Fantasies and Nightmares 2

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Fantasies and Nightmares 2

The head on her lap shifted. He was sleeping. Dreaming. When he woke up, he would remember. Everything.

For now it was just a dream. A few memories mixed in for good measure to make it all the more stable, sure, but that was for her benefit—not his. Perhaps she had gotten a little carried away with the stapler. Perhaps she had jumped off the deep end to see some curiosity satiated. She really didn’t have any expectations going into this, and so that made it all the more interesting.

Movie night. That’s how it had started. As the others trickled away, Ehma had laid it on thick. A blanket of comfort. A dampening of the senses.

Gina had issued the challenge, whether she knew it or not. And honestly, she didn’t know who she was messing with. Ehma could do a lot if she wanted to. If she was feeling malicious.

Instead, Ehma settled on a little game of sorts. He was the first to drift off into that place where she held a grip on his mind. The place where they were connected in their hearts. Gina drifted out of conscious thought next. All the while, Ehma had waited. Patient.

Once the couch had been properly vacated, the movie playing on the large television became something different altogether. The memories Gina experienced filtered through his understanding of things. His own memories were smothered in a haze. Like a constant state of Deja Vu, where everything seemed so similar and yet the future was a blank slate.

The two people on the screen acted the way she expected them too. Almost. The chemistry was there, but the events were purified by his unreasonable cynicism.

So, Ehma took it upon herself to place the full glass at his table after he left to get some air. To make that glass of alcohol seem so appealing, Gina would drink it without question. Ehma was ready to pull the plug in case her worst fears were realized. In case he turned out to be some kind of sexual predator.

Events didn’t unfold that way though, so what now? Was this enough to prove to Gina that her own selfish desires were diminutive to Ehma’s? Ehma had a right to be possessive. Gina didn’t.

The head in her lap shifted again and she stroked his hair. “Shhh, shhh. I’m not done yet. Not yet. Just relax.”

He wriggled deeper into the angle of her hips, his breaths a soft puff along her thighs. That was good. She liked that for whatever reason he yearned to trust her words. Yet another point of contention—why she just couldn’t tolerate some girl worming her way into their business.

Her eyes traveled to the woman curled in a fetal position on the loveseat perpendicular to them. Not just her eyes though. All of the eyes that surrounded them. All of the versions of Ehma that she had taken over the years, all projected around them. Dark shapes and towering figures, with all attention planted on the sleeping witch.

With a nod, Ehma directed one of her alters towards the television. A tiny thing. Young. As she watched, it stepped through the screen and into his mind.

****

How does a person become obsessed with someone? How exactly does that happen? Is it something you choose or...

Maybe if she was more like other girls, this wouldn’t have happened. Her idiot brother wouldn’t have been carrying a gun the night he died. Her stupid parents wouldn’t have hit the bottle so hard.

When she finally decided to leave, it wasn’t some big epiphany. There was no ground shaking event. Ehma just stood up one night after they were on their third bottle and started walking. And walked. And walked.

Two hours passed. Then three. Then a day. Then two. Part of her hoped this would be the moment. The moment where they realized their world had long since fallen apart at their feet. After a month she stopped thinking about it.

She found ways to take care of herself. Places to bathe. Which convenience stores threw away food less than a day old and when. If she timed it right and was careful, she could go a whole week without begging for change in front of the grocery store.

Those days were the worst. She was too young to be homeless. Too young to be hungry. And the fact that she was both only made it harder to plead for survival. It was almost too hard to carry around a sign even, but she did—if she had to.

Did those people even know what it was like to be hungry? To be so empty inside, the thought of walking in front of traffic almost seemed a better solution? She doubted it. That didn’t stop them from spouting off about Jesus. That didn’t stop them from quoting Bible verses until they were blue in the face.

She learned to stay out of sight as soon as the afternoon sun started to fade. Quiet places were the best. She hadn’t been raped yet, so it was possible that was one of their God’s blessings. Still, the idea that that was all he was willing to hand out left a thick venom in her throat.

There was a gated community she preferred nearby. Close to both the convenience and grocery stores, and that became her routine. The chairs weren’t all that comfortable near the pool, but if she was lucky she could catch a full six hours of sleep and still manage to swing by for food without anyone noticing.

Ehma couldn’t remember the first time she saw him, or even the second. Maybe she consciously avoided the memory. He’d toss her food out in large bags at night—cold subs, packaged fruit, and such—and then she’d watch him drive home in the early morning hours.

The first time she really remembered his face, she had been slouched in a chair next to the pool. It was a good place to stay out of the rain, and really the gate that separated this area from that was more aesthetic than anything.

