Falling asleep on the plane ride back had not been as much of a safe prospect as Netta had thought it would be.

That was how it seemed, at least, judging by the fact that when she opened her eyes, she found that she was sharing her seat with a tall, strong, vibrantly smelling Ash.

Was this to be the albatross across her neck for the rest of her life?

She knew that the Monster been working overtime to weave dreams, as the remnants of them weight heavy in her mind, like his limbs falling over her.

"Ash, get away from me."

Ash did as she said quickly, appearing in Its seat - the one that she bought and left empty, once more - with a clearly annoyed look in Its eyes.

"You." Ash said it in an almost accusing way. "Don't you have any softness for me at all?"

She was embarrassed by the behavior that her companion had been exhibiting while she had been asleep. It did not take long before she realized that it had had a hand up her shirt and was fondling her breasts underneath her bra. Her sole comfort came when she looked around the thankfully still empty first class compartment on the plane.

She shot the Monster an angry look. "You have no right to invade my dreams. I didn't have to allow you to follow me around, and I was partial to not allowing it to begin with exactly because of this."

Ash leaned back in Its seat, shifting around in an irritated manner.

"What do you want from me? You would want a fish not to swim. And besides," The Monster grunted, made a show of re-adjusting Itself in Its seat, legs squirming for a moment before settling, one long leg thrown over the other. "you could have asked that hag to be rid of me for you - but is it possible, just possible, that the thought of her," Ash snapped Its fingers. "taking me is too much for you to handle?"

Netta scoffed and picked up the book that she had gotten at the airport and found her place.

"I want you to repay any trust I put in you, Ash. That's what I want." She wanted, desperately, to not think of why it was that being in this situation seemed far more palatable than letting Sia take care of Ash for her.

She had to not let Ash get to her. She could not allow herself to see what he said becoming true.

There was a long period of silence, and Netta happened to glance over at Ash from her book.

The Monster was not looking at her, but was instead looking out the window to its left. She examined it quickly, and found that this form - this unfamiliar amalgamation of male beauty - was a relief from the one that It had always been with her.

It was lucky that this was not the face that she remembered admiring, once wanting so much that she almost considered throwing her life away for - along with the fates of every other Witch in her Coven.

It was a desirable face, and a body that begged to be caressed (by some gorgeous woman who is surely not me) - but it was not her Ashwood.

She closed her eyes, turning her eyes back to her book. A sadness re-opened in her heart, an unexpected emotion that she had thought had once been successfully healed.

Here was a man that never could be - like a wooden boy without a conscience, only a drive, an ego. Or, more apropos, an Id.

And here was the woman who, seemingly even after a human's lifetime, it seemed, could not turn this one away. Could not commit to killing It to make Its cruel seduction cease.

Yawning in her heart, too, was the beginning, gentle affection that she felt for the human man, whose text messages and calls had gone long ignored by a guilt-riddled Netta.

It was an utter opposite from what she felt for Ash, which was a desire that tore, broke in a mad rage. Wallace - he was the silent third party, like a ghost that she did not have the heart to acknowledge. She only had the strength to tell herself that she could never possibly let go of him - a tie to a human life.

A life opposite to this one, of danger, anxiety and seemingly encompassing darkness. Obsession.

If only Ash did not, still, possess that cracking voice that plagued the back of her mind in husked whispers, soothingly suggesting that Netta just let him kiss her - just a simple kiss-

It was when Ash squirmed again in that irritated manner that Netta glanced over at It and got a sudden look at the cause of the Monster's discomfort.

The matching bulge in Its jeans that went along with the one that she had seen in Its briefs.

As soon as she realized what she had seen, her eyes darted back to the opened pages of her book, where they settled over the term, "inflamed and enraged..." as her mind found itself in an unexpected spiral.

She stared blankly at the pages of her book, hoping that she looked as though she was focused on reading. She realized too late that she was breathing out of her mouth and she clamped it shut, her hands starting to shake.

What the hell was this - Ash had always been blatant like this, why should this start bothering her now?

Was it because of the trauma she had experienced in Paris - or because of the anxiety caused by the plane ride?

Anxiety always had a nasty side effect of make her desire burgeoning, yawning for a release, for comfort.

After some time, Ash glanced over and asked, "How's the book?"

