claireity71
10-27-2006, 08:58 PM
This is an idea I had based on a few events that actually occured.
Dave and I had been trying unsuccessfully for over a year to save our marriage. Mostly, I think, we had been motivated by our daughter, Sarah. Occasionally, there’d be a break through, a spark that brought us back to the way we’d been when we were younger, when we were in love and full of passion. In time, the fighting became too intense, the hatred had built to a crescendo, the love had faded. In the end, he moved his things from the house we’d bought ten years earlier into a one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town.
During the time we struggled to salvage what was left of our union, nights were the most awkward. Our queen-size bed seemed so tiny. He always seemed too close, too loud, too restless, too there. On my first night alone in the bed, however, the queen bed suddenly seemed expansive, as if I was lying on a swell of wind-blown sand directly in the center of a vast desert.
It took most of that first night to beat back the tears that flowed from the loneliness, the sense of failure I felt. With the nights that followed, the bed became smaller again, almost comfortable, at the very least, adequate, until…
Three weeks had passed. There was an important senior staff meeting at the hospital and I was the rookie. I’d only taken over the charge nurse position a month prior and I was still disorganized and floundering. If the nurses and tech’s weren’t griping over the schedule then there was a problem with a count from the narcotics locker. If it wasn’t that, then some patient’s family insisted their father would be better served with a room that overlooked something other than the parking lot. Or the computers went down and labs were missed. Supplies didn’t arrive. Doctors… well, they’re a different breed.
The stress of the upcoming meeting wore me out physically and emotionally. I pulled the bed sheet tight under my chin and was dozing only minutes after I sunk my head into my old down pillow. I couldn’t have kept my eyes open if I tried. As I was drifting into visions of a dream, I heard it; faint at first. Actually, it came only once, but it replayed over and over, reverberating in my head, growing louder every time. A laugh. That’s all it was; like someone laughing in my ear.
My eyes snapped open the instant I heard it. My initial thought was of Dave. Could I have been asleep a while and he let himself into the house, slipped into bed with me. I focused on the red LED of the clock radio perched on the nightstand. 9:58 blinked back at me. I’d been in bed about three minutes, not enough time for Dave to sneak in. As the laugh replayed, it had a womanly sound: high-pitched and breathy, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.
After a minute, I rolled over. I had to look, but for what I didn’t know. The bed behind me was empty, like I knew it would be. But still the sound resounded in my head. And more frightening was the memory when it woke me. I didn’t only hear the breathy laugh, I felt it. The warm exhale tickled my ear, fluttered my hair, sent a chill up my spine. The LED showed 12:07 before sleep finally overtook my fears.
After a month had passed, I could still recall the laugh as if it were occurring. More often then not, though, I didn’t. I tried hard to push it from my mind. I was lying in bed after a night out with a few girlfriends. Liquor induced giddiness jiggled through my head. Sarah was with her father for the weekend, and some of the nurses from work thought I deserved a night out. Now, after making my way home, I was breathing relaxed and smoothly. Only minutes before I’d put away the vibrator I bought when Dave and I stopped being intimate. It took all of five minutes to bring myself to orgasm. It was much needed and long overdue.
I rolled onto my right side, my back to the window with the easy chair my mother gave me beside it. The chair came from Aunt Dulcie’s house just after she passed away. It was uncomfortable and ugly, that is until I had it reupholstered. It’s still painful on the back to sit in, but it’ll hold a mountain of scrubs and discarded jeans after a night of drinking with friends.
As I lay there, feeling the weight of the down comforter on my hips, reliving the night in my head, I had a feeling of being watched. I blamed it on too much Cruzan and Diet, and especially so when I felt like I was hovering in the room, watching over myself, like an out-of-body experience. I looked down on myself, with long blond hair splayed over the pillow, the comforter pulled haphazardly to my stomach, my naked tits relaxed but with still hard nipples.
I scanned the room from my hovering position, the clock on the nightstand, the closet door I left open, crumpled panties on the floor beside the bed, Aunt Dulcie’s chair… a white-muslin clad figure seated in it. I threw the covers from my body and leapt out of bed, stumbling backward to the wall, staring wide-eyed at the chair, illuminated by the pale moonlight that filtered through the blinds.
