Obsidian dreams, p.1
Obsidian Dreams, page 1
OBSIDIAN DREAMS
WHAT’S YOUR DEEPEST DESIRE?
A. RIEBOLD
This book is a work of fiction, the names, character, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organization is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Ashley Riebold - Indigo Owl Press
All rights reserved.
No artificial intelligence was used in the creation of this work of fiction.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without prior written permission of the author.
NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the authors’ [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
Permission requests can be sent via email to: ariebold.author@gmail.com
Cover Design by Avery Daisy Book Design
Be unapologetic about who you are and what you want. You are a Goddess of lust and desire and deserve to be worshipped like the Goddess you are…
TRIGGER WARNINGS
This will be your only trigger warning. The following come in varying degrees. I decided to include them all, no matter how small, just in case.
CNC - Including Rape Play
Abduction
Knife Play
Blood Play
Impact Play
Breath Play
Edging
Bondage
Blindfolds
Masks
Breeding
Degradation
Primal Play
Somnophilia
MFMM Sex
PROLOGUE
Halloween - Friday Night
Taking slow, deliberate breaths, I crouch behind a tree, trying to steady the wild beating of my heart. The Halloween night air is thick with the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke, a reminder that this isn’t just any night. I thought fear would consume me. Instead, it's the adrenaline and pure excitement that pulses through my veins. And something else—arousal. I can't even remember the last time I felt this turned on.
Leaning my head back against the rough bark, I inhale deeply, the cool autumn air a welcome contrast to the warmth flooding my body. The last remnants of summer have finally given way, leaving the night refreshingly crisp. Despite wearing nothing but a matching black lace set, I feel warm—warm with anticipation.
I shift slightly, the lace brushing against my skin, heightening my awareness of every sensation. The anticipation is nearly unbearable, a tight coil of need winding inside me. I can’t stay hidden forever, and part of me doesn’t want to. The thrill is in the chase, but what comes after… that’s what I crave.
Another deep breath, and I push myself up from my crouch, peering around the tree. The full moon, brighter and more menacing on this Halloween night, casts long shadows, turning the woods into a labyrinth of dark shapes and hidden corners. I know they’re close—I can almost feel their eyes on me, watching, waiting.
A rustle nearby makes my pulse spike. I bite my lip, holding back a gasp as I catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows. One of them is near, closer than I expected. My heart races, but it’s not fear that drives it—it’s the intoxicating blend of excitement and desire that courses through me.
Without thinking, I take off running again, the cool air whipping against my skin. I’m not running to escape—I’m running to be caught.
1
October 1st
The sunlight streaming through the cafe window is too bright, too cheerful for how I feel inside. I stir my coffee absently, watching the cream swirl into the dark liquid, trying to ignore the dull ache of yet another disappointing night. Across from me, my best friend Lena practically glows, her newlywed happiness radiating off her in waves. I envy it—envy her. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
“So, how was last night?” Lena asks, raising an eyebrow as she sips her iced tea. There’s a hint of mischief in her voice, like she already knows the answer.
I let out a long, frustrated sigh, dropping the spoon into my cup with a clatter. “It was… I don’t even know how to describe it. Boring? Awkward? Pointless?”
Lena’s brow furrows in concern. “That bad?”
“Worse,” I groan, leaning back in my chair. “He seemed perfect on paper. Tall, dark, handsome, a lawyer—everything you’d expect, right? The chemistry was off the charts. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other the entire cab ride back to his apartment…”
“But?” Lena probes, raising her brows.
“We got to his apartment, clothes falling to the floor as he led us to the bedroom,” I continue, pausing as the server sets plates in front of us. I blush slightly, and Lena laughs, nudging my shoulder.
“Oh my god, don’t stop, Zara!” She grins, eyes gleaming as I sigh.
“Ten minutes, Lena. I didn’t even get to enjoy it before he was done.”
I take a large sip of my coffee as Lena winces beside me. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. So I just laid there, frustrated and annoyed. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for him to pass out so I could sneak out.”
Lena sets down her fork, a thoughtful look on her face. “Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “And where exactly am I supposed to look, Lena? I’ve tried everything—dating apps, blind dates, random hookups. Nothing works.”
She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe it’s not about where you’re looking, but what you’re looking for.”
I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”
Lena bites her lip, hesitating for a moment. “What do you really want, Zara? What’s your ideal fantasy?”
