nonagarret (nonagarret) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-09-17 23:51:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | complete, cycle001, nona |
WHO: Nona Garret
WHEN: Middle of the first night, wee hours of the morning
WHERE: Room 213, Nona's room
WHAT: Nightmare
WARNING: NSFW
The air is heavy with humidity, summer air so thick it is damp on his tongue and on his skin, like sheer gauze of heat, sweat, and rain slicked across every inch and licking sticky and salty everywhere. Between his fingers, in his hair, the dip of his collarbone and the subtle serpentine curve at his lower back. The darkness is alive and featureless around him.
He can taste the air, laced with chamomile and licorice and over sweet. Her mouth is sweeter still, searing against his because he is always a little cool to the touch. But she is motion deep and impossible. She is spread already, straddling him, the dark walls of her inner body clenching and shifting around his cock so tight and slick and hot she controls every thrust and slide. She sends tremors through him like secret fault lines shifting. He’s gripping blindly at tangled sheets in the dark, his breath hitching in his throat, raw and weighty. Her hands fisting his hair drag his head back and bare his throat to the rough wetness of her tongue, scouring the salt from the arch of his Adam’s Apple and studying the taste of his skin in detail. Then she swallows his voice, her mouth hard against his. She wants to consume his cries (shuddering, ragged, and drunk on her darkness) and when he’s exhausted his voice she brings it out of him again with her tongue, her teeth until her name is the only word he knows here, in this place.
She is a litany of silk curves, high breasts and the smooth hard planes of thigh and belly and shoulder blade. He finds her spine with his fingers and follows its track down, down, down to the tense swell of her ass, the muscles flexing under his fingers as she sits back on him, her spine arching away until her body leans back between his knees. The delicate struts of her ribs rise and fall slowly in the dark, slow at first, speeding steadily as she rocks her body against him, her hips rolling with an ever increasing tempo that like a quickening cadence brings her breath out of her in throaty erotic cries, like she is surprised with every shock and pulse of heat that the friction sends from her cunt through every inch of her. She grips his knees in the dark as she drives herself deeper down on him, thighs spreading further, opening her deeper still and with every new depth achieved she screams, agonized and euphoric.The light makes her pale hair a halo, like the holy glow in a stained glass window.
She fucks him like worship. Her hands find his chest, searching every contour of muscle like her fingers are her eyes in the darkness, sightlessly memorizing him in the context of her sweat slick fingers. Her touch sends ripples like aftershock through him, skating up his throat, his chin to his mouth, fingertips whispering across his lips, exploring a message in Braille and he grasps her wrist and thumb with both hands and places an open mouthed kiss white hot at the centre of her palm, draws her fingers between his teeth and tastes the ridges of her fingerprints with his tongue.
Then he’s on top of her and she’s spread hot beneath him, the slender arches of her ankles crossed at his lower back as he sinks and rocks into her and she arches and rises to meet him in a rough, perfect discordant harmony. She feels indescribable. Between her thighs, his cock inside her, his mouth against her skin, he's blind to anything but getting closer, deeper, nearer discovering every hot region of sweet friction inside her. Her heartbeat is so strong her he can feel it inside the wet darkness of her pussy, pulsing around him until his own blood moves to the rhythm her body demands of him. She wraps her arms around his neck, grips his hair, nails digging into his scalp, seeking any friction possible. Her gaze is green and shifting.
She’s speaking into the shell of his ear, her mouth breathing heat and moisture and dark language deep into the secret snail shell curve of his cochlear nerve. He’s trying to speak but she has his voice hostage. She takes it and unravels his words as webs and flings them as glass beads through the room. They lodge in the obsidian walls and sink into the dark. She presses her hands over his eyes then; covering them because they are blinding, full of bioluminous crystal oceans and endless tempest storms, more water and more rage than she can contain but she tries. She wraps him in her body, presses her palms over his eyes, but the water is over flowing and running between her fingers like a dam she is trying to hold back with only the slender walls of her hands.
He grips her wrists. She hushes him but Calypso is growing like a hurricane whorl of destruction inside him, shipwrecking the world, swallowing everything in black seas, dead waters devouring and still the ocean runs from the too bright sockets of his eyes. He cannot remove her hands. He cannot scream. Blind and mute he feels his captor come shaking around him, the intimate vibrations dragging him to climax with her, like a full body earthquake, shaking him apart and he’s coming so hard, so long, the longest most impossible orgasm he’s ever had –
And then Nona wakes up thrashing. Marine blue light ripple across the ceiling from her cell phone, color everything greenish blue. She’s lathed in sweat and too hot, her whole body hyper sensitive and aroused and naked she climbs out of bed. Blind she stumbles to the bathroom where, in utter darkness, she turns on the shower and stands beneath the icy cone of water. She doesn't remember what she dreamed, but it makes her rack with both horror and longing and silently she waits for the water to rinse away the night and bring the fresh sunrise.