Laundry not yet put away was capped by the blue jeans from the evening. A throw that draped over the back was barely visible. No figure in white. My breathing was fast and ragged. My heart raced, the lump in my throat threatened to vomit itself onto the carpet at my feet. I inched to the door and switched on the light.
The pop of the lamps coming to life forced me to squint. As I adjusted my vision, I stared hard at the chair. No figure, just clothes. Then the laugh came back to mind. What sleep I had that night, took place on the sofa.
Four months had passed since Dave moved out. I’d settled into my new role at the hospital. Autumn had changed the leaves from green to brown and yellow and red and orange and was distributing them throughout the yard. I awoke from sleeping one night, I slowly opening my eyes. 2:47 sang the red LED of the clock radio. I’d been asleep over four hours. I wasn’t immediately sure why I was awake. I didn’t have to pee. I wasn’t hungry. Or thirsty. I shifted my legs and rolled onto my back, groaning quietly.
Mmmmm, I thought, as I flashed a horny smile to myself. I slid my hand down over my belly. Without examining myself, I could feel I was wet. I reached into the nightstand for my vibe. Slowly, it crept over me: a feeling as if I’d already used my toy.
I’ve woken plenty of times in my life excited, and with wet panties. But this was different. It wasn’t only a feeling of needing to get off. I felt like I’d been fucked already, and recently. Curious if I’d done something to myself while I slept, I poked my hand into the nightstand drawer and found my toy right where I left it; tucked behind my copy of Edgar Allan Poe Stories, dry as a bone.
I hadn’t used it. At least, not that night. But still, my pussy had the distinct feeling of having just been filled. Not with cum, but with cock. I laid there, mulling over the confusion, still feeling aroused, but curious, until the memory of the laugh came to me, and of the figure in the easy chair next to the bed. I hadn’t thought about either of the events in weeks, and yet, there they were again, staring at me, mocking me, laughing at me. Another night on the sofa.
Autumn blustered its way out of Chicagoland, ushering in the harshness of winter. Being more a fan of hot summer nights than cold winter, the thermostat was set to 75. In defiance of the weather, I spent more time around the house scantily clad. I slept nude most nights, other nights I wore only a t-shirt. On the night I felt my left arm thrown aside, rolling me onto my back, I was wearing my ex-husbands old NIU t-shirt.
I knew it had to be Dave this time. I opened my eyes, my right hand poised to slap him. A cloud hovered directly over me, near the ceiling, not Dave. It roiled like fog coming in from the ocean, as if it was trying desperately to take shape. A face appeared, then faded. A leg took shape, then the other, then faded. The face returned, was joined by a waving arm, then dissipated. Gradually, a figure took shape, ghostly white and naked, then white muslin materialized, shrouding the figure.
The features of its face were determinably masculine. Strong cheekbones curved up then angled downward to make a stern chin. The mouth hard and angry. Its hair was dark and flowing and its eyes hollow. It floated as if treading water, then descended, falling ever so slowly, closer, closer. I froze in terror, too choked to scream, feeling a need to wet myself. Inches from my face, it laughed.
The familiar breathy, high-pitch exhale tickled the skin on my cheeks. When I opened my mouth to scream, it floated even closer and pressed its lips to mine. I threw my head side to side, fighting whatever the apparition was. My eyes were wide as saucers and glued to the creature. As I struggled, it grabbed my arms and held them over my shoulders, pinning me. It laughed again.
The sound was undeniably feminine and when it came, the face took on gently sloping features of a woman. I kicked my legs at the haze, causing it to disperse. I scrambled immediately from my bed, crawling frantically for the door, still unable to utter a sound. The thing must have reformed because I felt myself pushed facedown onto the floor.
My t-shirt was grabbed from behind and torn from my body into shreds of red cotton. The pieces fluttered about me like blood stained confetti. My face was pinned to the carpet by what felt to be an enormous hand. I felt my legs pushed apart, held open by knees. The laughing breaths came again, moving closer behind me, until they tickled my ear.