Netta, who had been focusing on her breathing, answered, "Good, great. Having fun?"

Ash shifted again. "Some of us don't have the focus to read at the moment. I'd rather stare out the window right now. Well," the Monster gave a dry chuckle. "there is something that I'd rather be doing right now, but - ah-" the Monster stopped, Its hand falling down to the front of Its jeans. The Monster bodily grasped Itself through the fabric, adjusting.

"Oh." Netta turned to It and had to make an effort to keep her gaze and head leveled at Ash's eyes. She made a mistake at first, her gaze bobbing down to Its crossed legs to see the form still pressing, hard, against the fabric. Luckily for her, It had to turn away from the window to meet her gaze.

Ash frowned slightly and jostled back in its seat. "Are you alright?"

When a knowing smirk started on his face, Netta forced herself to continue to meet his gaze.

He continued. "I mean, do you need something?"

Netta stood up, suddenly unable to take it. "I need to go to the bathroom."

She didn't wait for It to react, dropping her book on her seat without bothering to jam her bookmark back into it.

Reaching the bathroom, she leaned back against the rightmost wall and could feel the kinetic energy of the plane surging through the wall.

She had to bite down on the back of her right hand to stop from moaning when the subtle vibrations on the wall rattled against the back of her spine.

Stepping away from the wall, she roughly tore her pants opened and, leaning back against the wall, she thrust her fingers into the soft cleft of her panties.

For a moment, she grazed along her clitoris with the tips of the fingers before she decided that she had to hurry.

Shoving her panties roughly down her thighs and leaning back to let her legs part as far as they could, Netta began to thrust her fingers into herself, gasping as she realized how warm and wet she was. How welcoming.

She had gone, by her estimates, almost a full week since this had all begun. Netta did not have many hobbies in the world, and most of them involved research on a society that she was fundamentally an outsider to, but if there was one that she was drawn to, then it was the soft, comforting consistency in masturbation.

There was nothing that she could do to relieve herself - unless she wanted to risk leaving the bathroom with a distinct smell and probably have to leave when someone, in a hurry to use the bathroom, rattled the door to be let in.

She really should just take a paper towel and deal with her own discomfort, because doing anything to relieve herself would take too long to finish, anyway...

Netta leaned further back against the wall and let her left hand fall down to graze and nuzzle against her clitoris as her other hand thrust in a measured, pumping manner.

Breathing hard, Netta snaked her left arm up her shirt and began to roughly fondle her breasts beneath the confining material of her bra.

The world melted away, as did the facade that she put up around Ash.

In her mind, she was not in her old apartment or some hotel room, but back in first class where they were alone. She imagined shutting Ash up, once and for all, by walking in dressed exactly as she was then. She imagined It - now, unmistakably, a Him - struggling to stand up, made impossible by his erection. That was just fine, because he had more use to her as a seat.

Gone in that moment was her own self-conscious, borderline loathing of how she physically looked. She did not feel sorrow for how her thoughts of her boyfriend - the same man who looked at her with sweet romantic intention and who had never even seen her in shorts or a skirt, let alone naked - was no where in her thoughts.

To that end, she swished around him like a cat, surprise written all over Ash's face. Her shirt was open, and her breasts were freed from the obtrusive, new bra that she had bought, her pants left open from the zipper to show off the matching panties. Black. Her underwear and bra were both black lace.

It was odd to think that she had scraped and lived like a human for all of this time when she could have, at least, gotten something lace to wear underneath all of her clothing.

It wasn't like cotton or silk, it wasn't comfortable totally, it rubbed and chafed ever so delicately. It created friction and she loved it, loved it and planned to never go back to cotton again...

In her mind she was on top of him, the pants off, sitting on top with her knees pressed to his upper, fully clothed, thighs.

She recalled how he tasted when he had kissed her, swirled that with the memory of his smell, the way he felt when he held her to him. His shirt came off, buttons flying off as he ripped it off with her help. She pressed her chest to his and felt his skin against hers, hot and lightly dusted with curling hair.

Alone and in the bathroom, Netta's left hand had abandoned her breasts completely to grind and rub against her clitoris in a frenzy.

Her breathing had increased to a gallop and her right hand was busy plunging fingers inside of her.