She was focused on her feet. The blisters that would be there in a few hours. What that would mean if she had to run. They were sore and ached like a bitch, so she really didn’t notice him until she heard a metal chair scrape against the stone walkway.

Her eyes bulged, but she didn’t move. Couldn’t, even if she wanted to. That was part of the act. You had to pretend like you belonged there. She was just a girl getting out of the house and enjoying the cool night air. Nothing more. Nothing less.

That didn’t stop her from feeling a wave of self-consciousness. How long had it been since she bathed in the grocery store bathroom? A day? How long had it been since she attempted to squeeze the dirt and grime out of her clothes in the fountain? She couldn’t remember.

And what exactly was he doing there? He had a laptop with him, so maybe he was a student? Maybe he was just there for the WiFi? He looked too old to be some kid getting away from his parents. Too young to be homeless like her. And yet she was the homeless one, despite the fact that he was probably at least a handful of years older.

They didn’t speak that night, or rather she didn’t. At one point he left and she was able to relax, but that didn’t last long. Maybe an hour later, he returned. Two plates in hand, wrapped in tin foil. He sat one down and then settled one on the table in front of her.

“If you want it.”

That was all he said before setting a Carona beside it. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of pity for the poor homeless girl? Did he even know she was homeless?

The strong smell of fried seafood filled the night air, even before he set about eating his own portion. She watched him. Battered shrimp. A hint of lemon. A swig of beer.

Ten minutes later, he stood and discarded the plate along with the empty bottle. Without another word, he was gone.

Warm food shouldn’t be eaten cold, was her only thought as she tore at the foil. Had he cooked this himself? For her? Did he realize she was out of place there?

Bitter insecurities melted away as she devoured the offering. These weren’t the midget shrimp you found in the frozen food section. These were real to the T battered shrimp, deep fried and drizzled with lemon juice. Midway through she, eyed the beer. She didn’t trust it. Wouldn’t trust it, no matter how good everything else tasted.

She left the empty plate and untouched beer there in case he returned, and slipped into the bushes. How much time passed, she wasn’t sure. No more than thirty minutes, probably.

Sure enough—just as her knees began to scream from her squatted position—she heard the shunk of a beer bottle as its cap twisted off. Why didn’t she think of that? Sure she was underage, but she was eighteen. She could drink if she wanted to.

Ehma waited until his steps padded away and then ejected herself from the bushes. The immediate guilt of not saying thank you edged into her mind. Days passed. She continued to watch, waiting for another opportunity to thank him. It never came.

Once—on a bad day—she saw him while she sat outside of the grocery store. She was so embarrassed. If only she could crawl into herself and die. His gaze teased over her for the briefest of moments, but it was like he sensed her aversion. Once he entered the building, she ran.

And then that became part of her routine as well. Now when she lifted discarded food from the convenience store, part of her went to see him. Now when she dozed in the vacant pool area at night, part of her hoped for a similar interaction. One where maybe she would actually open her stupid mouth this time.

They would talk. He would tell her about his studies. His hopes. His dreams. He would ask her about her worthless parents. About why she decided to leave them behind, even if it meant being in such a difficult position. He’d be kind. Considerate. Gentle with her. They’d laugh. They’d tease each other.

A blaze of heat pranced into her cheeks when she thought about else he might want to do. He was a guy after all. That meant he would want things. To do things to her. Things she hadn’t thought about in a long time. But if it was him…

These were the sort of thoughts that swirled within her head as her course angled off the main road of the gated community. Down the sloping asphalt and into the parking lot, edged by upscale apartments on one side and hidden by a row of bushes on the other. It hadn’t taken long to learn where he parked within the gated community. Not for someone clever like her. Not for someone who was actually interested.

It was then—right at that moment—that something snapped within her. Ehma blinked at the sight. Held her eyes closed with so much force that her entire face puckered. When she opened them, the two of them were still walking towards his apartment. Not hand in hand. Not arm in arm. But together all the same.

The thoughts and feelings that echoed through her weren’t healthy. She knew that. But she didn’t feel healthy either. She didn’t even feel sane. Had she really been following this guy around for the last month? And for what? For what reason?

Are you really going to let this happen?

It was like a normal thought magnified hundreds and hundreds of times over. So loud it drowned out everything. So clear it was like she was listening to it through headphones. If she turned, she was so sure someone would be standing there behind her. She just couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Don’t be scared to take what belongs to you.