Something thrust into my naked pussy from behind. It was cold and slimy; long and thick. I grunted, the first sound I was able to make since it appeared. I fought hard, struggling to free myself, only to be met with a crushing feeling on my head as it pushed my face harder into the rough fiber of the carpet.
I felt the thing stab hard and painfully deep into my body, repeatedly assaulting my dry pussy. My nipples burned from the constant raking across the carpet with each thrust. Faster it pumped into me. After every few thrusts, it felt like the thing grew longer and heavier until I felt bloated from being filled so much. The figure stopped its incessant laughing and began grunting, loud and garbled with each slam into my pussy.
The thing swelled to capacity, stretching my lips widely, then erupted, filling my pussy with an ungodly amount of its seed. Each burst of ejaculate was met with a lip stretching throb of its cock. A dozen or so spasms later and the pumping stopped, holding steady, buried deep. Its thing slithered out of my pussy, pulling with it a disgusting amount of its cum. It grabbed me, picking me off the floor and flipping me over like a pancake. I kicked and flailed. It disappeared.
Jumping to my feet, I threw open the bedroom door, running down the hall into the kitchen, for what, I didn’t know. The thing caught up with me at the table and spun me around. It drew its face close to mine, opening its mouth wide in a gruesome shriek. Spittle peppered my face. It threw its head back as it continued its wail. With sinewy hands it grabbed the muslin shroud covering its body, tore it open, and revealed a smooth porcelain white body. A body with breasts as large and round as cantaloupes, capped by grayish nipples the size of my thumb. Its body was hourglass shaped with a narrow waist and wide hips. The pussy was gray haired. It was like looking at a vivid black and white photo. And it was something completely different than the thing that just fucked me.
The thing bent me backward at my waist onto the table until I was off my feet, and dragged me across it until I lay flat on the cold Formica top. Slowly it crawled on top of me, like a sick demented lover, taking what it wanted with nothing in return. An otherworldly rapist. I felt it’s smooth skin glide over my body. Copious fluid leaked from its pussy, covering my body like slime from a slug.
As it passed its face over mine, it licked across my cheeks, down my chin, pushed its tongue into my mouth before continuing its slow crawl. Finally, it straddled my body, seated on my chest. One second it felt light as a feather, the next it was a crushing heart attack like feeling. It laughed and in a blink, thrust its pussy into my face.
Again, I fought and struggled, rocking my head side to side. It moved onto its haunches and laughed repeatedly as I tried to move my face out of the way, first to the right, then the left, then back. It stifled the laughing and grabbed my forehead, holding me steady, and rocked itself over my face. Juices drooled from its cold lips, filling my mouth and nostrils. I gagged and coughed, my tongue flattened at the gaping opening of my mouth. It ground it’s hairy pussy into my tongue and shot a stream of frigid cum-like liquid into my throat. I coughed harder, my tongue driven into the folds of its lips. It felt like licking an ice cube.
The more it leaked, the more I coughed, fighting for breath. The more I coughed, the more it gyrated on my face, which produced more juice. Without warning, it gripped my head with bony hands, holding my face firmly into its crotch. The thing shuddered first, then convulsed, and let out a blood curdling cry, its head thrown back in what looked like agony.
A torrent of cum flowed from its vile pussy, covering my face, filling my mouth, gagging me. It coated my hair, matting it to the tabletop, and oozed down my neck and over my tits. The viscous fluid was cold and thick, like vegetable oil that had been left out in the snow. I heaved and coughed, wrenching my guts as I tried desperately to breath.
When the thing disappeared again I curled into a fetal position on my kitchen table, hacking and gagging until my sides hurt, my lungs hurt, my throat hurt. I swallowed back the bile that made it up to my mouth, then coughed again.
I came to at 7:38, nearly five hours after the ordeal began. I was lying in my bed, wrapped in my comforter, surrounded by numerous pillows, drowning in a sea of down. Hazy morning light eked through the nearly closed blinds. In a panic I threw myself from my bed, landing on my feet near the open closet door, almost tumbling to the floor. I caught my image in the mirror, an image of horror stitched across the sunken features of my face, my hands shaking uncontrollably, my hair dry, and a red NIU t-shirt covering my body.
