Awakening

By Marc Cabot

"Awakening" is an erotic novella about a man who finds his fantasy has become reality - and has to find a way to make reality accept it.

A mysterious box, an even more mysterious stranger, and a serious wish made in jest have suddenly given David unimaginable power. Nice guys may finish last - but this nice guy is going to make the women he wants finish first and often. A word from him and they can't resist... not that they want to! He can have everything they can give, but what he wants is for them have everything they can take. He leaves them smiling with memories of incredible pleasure and no regrets.

But will the man who suddenly gets everything he ever wanted live happily ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unspeakable Publications
• Release date: Sep 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301074891

Marc Cabot

Hi, I'm Marc Cabot, author of the Dreams of Control series of erotic mind control books and other works.I started writing fiction because I had stories in my head that wouldn't let me rest. Hopefully, they'll do the same for you.

Book preview

Awakening

Marc Cabot

Copyright Marc Cabot 2011

Cover Image by unspeakabledreams.com. Used with permission.

Published by Unspeakable Publishing at Smashwords

A Note to the Reader...

This story was written before the tragic events of 9/11/2001, and so many of the things that occur during the air travel scene may seem implausible today. Please be assured that while they were slightly implausible at the time, they were well within the scope of ordinary artistic license when written. Your indulgence is appreciated. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

It began, ironically enough, with a trip to Salem, Massachusetts. Of course, everyone associates Salem with (ahem) witches. And of course, no one believes any more that the poor people who were hanged at Salem really were witches, or did magic. But what most people don't know is that Salem was once a great sailing port whose Yankee clipper ships made the trip to China and all the ports between. It was a very rich city, with goods from all over the world. They still do all right for themselves, too.

I was there on business, but my company is pretty laid back, and what time I could spare was my own. So I saw all the touristy things, and ended up walking along a very nice waterfront in the evening. It was early spring, still too cold for most tourists, and it was raining, which I don't mind but most people do. So I was all by myself when I tripped. That's always gratifying: if nobody saw it, I didn't do it.

I didn't fall, because I trip a lot, so I'm used to it. I don't pick my feet up more than a fraction of an inch when I walk (it makes less noise.) They hang up on things from time to time. I turned to see what I had tripped on, and saw a bit of wood sticking up out of the sand. Idly thinking it might be a nice bit of driftwood or something, a souvenir, I pushed at it with my foot. It didn't move. So I crouched down and pulled. It still didn't move. I dug out a bit of it, and saw that it was smooth and straight, a made thing. I scraped more sand away and discovered that it was a box, in the sand at an angle so the corner was sticking out. The wet sand was heavy but dug easily, so in a few minutes (I've got big hands) the box was uncovered and I pulled it out. It was a rectangle, six inches or so in the widest dimension, and the sand and the water had not been kind to it. The surface was weathered to a very dingy, dirty grey. It had a cleverly jointed lid that I couldn't get off - I figured it was swollen shut. I stuck it in the pocket of my raincoat and returned to the hotel. After a little dinner, I retrieved the box and studied it on the desk in my room.

I saw that the lid was meant to slide off, but was indeed swollen shut. Figuring that the wooden box was ruined anyway, I got out my pocketknife (Never leave home without your knife - you might run into an adventure and then where would you be?) and whittled away the sides. The wood, while dense, was old and came away without too much trouble. Soon the lid started to shift in its grooves, and I pulled it away from the box. Inside, damp but still recognizable, was a swath of fabric that felt and looked like silk.

Hmmm, I thought. Antique silk might be worth a bit to a collector or a museum. At the local museum, earlier in the day, I'd seen examples of Chinese goods brought back by Salem's merchant princes long ago, and they were very rare. I gently pulled the hank of fabric out, knowing that I might damage an antiquity, but hey, it was mine, and I wanted to see. I'm not a very patient person unless I have to be.

The fabric was wrapped around something – a little glass bottle. It looked like one of those artsy bottles you buy at a craft show, with a little metal stopper sealed onto it. I could see that something had long ago been stamped into the metal, but I couldn't make it out. The bottle didn't audibly slosh or rattle, but it felt heavier than it should. There was definitely something in there.

Well, you don't just find a bottle in a box and then leave it unopened: that's no way to behave. So out came the bottle opener blade on my knife. While the stopper was small - only a half-inch or so across - it had enough of a lip that the blade could grab hold. Carefully wrapping the bottle in the plastic from the ice bucket – whatever was in there might be something I didn't want on me – with a little prying and a few carefully selected obscenities, I had it open.

The instant the stopper was completely removed from the bottle, something happened. There was no flash of light, or puff of smoke, or anything like that, but it felt like there should have been. I heard the bedsprings creak, and I looked up.

There was a man sitting on the bed.

He was utterly nondescript. Clean-shaven, short black hair, a white shirt and blue jeans. He was looking at me with not much of an expression at all. I looked at the door. Still