lost in my fervent fucking of her, she went from dangerous demon who I should be wary of, to heated bitch in need of a good breeding. I lost count of how long I took my pleasure before my orgasm started to creep up on me. I started to pant as my breath came shorter. Her cries took on the rhythm of my thrusts, though I had paid little attention to her. She may have come once, many times, or not at all. I didn’t think much of it.

    Instead I concentrated on my own pleasure, and with one final thrust, I grabbed her tail and yanked as hard as I could. A sudden cry of surprise rang out as the demon clearly did not expect this. She was surprisingly light for someone with an equine stature, and I was easily able to pull her ass toward me as I thrust with everything I had.

    I saw spots in my vision as I was driven over the edge of my orgasm. Deep, panting groans escaped my lips as my cock twitched inside of her velvety depths, unloading wave after wave of the biggest orgasm I had ever achieved in my life. I maintained my grip on her tail, not letting her move away. I kept her impaled on my rod until I was done pumping every last drop of hot seed into her equine belly. Did demons get pregnant? I didn’t care. My only thought was leaving this demonic slag with as much of myself as would fit in her hellish womb.

    As my vision seemed to swim back into focus, I noticed something odd. There was a look of absolute bliss in her eyes, which were fixated on the ceiling with her hands clutching her scythe so hard her knuckles were white. Her mouth hung in an open smile, and she seemed positively dazed. A bit of male pride swelled within me, but I realized that the demon wouldn’t be stunned at my prowess for too long.

    “Then you can make it do all sorts of things~” the wanderer’s voice echoed in my head. Those words rose up from the depths of my mind like seeds springing forth as mighty oaks, soaring into the clouds and causing ideas to form. I grinned to myself, before leaving the room and heading to the stables.

    When I returned, she seemed to be gaining some of her wits back, looking to me with a warm, distant curiosity. More pride of my sexual prowess welled within me, for I did not know about demons and their sensitivity to male energy and merely took her reactions as compliments to my technique. Had I known the truth of the matter, I doubt I would have done any different.

Before she could gain her senses back fully, I hooked up the bit and bridle I had retrieved from the stables. It hung on her a bit awkwardly. As equine as she was, she still wasn’t completely the right shape for it. It mattered little, as the action seemed to spur her back to full consciousness rather quickly. She seemed to look at me worried, before I held up the lead, showing her that I was in control. She looked down, in apparent understanding. I laughed.

I don’t know why I laughed, perhaps it was simply the feeling I had, drunk with power over this otherworldly monster. I noticed that I had grown hard again, and walked around to her backside once more. This time there was no resistance as I plowed back into her sex, sinking back into depths that would come to know me quite well.

Feeling devious, I yanked the bridle backward, pulling the nightmare girl onto me. It felt good, and her surprised cry was music to my ears. I eased up the tension, and she leaned forward. Before her bottom could slide off of my cock, I yanked again. I kept up the cycle of easing and yanking, forcing the nightmare to fuck herself on my cock until I unloaded another torrent of seed into her equine belly.

That set the tone for the rest of the night, for I did not relent. I fucked the demon girl until the sun rose and I started the day feeling more refreshed than I ever had. I left her in my room, collapsed onto my straw mattress, dripping with so much of my cum that I wondered if I had just ensured myself as the father of a demonic foal. Ah well, it didn’t matter.

That was the last time I ever thought of her as my nightly visitor. This was only because she joined my life during the waking hours as well. By day she was my constant companion, by evening my personal breeding mare. My dreams were never visited again by the curvaceous woman, but instead by the nightmare, no longer needing to disguise herself to show me the wonders within dreams. Dreams that were sweet, ever after.




    The world melted into colorful blurs and whirled around me until I found myself once again standing in the Library staring at a book with blank pages. I felt an intense sensation of vertigo before I was caught mid-fall from Miss Bianca. I managed to keep hold of the book, but I did not move to stand on my own, so lost in her embrace that I felt I had to try and make this moment last for eternity. Her skin was soft and smooth, almost making her sweater seem like sandpaper by comparison. Her scent filled my head with old books, beeswax candles, and the coffee she took in the mornings. “Oh dear.” She said, her voice sounding as lyrical to me as it always had. “I guess the first time can be a little draining.” She continued as I relished in the concerned tone she had.

    Truth be told, I could walk after a few moments, but I allowed her to help me back to the chair of my writing desk before I pried myself out of her embrace. I smiled and thanked her as she moved to fetch me some water. I watched her gently swaying hips while she left. Was she swaying them on purpose? I shook my head, my eyes wandering back to the book in my hands. Experiences?

    Miss Bianca’s words echoed in my head as I looked back to the shelf I had pulled Sweet Dreams from. There were many others, and it had all felt so real. I looked back to the book in my hands. I would have to study more of these… preferably with Miss Bianca right by me to catch in case I get dizzy again.