Dave and I had been trying unsuccessfully for over a year to save our marriage. Mostly, I think, we had been motivated by our daughter, Sarah. Occasionally, there’d be a break through, a spark that brought us back to the way we’d been when we were younger, when we were in love and full of passion. In time, the fighting became too intense, the hatred had built to a crescendo, the love had faded. In the end, he moved his things from the house we’d bought ten years earlier into a one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town.
During the time we struggled to salvage what was left of our union, nights were the most awkward. Our queen-size bed seemed so tiny. He always seemed too close, too loud, too restless, too there. On my first night alone in the bed, however, the queen bed suddenly seemed expansive, as if I was lying on a swell of wind-blown sand directly in the center of a vast desert.
It took most of that first night to beat back the tears that flowed from the loneliness, the sense of failure I felt. With the nights that followed, the bed became smaller again, almost comfortable, at the very least, adequate, until…
Three weeks had passed. There was an important senior staff meeting at the hospital and I was the rookie. I’d only taken over the charge nurse position a month prior and I was still disorganized and floundering. If the nurses and tech’s weren’t griping over the schedule then there was a problem with a count from the narcotics locker. If it wasn’t that, then some patient’s family insisted their father would be better served with a room that overlooked something other than the parking lot. Or the computers went down and labs were missed. Supplies didn’t arrive. Doctors… well, they’re a different breed.
The stress of the upcoming meeting wore me out physically and emotionally. I pulled the bed sheet tight under my chin and was dozing only minutes after I sunk my head into my old down pillow. I couldn’t have kept my eyes open if I tried. As I was drifting into visions of a dream, I heard it; faint at first. Actually, it came only once, but it replayed over and over, reverberating in my head, growing louder every time. A laugh. That’s all it was; like someone laughing in my ear.
My eyes snapped open the instant I heard it. My initial thought was of Dave. Could I have been asleep a while and he let himself into the house, slipped into bed with me. I focused on the red LED of the clock radio perched on the nightstand. 9:58 blinked back at me. I’d been in bed about three minutes, not enough time for Dave to sneak in. As the laugh replayed, it had a womanly sound: high-pitched and breathy, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.
After a minute, I rolled over. I had to look, but for what I didn’t know. The bed behind me was empty, like I knew it would be. But still the sound resounded in my head. And more frightening was the memory when it woke me. I didn’t only hear the breathy laugh, I felt it. The warm exhale tickled my ear, fluttered my hair, sent a chill up my spine. The LED showed 12:07 before sleep finally overtook my fears.
After a month had passed, I could still recall the laugh as if it were occurring. More often then not, though, I didn’t. I tried hard to push it from my mind. I was lying in bed after a night out with a few girlfriends. Liquor induced giddiness jiggled through my head. Sarah was with her father for the weekend, and some of the nurses from work thought I deserved a night out. Now, after making my way home, I was breathing relaxed and smoothly. Only minutes before I’d put away the vibrator I bought when Dave and I stopped being intimate. It took all of five minutes to bring myself to orgasm. It was much needed and long overdue.
I rolled onto my right side, my back to the window with the easy chair my mother gave me beside it. The chair came from Aunt Dulcie’s house just after she passed away. It was uncomfortable and ugly, that is until I had it reupholstered. It’s still painful on the back to sit in, but it’ll hold a mountain of scrubs and discarded jeans after a night of drinking with friends.
As I lay there, feeling the weight of the down comforter on my hips, reliving the night in my head, I had a feeling of being watched. I blamed it on too much Cruzan and Diet, and especially so when I felt like I was hovering in the room, watching over myself, like an out-of-body experience. I looked down on myself, with long blond hair splayed over the pillow, the comforter pulled haphazardly to my stomach, my naked tits relaxed but with still hard nipples.
I scanned the room from my hovering position, the clock on the nightstand, the closet door I left open, crumpled panties on the floor beside the bed, Aunt Dulcie’s chair… a white-muslin clad figure seated in it. I threw the covers from my body and leapt out of bed, stumbling backward to the wall, staring wide-eyed at the chair, illuminated by the pale moonlight that filtered through the blinds.