I take a moment to think about it—really think about it—before answering. The truth is, I’m so tightly wound, I’m not even sure what I want, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I just want to be used. Forced to orgasm so many times, I black out. I want to wake up sated for once.”
Lena laughs before reaching into her purse. She pulls out a small black business card, sliding it across the table toward me. The card is sleek and simple, with the name Obsidian Dreams in dark purple ink. I turn it over to find only an email address.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking it up.
“It’s a service,” Lena explains, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “They specialize in creating experiences tailored to your deepest desires. Scott and I used them before we got married.”
My eyes widen. “You mean, like an escort service? I’m not interested in paying for sex, Lena.” I scoff, trying to hand the card back, but she shakes her head.
“Not exactly. That’s an option, but it’s so much more than that. They specialize in experiences.” Lena grins. “We wanted to spice things up, so we decided to have a threesome with another woman. They arranged everything—down to the last detail. It was thrilling, Zara.”
I stare at the card, my heart pounding. Could something like this really be the answer? “I don’t know, Lena. It sounds… weird.”
“It is,” she admits. “But maybe that’s what you need. Something intense, something that pushes you out of your comfort zone. You said it yourself—you’re tired of the same old routine. Maybe it’s time to try something new.”
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as I slip the card into my purse. “I’ll think about it.”
“Just promise me you’ll contact them,” Lena says, her tone softening. “You deserve to feel alive, Zara. Don’t settle for anything less.”
I nod, though uncertainty still gnaws at the edges of my mind. “I’ll think about it,” I repeat, more to convince myself than her.
As we leave the cafe, the weight of the little black card in my purse feels heavier than it should. I can’t shake the feeling that this might be the start of something… different. Something that could finally wake me up from the dull, unsatisfying routine my life has become.
2
The tension in the office is palpable, like a thick fog settling over the cubicles and conference rooms. Everyone’s on edge, their eyes darting between emails and whispered conversations, as if any minute now, the ground beneath us will shift.
I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the blinking cursor on my screen. The memo that arrived earlier is still open in front of me, the words “acquisition” and “new management” practically jumping off the page. Our marketing firm, our little corner of stability, is being bought out by a larger firm. Soon—in one month, soon—everything we know will change.
I glance around the office. My coworkers are trying to keep up appearances, but the nervous energy is impossible to ignore. Some people pace, others type frantically, and a few huddle together, whispering in hushed tones. No one knows what this means for us—who will be kept, who will be let go, what the new boss will be like. The uncertainty is eating away at everyone.
“Zara, did you see the memo?” a voice says behind me, startling me out of my thoughts.
I turn to see Nick, one of my colleagues, standing by my desk, his ex pression a mix of anxiety and curiosity. He’s always been friendly, with a boyish charm that makes him popular in the office. But today, even he looks rattled.
“Yeah, I saw it,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
Nick nods, running a hand through his blond hair. “This could be huge. I mean, a buyout? Who knows what that means for us?”
I shrug, though the unease in my stomach tells me I’m just as worried as he is. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “You think they’ll bring in a whole new team? Maybe even cut some of us loose?”
I glance around, making sure no one else is listening. “I don’t know, Nick. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.”
Nick gives a tight smile, as if trying to convince himself more than me. “Yeah, same here. But, hey, whatever happens, we’ll get through it, right?”
I nod, though my mind is already spinning with what-ifs. What if the new management doesn’t like me? What if they decide to cut costs by letting go of some of the staff? What if — The sudden ding of an incoming email interrupts my thoughts. My heart skips a beat as I open it, expecting the worst. But it’s just a meeting notice—another generic “all-hands” meeting scheduled for later today. Probably to give us more details on the buyout. My chest tightens.
“Hey, don’t stress too much, Zara,” Nick says, offering a reassuring smile. “Whatever happens, you’ve got this. You’re one of the best graphic designers we’ve got.”
I force a smile, grateful for his support, but unable to shake the gnawing anxiety. “Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it.”
He hesitates for a moment, then clears his throat. “Listen, a bunch of us are going to grab drinks after work. You know, to blow off some steam. You should come.”
I consider it for a moment. It would be good to relax, to get out of my own head for a while. “Sure, sounds like a good idea.”
Nick’s smile widens, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Great. And maybe… afterward, you and I could grab a bite to eat? Just the two of us?”
His words catch me off guard. Nick’s always been friendly, but this feels different—more direct, more… interested. I hesitate, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, a date could be a nice distraction from the chaos at work. On the other hand, I’m not sure I’m in the right headspace for it.
