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Mason locked the door and reset the security behind herself and Brutis. The dog shook himself, water flying off as he shed some of the rain from his fur. She laughed, then dried him off and he went to sit on the foot of her bed, falling asleep nearly instantly. Tired dog. He was so sweet. She let him sleep there, thinking how comfortable he looked, and took off her wet clothes changing into a sleep shirt.
Mason crawled into bed, but she couldn't sleep. She felt hot and cold inside, she shivered with restlessness. Not wanting to wake Brutis up, but knowing what she needed, she slid out of the bed again and went to the living room, curling herself up on the sofa and closing her eyes.
She didn't need this very often. No. But sometimes.. sometimes she just couldn't stand it anymore, and she needed relief. She allowed herself that much, just to go on with living. Despised it, but allowed it. Behind the curtain of her eyes, a familiar picture formed. A carefully anonymous figure, handsome physique, face that of no real man, knelt by her in mind's theater. As she touched herself, she envisioned his fingers, his mouth, in place of her hand.
She tried always to keep it some unnamed figure. Sometimes she couldn't stop it from being Derek; that hurt, but it was okay, Derek was beyond being hurt by her now. Safe, though his touch burned in her thoughts, painfully acute. But she tried her best to keep it nobody. Sometimes she called him that in the fantasy... "You're nobody," and he would bow his head accepting this namelessness. But not this time... a face formed that she knew, not intimately well, but well enough... a man not faraway at all as such things went, and, as she pushed toward release, breathing hard, she could not keep his image out of her thoughts.
"No... no... no! aaaahhhhhhhhhhh......." such sweet release. Better than she usually achieved, maybe it would hold her a bit longer. No, that was a vain hope... things were stirred in her now at the thought of him, and she had no choice but to think of him, it was a responsibility. Her new security system, her dog... in so short a time he'd created more changes in her existance than anyone since Lucille.
Lucille... there was a safer thought. She never wanted to think of her employer that way, but maybe if she indulged in reverie about the tender bliss of bloodgift... Mason drifted off to sleep, burying her face in the sofa cushion as though it were Lucille's neck, and she drinking her salt ambrosia. Though once sleep claimed her and dreams came, dreams, told their own tales.