Laundry not yet put away was capped by the blue jeans from the evening. A throw that draped over the back was barely visible. No figure in white. My breathing was fast and ragged. My heart raced, the lump in my throat threatened to vomit itself onto the carpet at my feet. I inched to the door and switched on the light.
The pop of the lamps coming to life forced me to squint. As I adjusted my vision, I stared hard at the chair. No figure, just clothes. Then the laugh came back to mind. What sleep I had that night, took place on the sofa.
Four months had passed since Dave moved out. I’d settled into my new role at the hospital. Autumn had changed the leaves from green to brown and yellow and red and orange and was distributing them throughout the yard. I awoke from sleeping one night, I slowly opening my eyes. 2:47 sang the red LED of the clock radio. I’d been asleep over four hours. I wasn’t immediately sure why I was awake. I didn’t have to pee. I wasn’t hungry. Or thirsty. I shifted my legs and rolled onto my back, groaning quietly.
Mmmmm, I thought, as I flashed a horny smile to myself. I slid my hand down over my belly. Without examining myself, I could feel I was wet. I reached into the nightstand for my vibe. Slowly, it crept over me: a feeling as if I’d already used my toy.
I’ve woken plenty of times in my life excited, and with wet panties. But this was different. It wasn’t only a feeling of needing to get off. I felt like I’d been fucked already, and recently. Curious if I’d done something to myself while I slept, I poked my hand into the nightstand drawer and found my toy right where I left it; tucked behind my copy of Edgar Allan Poe Stories, dry as a bone.
I hadn’t used it. At least, not that night. But still, my pussy had the distinct feeling of having just been filled. Not with cum, but with cock. I laid there, mulling over the confusion, still feeling aroused, but curious, until the memory of the laugh came to me, and of the figure in the easy chair next to the bed. I hadn’t thought about either of the events in weeks, and yet, there they were again, staring at me, mocking me, laughing at me. Another night on the sofa.
Autumn blustered its way out of Chicagoland, ushering in the harshness of winter. Being more a fan of hot summer nights than cold winter, the thermostat was set to 75. In defiance of the weather, I spent more time around the house scantily clad. I slept nude most nights, other nights I wore only a t-shirt. On the night I felt my left arm thrown aside, rolling me onto my back, I was wearing my ex-husbands old NIU t-shirt.
I knew it had to be Dave this time. I opened my eyes, my right hand poised to slap him. A cloud hovered directly over me, near the ceiling, not Dave. It roiled like fog coming in from the ocean, as if it was trying desperately to take shape. A face appeared, then faded. A leg took shape, then the other, then faded. The face returned, was joined by a waving arm, then dissipated. Gradually, a figure took shape, ghostly white and naked, then white muslin materialized, shrouding the figure.
The features of its face were determinably masculine. Strong cheekbones curved up then angled downward to make a stern chin. The mouth hard and angry. Its hair was dark and flowing and its eyes hollow. It floated as if treading water, then descended, falling ever so slowly, closer, closer. I froze in terror, too choked to scream, feeling a need to wet myself. Inches from my face, it laughed.
The familiar breathy, high-pitch exhale tickled the skin on my cheeks. When I opened my mouth to scream, it floated even closer and pressed its lips to mine. I threw my head side to side, fighting whatever the apparition was. My eyes were wide as saucers and glued to the creature. As I struggled, it grabbed my arms and held them over my shoulders, pinning me. It laughed again.
The sound was undeniably feminine and when it came, the face took on gently sloping features of a woman. I kicked my legs at the haze, causing it to disperse. I scrambled immediately from my bed, crawling frantically for the door, still unable to utter a sound. The thing must have reformed because I felt myself pushed facedown onto the floor.
My t-shirt was grabbed from behind and torn from my body into shreds of red cotton. The pieces fluttered about me like blood stained confetti. My face was pinned to the carpet by what felt to be an enormous hand. I felt my legs pushed apart, held open by knees. The laughing breaths came again, moving closer behind me, until they tickled my ear.