The world folded and shrank around her until it was just her in her fantasy with Ash, the Ash who was grabbing her, grinding her on top of him, helping her out of her pants and panties as he tried to buck his own jeans off. When she sat back down on him, she was leaning against the weighty, very solid flesh of his erection that pressed insistently against the fullness of her ass.

In her mind, he was not a creature in the body of a man, but was a very solid, earth-bound human male, rocking her against him.

And not a man, like the kind that Sia kept for a pet. This was not one of her sister's gentlemen.

Her panting increased, as she had been breathing like a locomotive, her knees trembling, threatening to send her to the ground. She could feel it close, now, but all that she wanted to do, now, was to imagine him stripped, further than he had ever appeared to her before.

Ash pushed her off, then stood up in front of her, so much taller than her. He hooked his fingers in the band of his briefs, not green as they had been in her dream. but red, vibrant and rose.

He gave her a short look of understanding, hungry and as far from lush as his demeanor suggested, rather jagged, uneven.

In a moment, her fantasy of him as a human man left - and when she looked up, she saw that his face had changed from the purple-eyed and blond version of himself to an older, harsher vision.

Dark hair, thick and unkempt to the point where it almost covered the top of his face, sprouted in wild directions. His lips, less full and somehow sharper, more predacious were framed by a mass of mustache and circle of hair on his chin.

His eyes were no longer a facade of gentle fantasy, but were hard and red. His nose was larger, broader - all the better to see her, smell her with.

His brows were arched, his face lined with tell-tale signs of his supposed age. His chest was broad, the arms were not heavy, but still hinted at strength, beyond perhaps what he seemed capable of. At the end of those arms were hands that would be more than able to wield a sword with disturbing ease. His skin was a good few marks darker - golden, dusked.

For that matter, his already great stature had grown to a significant degree, so that Netta had to crane her neck a good deal to look up at him - her head came to the bottom of taut stomach.

When his mouth opened to speak, his teeth were large, no longer the flat planes of a human's, but rather, sharp, all of them pointed.

Do you want to see all of me? There, however, was the same heavy brass that he spoke in, blunt and bare. There was no tease here, only a boldness that only rightfully belonged to a god.

Netta should've be frightened. She was uneased by how in her own fantasy the perfect specimen of a man that had been teasing her had become a large beast of a man.

He was then thick in muscle where he had been lithe, almost smooth. His chest and arms, similarly, bore hair that was thick in his chest and trailed off down his abdomen, providing a a dusting of curls that looked, somehow, delicate and soft in the thin spots on his arms and belly.

Still, however, beating those feelings that she should reasonably experience, was a feeling of desire that drugged her and made her feel lost in her own mind.

She had no restraint, wanted so badly to see this Ash as she had not even seen her Ash. She wanted to see what the penis on this man would look like to complement the rest of his large, barbarous body.

It was her hands in her imagination that wrapped around the band of his underwear.

And that's where her mind stayed, stalled as she found her sudden ability to conjure up this dark haired, imagined version of Ash, stopped.

She groaned in frustration and tried to force her mind to cling to this Ash. She looked up at him, looked at him in his indelicate face and saw the shadows of what she had at first thought were large and unkept masses of his hair that stuck out from his head. She got the sudden, abrupt impression that they were not hair, but were rather horns...

The knocking on the door ripped her out of her fantasy like she had been rudely awoken from a dream.

"I - I'm almost done!" Netta shouted automatically.

When no answer came, Netta looked down at herself and decided that she had come too far and was too close, in spite of the interruption. She felt the energy that she knew from uncomfortable memory wouldn't go away - not without intense discomfort.

Looking down at herself, she sighed and nodded her head in understanding.

She took a look at the time on her phone and started to work hurriedly, her eyes squeezed shut.

When she finished, she hurried over to the toilet and swabbed up, finishing up with a flush away that felt more relieving to hear than it should have. She looked, and found, an aerosol can of air spray and spritzed the room. When she looked back at her phone, she saw that she had taken almost exactly five minutes.

Leaving the bathroom, she was almost shoved aside by an old lady that walked as though she was carrying bowling balls in her skirts.

She refused to look at Ash when she sat back down, even when It looked directly at her with a knowing smile.

The Monster only stopped after she had been trying to read and keep her embarrassment under control. He chuckled softly.