Her feet had been glued in place before, but no more. One step followed the next. All around her, nature’s morning buzz was suddenly quiet. And cold. So cold. It had been warm before, right? Humid. Dark clouds eclipsed the Florida sun with such certainty, she couldn’t be sure.

There was a blankness to her thoughts. An emptiness. As she walked she passed the man that was hers and the woman who was trying to take him, she noted how their bodies stood frozen. Like wax mannequins etched into the fabric of time.

Even her reaction to something like this felt sapped. She didn’t linger on it though. Instead, she touched the doorknob to his apartment. An audible click came next.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she asked herself how she had done that. Why she wasn’t surprised when the knob turned in her hand. Why he and the woman who looked like a beat-up hooker were still stuck in place, even as she squeezed passed them and into the dark apartment.

As the door slithered shut, her hoodie found a new home on the vinyl entrance. She cast her shirt onto the carpeted floor of the living room and her pants were left behind in the hallway. The yellow light of the bathroom danced across her skin as her pants came next. Each a breadcrumb that would lead him to her. She knew it.

She noted the sparse decorum as she moved through the apartment. A hardwood table next to the kitchen. A couch in the living room. No tv. No trappings of a womanly touch. So why was there a corner of the bathtub lined with femine shampoo and conditioner?

The wife will never step foot in this apartment again. Too many boys. Too many parties.

The thought comforted her and soon a haze of steam filled the bathroom. True, there were no other feminine items to speak of—an inspection she conducted while flossing. True, there was only one toothbrush—which she used. Soon water scorched her skin. It definitely wasn’t unpleasant. How long had it been since she truly felt clean?

With her hair sudded, she began the task of scouring over her skin with a soapy washcloth. Every inch. Every crack and crevice. Shampooed and conditioned, she strained water through her curls and waited.

How would he react to this? Seeing her bare and unfiltered. Would he be able to control himself? Did she want him to?

Questions sprung into her head as she stared at the abandoned bottles in the corner of the shower. Did he know that the woman who left them would never return? Did he want her to?

Ehma’s lip curled into a snarl, her muscles contorting in a way she didn’t think possible. That was her loss, whoever she was. One dipped in regret. Sooner or later she would have to come to terms with it, but by then it would already be too late.

It already is.

The front door raked against its jam in the distance. Ehma panicked. This time, like the few before, she wondered how she did what came next. She had wanted to be invisible. To go unnoticed in this odd string of events. Instead of all that, the light switch made an audible click and she was embraced by the unjudging darkness. Pure and empty, with only the muggy heat of the shower to remind her that she was alive.

Water rained over her face as she made a conscious effort to slow her breathing. Her chest rose with each gasp of air. Over and over. Over and over. And then the bathroom door opened and a wedge of light pierced her black world.

It dwindled without the addition of the bathroom light and she stood there with clenched fists. Even with the water running, her heart thudded so loudly. She was in the process of making one last pass at herself—sniffing for strange odors—when a hand touched her back.

He wasn’t even going to pull the curtain back? He wasn’t even going to try and see who was in the shower? She rolled her eyes at that thought, realizing she was the reason it was dark in the first place. The hand inched inwards towards her spine and she inhaled one last preemptive breath. It’s now or never.

Don’t be scared to take—

Water sloshed around her ankles as she turned. Her eyes had already begun to pick out shapes in the dark and she grabbed for the hand angled around the closed curtain. He let himself be pulled and then his open palm was on her breast. A gentle touch that turned powerful as the weight of it settled into his hand, her heart pounding in anticipation.

Careful to avoid the curtain as much as possible she leaned closer. A second hand waited for her, just beyond the veil of mystery. Ehma found it and willed it to her waist, savoring the goosebumps his touch brought.

Her ass wasn’t the type that most men obsessed over, but his fingers dug trails through her skin nonetheless. She couldn’t let him stop there. She wouldn’t.

With fingers pinned against his shirt just above the waistline of his jeans, a moment later her thumb was on his button. He was distracted by the puckered nipple at his fingertips and slick texture of her slit hidden by the curve of her butt. That was fine. Better than fine. His zipper came next and she lost herself in the silent quest to find what should have been hers all along.

A low growl reverberated in her throat when she found it, the precum at its tip slick in her hand. It was clear he had forgotten all about the little slut probably waiting for him in the living room. That was even clearer when his hands pulled away and his shirt hit the floor. His pants and boxers came next in one swift motion.

Ehma shuddered as he stepped into the shower, the cold burst of air replaced by his muscular build. Hands took her face and pressed her against the wall, the fullness of his shaft forced between her thighs. His grip on her neck and chin tightened as he kissed her, a ravenous act that left her arms limp and her bottom lip sore. Everything else within her boiled with heat, her vaginal muscles aching with lust.