    I set the book on the table, and eagerly awaited her return.


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9 thoughts on “The Archivist’s Apprentice- Sweet Dreams

  1. Even if it was >horsepussy I enjoyed this, more than I thought I would with the intro as it was.

    That feels like as good a place as any to start. I flat out didn’t enjoy the intro. The lilim is a peasant, that about sums up my feelings about her. The kinkiness of the pet play, and the eroticism of a woman getting serviced as she works was pretty effective though.

    Lysander’s bit… His voice works. It clearly shows how bookish he is. So I don’t think its particularly fair to call it out for being pedantic or that the pacing is a little… Eh. Its exposition and framing, and it works well. I more or less thought Lysander’s bits are ok. I think that, and this holds true for all of this, that if you were to cut down on the giant paragraph breaks, then all hat eead white space won’t cut up your pace so much.

    The truly successful part, is the dream/book sequence, and it seems to be the part you enjoyed writing the most. The pacing is great, the characterisation on point, and the sex was really hot. Even if I have a slight reservation on that point that I’ll touch on later. I thought the kinkiness of the sex here was really well done, as was the passion of the husband(ry-er). The smut was good! Thats not an easy feat.

    Over all, apart from some issues in length, and overall pacing, I thought this was successful, and a pretty enjoyable read.

    Which brings me to my final reservation. Pretty much all the sex in this story came through the lens of bestiality, more or less. Its all canine tongues, and equine bodies. I mean, if thats what turns you on, thats fine. Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks right? But if thats not the angle you wanted, then you should consider the connotations of pet-play and focusing on the animal nature of monstrous girls at the same time.

    1. First I want to say thank you for reading and, feedback is always appreciated. On the point of the whitespace, I’ll really never understand how TFT always manages to add space in between the paragraphs. It always does it whenever I copy over from my word processor. Anyway, I’ve gone back and edited down so there’ not such huge breaks, because I quite literally always forget about it.

      As for the more bestial tone of this piece, I would say it’s intentional. Considering the nature of certain monsters, IE >HORSEPUSSY, I wanted to focus on something… I suppose the most appropriate word would be “primal.” You don’t have to look very hard to find stories that feature, for a lack of a better word, “cosplay tier” interaction. I figured if someone was reading a piece about Nightmares and horsepussy, they weren’t averse to the more animal aspects of monstergirl smut, and that is what I attempted to deliver. You’re right, it’s not going to be up everyone’s alley, but aspects of bestiality have always been lurking within the realms of the monstergirl lore. I mean, Wonderland canonically has a tea that turns men into large rape dogs. It’s rather hard to write a monster like Nightmare without delving into at least pseudo-bestiality (Even if KC also states that tauric monsters can have a frontgina if you’re into that). My thoughts were that people uncomfortable with venturing that close to bestiality simply wouldn’t read a piece tagged HORSEPUSSY.

      Also, I’m not understanding what you mean when you call the lilim a peasant. Care to elaborate?

      1. If you’re aware, and that’s what you wanted to aim for, then you did well. Like I said, the passion, or the primal nature of the sex as you put it, really came through and it was super sexy.

        I mean… She has no sense of class or taste. She seems woefully tedious. She’s literally the type who’d glug Grange like it was Fruity Lexia.

        1. Hah, you pretty much hit the nail on the head with that. I try to think of Arabella as a bored, spoiled hedonist. She’s a lilim, so she’s grown up as essentially demonic royalty. She’s always had the best of the best, so she doesn’t really appreciate any of it. She’s only shown up as a background character in three of my stories, so there’s never been much “screentime” to really delve into her thought processes, but her character is always looking for something fun to do. Hence her thorough disapproval of things like mountains of boring paperwork. Maybe one day I’ll have enough inspiration to give her some of the spotlight, but lilims are rather hard to let take center stage, because it seems the race almost by design are giant mary sue magnets.

  2. Hey, Grub! I, being a fan of Nightmares (still no word on >HORSEPUSSY), I loved this story. But if you manage to make this into another series, please give it a proper ending! Blood and Boned, Adrift- all stories that don’t have proper endings! Please do this for me, please! I beg of yoooooouuuu!

    1. Heya! I’m glad to hear you enjoyed the story, and I can say that I do plan on delving into more “experiences” via the Archivist’s Apprentice. While it may be some time before inspiration points me back at Nightmare, I do plan on Lysander and Bianca to crack open more stories. As for Blood and Boned, it is far from over, I can assure you!

  3. A Horse is a horse, of course, of course.
    And you can never have sexual intercourse with a horse, of course.
    Unless of course, the horse of course, is the infamous Mister Ed!
    (Oh Wilburrrrr! You’re so biiiigggg!)

    Nice books, unfortunately one will never see such books upon the shelves of my local library.

    So, do Nightmares have one or two vagina?

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