But before I can overthink it, I hear myself saying, “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”
Nick’s smile broadens, and for the first time today, I feel a small flicker of something other than anxiety. Maybe this won’t be such a bad day after all.
As he walks away, I turn back to my screen, trying to focus on the work in front of me. But the weight of the looming buyout hangs over everything, a dark cloud that refuses to budge. And beneath it all, the tiny black card in my purse feels heavier than ever.
3
The low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses fill the dimly lit lounge, but I’m barely aware of it. The room is inviting, with dark wood paneling and leather seats that absorb sound, creating an intimate space where secrets are shared and plans are made. It’s our place—where the masks come off, and the pretense fades away.
I glance at the two men sitting across from me. Raven leans back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face, while Shadow’s green eyes flick between us, sharp and perceptive as always. The same restlessness that’s been gnawing at me for weeks lingers in the air, a quiet tension that none of us can shake.
“We’re getting soft,” I say, more to myself than to them. The words have been rattling around in my head for days now, a nagging frustration that refuses to be silenced.
Shadow raises an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “Soft? I wouldn’t say that.”
“Not soft,” I correct, leaning back in my chair, “but stagnant. These requests—they’re all the same. Safe, predictable. Where’s the challenge? The thrill? I feel like we’re just going through the motions.”
Raven chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re bored.”
“Damn right, I’m bored.” The admission comes out harsher than I intended, but it’s the truth. The work we do—it’s supposed to be exhilarating, pushing boundaries, exploring the edge of what’s possible. But lately, it’s been nothing but routine. Safe fantasies, low risk, minimal excitement.
“Clients are choosing safety,” Shadow says, his tone measured. “They come to us because they know we’ll fulfill their fantasies without pushing them too far. That’s why they trust us.”
“And that’s why we’re here,” I agree, nodding. “Consent is everything. But I’m tired of these lukewarm requests. They’re not pushing us, and they’re not pushing them. I want something more. Something real.”
The words echo in my mind, stirring a deeper frustration that I can’t quite shake. This was never supposed to be just another business—another way to make money. It was supposed to be a way to escape the monotony of my life, to explore the darker sides of desire in a controlled, meaningful way. But now, even that control feels like a leash, tethering me to a routine I can’t seem to break free from.
Raven leans forward, blue eyes gleaming with interest. “You’re looking for a client who’s ready to go all in.”
“Exactly.” I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn of the whiskey ground me. “I’m not talking about breaking the rules. We don’t cross lines, and we don’t push clients beyond their comfort zones. But I want someone who’s ready to push their own boundaries. Someone who’s craving the thrill as much as we are.”
Shadow considers this, his gaze thoughtful. “We can’t force it. It has to be their choice.”
“I know,” I say, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. “But where are they? All we’re getting are these tame, watered-down fantasies. I need something more. We all do.”
It’s more than just the boredom. It’s the gnawing sense that I’m losing my edge, that the fire that drove me to create Obsidian Dreams in the first place is slowly flickering out. I used to thrive on the challenge, on the delicate dance between danger and control. Now, I feel like I’m just going through the motions, waiting for something—or someone—to reignite that spark.
Raven smirks, swirling his drink. “You’re waiting for the right one.”
“Aren’t we all?” I mutter, more to myself than to them. The right client, the one who’s ready to take that step into the unknown, to trust us with their deepest desires—that’s who I’m waiting for.
Shadow nods, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “The right client will come. Someone who’s ready to take that step.”
“And when they do,” Raven adds, raising his glass, “we’ll be ready.”
We clink glasses, a silent agreement passing between us. The restlessness doesn’t fade, but it’s tempered by a sense of purpose. The right challenge is out there, waiting.
But even as we share this moment, a part of me can’t help but wonder—how much longer can I wait? How much longer before this frustration turns into something darker, something I can’t control? The thought lingers, unsettling and unwelcome, but I push it aside. For now, I’ll wait. But the hunger is growing, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep it at bay.
4
The city lights blur as I step out of the bar, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy, alcohol-scented atmosphere inside. Nick is beside me, his laughter easy and carefree as he recounts a story from earlier in the night. I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. My mind is elsewhere, already drifting away from this half-hearted attempt at a connection.
We end up at a taco truck parked on the corner, the kind of place that stays open late to cater to the night owls and the restless souls who roam the city after dark. The smell of grilled meat and spices fills the air, making my stomach growl despite the knot of unease that’s been tightening there all night.