As the length of him slid against her clit, he bent her leg over his arm. All of the emotions that had been building within her, all of the desperation she felt for this man—even if she couldn’t explain why—melted as the crown of his dick penetrated her. The thickness of him drug her labial folds inward with his advance, and biting at the meat of his neck was all she could do to keep from screaming.

The entirety of her body flexed in pleasure as an indescribable wave crashed into her. Over her. Inside of her. He wasn’t even halfway in and already her walls were contracting as he forced her to take what felt massive to her. With each thrust, the length of it bent and then slid further. Deeper. Her pussy lips folded in on themselves steadily the more he filled her.

By the time his fat head rested against her cervix, it felt like he was burrowed in her stomach. A long stroke out and a hard thrust in. That was all it took for her legs to begin shaking uncontrollably. She struggled to accommodate his depth, her eyes clenched against the welcome intruder.

If she could just focus on being quiet—if she could just do that, everything else would be fine. That proved easier than expected as each thrust stole her voice. All she could do was gasp for air mid-stroke. It was a beautiful pain she hadn’t expected, but now that he was changing the shape of her insides she was happy to have it. Happy, even as the tears rolled down her cheeks and onto his back.

Maybe he felt the unsteadiness in her as she wobbled against his chest. Maybe he sensed her building towards a second climax. Maybe he just wanted to make sure he thoroughly fucked her in the dark where their imaginations could fill in the blanks.

Either way, his spare hand ducked under the leg she stood on and her balance shifted as he lifted her completely off her feet. Both hands shot to her ass and gripped tight to support her. She panted in ecstasy then as she clung to his shoulders for dear life while his cock thudded in short bursts against her cervix.

Ehma could feel his precum, as it coated her vaginal walls and then mixed with her own juices from her previous orgasm. She hadn’t had sex since before she turned eighteen. She hadn’t had sex since she left home. Was this even considered sex? What he was doing to her was savage and she loved it.

As his tempo increased, she humped back furiously using the tiled wall as leverage to drop her weight. She was impaled on him, over and over. Another orgasm came as his thick cock slammed into her and the tiniest of screams scratched its way through her lips. She couldn’t think about that anymore. All she could do was give in to the pressure building in her stomach. A feeling she knew came only after an orgasm.

Her legs swayed limply as her arousal built and then partially clenched as she fell over the edge. With his strong arms wrapped around her waist, Ehma was pulled into him again and again. He all but commanded her to cum at his desire. And she did as he continued to batter her poor pussy with solid thrusts that caused her legs to cramp.

Water splashed between their bodies as her breasts slapped against his chest. Just a little more, her mind begged. With his gorgeous cock lodged in her womb, it wouldn’t be long. And then she felt it.

The intense sensation washed through her and then washed over him. He was making her pussy talk and it sounded like delicious macaroni being stirred. Her pussy was telling him she was squirting, the evidence clear by the squishing sounds as their hips collided.

This was it. This was what she wanted. All those days spent, lost. Abandoned. Terrified. Her fears evaporated his grip then just like the night he had shown her one simple act of kindness.

If she could have held on to that feeling forever, she would have. The fullness of his back muscles as she clawed at them. The warmth of his frantic breaths as he forced their bodies to meet, each solid impact causing her brain to tingle. Just as her body released a powerful jet of liquid at his feet, she felt the cock lodged in her womb swell against her G-spot and then begin to blast inside her womb.

She wasn’t sure if she could handle anymore as his orgasm exploded within her. It felt so warm. So right. Her insides drank his seed with such hunger, she was almost scared of herself. Scared of what that hunger implied.

His penis rubbed portions of her she never knew existed. Throbbed like a second heartbeat that felt so...familiar. Even as they labored to catch their breaths, she could feel the fullness he gave her. A feeling that she was scared would turn cavernous once removed.

Taking her time, Ehma eased her heels down onto the lip of the bathtub as his guttural breaths tapered against her chest. She held him there. He’d need time to recover from his own tremors. And that would give her a moment to enjoy his hair, what felt like wet silk between her fingers.

How much time passed, she wasn’t sure. A swell of emotions raged in her chest, and she wondered if he could hear them. All fighting to be acknowledged at once. When his lips closed around her areola, she thought maybe he had.

The suckling led to other things and before she knew it he was setting her down in the spray of the showerhead. In her weakened state, she probably couldn’t handle anymore—but he wanted more, so what could she do?

When a hand wrenched at her hair, there was no time to vocalize her pleasure. His lips crashed into hers too quick. Too brutal.