Something thrust into my naked pussy from behind. It was cold and slimy; long and thick. I grunted, the first sound I was able to make since it appeared. I fought hard, struggling to free myself, only to be met with a crushing feeling on my head as it pushed my face harder into the rough fiber of the carpet.
I felt the thing stab hard and painfully deep into my body, repeatedly assaulting my dry pussy. My nipples burned from the constant raking across the carpet with each thrust. Faster it pumped into me. After every few thrusts, it felt like the thing grew longer and heavier until I felt bloated from being filled so much. The figure stopped its incessant laughing and began grunting, loud and garbled with each slam into my pussy.
The thing swelled to capacity, stretching my lips widely, then erupted, filling my pussy with an ungodly amount of its seed. Each burst of ejaculate was met with a lip stretching throb of its cock. A dozen or so spasms later and the pumping stopped, holding steady, buried deep. Its thing slithered out of my pussy, pulling with it a disgusting amount of its cum. It grabbed me, picking me off the floor and flipping me over like a pancake. I kicked and flailed. It disappeared.
Jumping to my feet, I threw open the bedroom door, running down the hall into the kitchen, for what, I didn’t know. The thing caught up with me at the table and spun me around. It drew its face close to mine, opening its mouth wide in a gruesome shriek. Spittle peppered my face. It threw its head back as it continued its wail. With sinewy hands it grabbed the muslin shroud covering its body, tore it open, and revealed a smooth porcelain white body. A body with breasts as large and round as cantaloupes, capped by grayish nipples the size of my thumb. Its body was hourglass shaped with a narrow waist and wide hips. The pussy was gray haired. It was like looking at a vivid black and white photo. And it was something completely different than the thing that just fucked me.
The thing bent me backward at my waist onto the table until I was off my feet, and dragged me across it until I lay flat on the cold Formica top. Slowly it crawled on top of me, like a sick demented lover, taking what it wanted with nothing in return. An otherworldly rapist. I felt it’s smooth skin glide over my body. Copious fluid leaked from its pussy, covering my body like slime from a slug.
As it passed its face over mine, it licked across my cheeks, down my chin, pushed its tongue into my mouth before continuing its slow crawl. Finally, it straddled my body, seated on my chest. One second it felt light as a feather, the next it was a crushing heart attack like feeling. It laughed and in a blink, thrust its pussy into my face.
Again, I fought and struggled, rocking my head side to side. It moved onto its haunches and laughed repeatedly as I tried to move my face out of the way, first to the right, then the left, then back. It stifled the laughing and grabbed my forehead, holding me steady, and rocked itself over my face. Juices drooled from its cold lips, filling my mouth and nostrils. I gagged and coughed, my tongue flattened at the gaping opening of my mouth. It ground it’s hairy pussy into my tongue and shot a stream of frigid cum-like liquid into my throat. I coughed harder, my tongue driven into the folds of its lips. It felt like licking an ice cube.
The more it leaked, the more I coughed, fighting for breath. The more I coughed, the more it gyrated on my face, which produced more juice. Without warning, it gripped my head with bony hands, holding my face firmly into its crotch. The thing shuddered first, then convulsed, and let out a blood curdling cry, its head thrown back in what looked like agony.
A torrent of cum flowed from its vile pussy, covering my face, filling my mouth, gagging me. It coated my hair, matting it to the tabletop, and oozed down my neck and over my tits. The viscous fluid was cold and thick, like vegetable oil that had been left out in the snow. I heaved and coughed, wrenching my guts as I tried desperately to breath.
When the thing disappeared again I curled into a fetal position on my kitchen table, hacking and gagging until my sides hurt, my lungs hurt, my throat hurt. I swallowed back the bile that made it up to my mouth, then coughed again.
I came to at 7:38, nearly five hours after the ordeal began. I was lying in my bed, wrapped in my comforter, surrounded by numerous pillows, drowning in a sea of down. Hazy morning light eked through the nearly closed blinds. In a panic I threw myself from my bed, landing on my feet near the open closet door, almost tumbling to the floor. I caught my image in the mirror, an image of horror stitched across the sunken features of my face, my hands shaking uncontrollably, my hair dry, and a red NIU t-shirt covering my body.