All she could do was moan into his mouth as two fingers pinched at the swollen hood of her clit. A second hand slicked through the crack of her ass and she nearly jumped when a single finger teased against her anus. For several long moments he just stood there with his penis propped against her side, one hand attending to her sensitive labial folds, and another easing rhythmically against her ass.

Had she ever liked anal, or even thought about letting a boy do that to her? She thought no, but there was a strange feeling deep in her heart that said yes. Yes she liked it. If it was him.

If it’s what he wants.

When the tip of his finger dipped into her tight ring, her body sank forward. Not out of pain. Not out of surprise. She pulled at his cock and after giving a sensuous kiss to his foreskin, then used the spear to direct him behind her.

What am I doing? Ehma didn’t quite understand why it felt so good, slapping his cock against her clit and then leaning forward only to back her ass up against his swollen helmet. She did it anyway. That must have triggered something in him as well, because in seconds a thick coat of saliva was smeared against her puckered hole.

She couldn’t take something this big in her ass. He would tear her to pieces. Still, take it she would. She’d take every last inch and drain him of any cum that remained. His seed was hers.

Before she lost her nerve, she started forcing herself back. He grunted at her earnest motions and she felt a thumb press down on the tip. Every conscious thought thereafter went towards relaxing her muscles for him and just as soon as she thought she could take it—literally that exact moment—the head slipped passed her ring.

“Shit,” he moaned as he pulled back gently against the pressure.

Ehma’s entire body clenched as soon as she heard his voice. How long had it been since he tried talking to her that night? How long had she waited to hear him say anything to her? Now he had already coated her womb with his seed and she was going to let him fuck her ass like a—

Slut?

The voice that whispered in her head was the final straw and she nearly collasped from the intensity of her first anal orgasm. He must have felt her body totter forward—he must have, because he caught her wrists and held her upright while another few inches stretched her. Each one satisfied her in a way she would have never guessed possible. And there was still more.

Her ring clenched him as he toyed with her, the anticipation beginning to twist within her. Maybe it was the warm water that cascaded along her back. Maybe it was the way he gripped her wrists possessively. Maybe it was the way he allowed her to adjust to this new and wonderful feeling. She just couldn’t take it.

“Baby, fuck me.”

The vicious thrust that came next was her fault. She didn’t mind. Not really. All that she cared about was the sensation of her most taboo hole wrapped around the base of his cock. And then the long strokes started.

All the way out until her anal ring threatened to release him. All the way in until his hips slapped against her ass. Over and over as her pussy flooded her thighs with warmth.

“Harder...please,” she whined between thrusts.

He gave it to her. So hard at times she worried her breasts would smack her in the face. So hard it felt like her stomach was being turned inside out. His balls slapped her pussy lips with each thrust, and that was something she didn’t expect. Like sweet icing between layers of cake.

And then he was lifting her up. Squeezing her breasts with primal hunger. Sucking her earlobe and biting it. Stroking her clit in rhythmic circles as he took her ass from the other side. In this position especially, it felt like the base of his cock would stretch her in two. Its angle was just too good. That didn’t happen though, and only caused her eyes to roll into the back of her head as her pussy flooded their feet.

How was she so aroused from this? It felt so dirty. And yet, she was more than aroused. She was cumming from her ass being fucked. And cumming hard. Was it because it was him? Would it ever feel this good with any other person?

Ehma’s tight ring spasmed when a shot of warmth jetted inside of her. His grip on her hips forced her down as deep as she would go and her body nearly crumbled under the weight of another orgasm. Something about that specific sensation did it to her. His hips against the curve of her round cheeks, the feel of her anal ring as it squeezed him for every last wonderful drop.

Less of his seed filled her than before, but it was a warmth in a place she had never felt. None of this was anything she had ever felt though, so who’s to say which was better. Her only knowledge beyond the cock that throbbed in her ass, was that he was hers. Finally and completely.

Every fiber of her being felt satiated. Cared for. Loved? What that what this tickling sensation in her chest was? She couldn’t remember it ever being there before, so maybe. Maybe it was—

Somewhere in the dark world that enveloped their intimate moment, a resounding crash smashed it all to pieces. Not a long drawn out banging. Not a respectful knock knock either. This was an all out boom and ping as the bathroom door slammed against the wall, the metal knob echoing with an angry ring.

Ehma couldn’t collect her thoughts in time. She felt naked. She was naked. As soon as the ambient light of the outside world kissed the ceiling, the rungs of the shower curtain cackled to the side.

“And just what the fuck is goin’ on in here, damn it?”

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