Blink
#8 of Erotica and Smut
There he was again. Lost in a hazy nightmare of memories of long, long ago. Of the old house on the corner of the street, abandoned and overgrown. Casually ignored or dismissed by everybody. The subject of dares to the children of the neighborhood. If only he wasn't so childish. So young and brave. Or maybe, foolhardy.
He remembered all of it. The climb onto the second floor up to the rooftop overhang of the porch, scaling an old water drain pipe, because the windows and doors had been completely barred shut with something heavy, too heavy for children to move. Climbing in through the second story windows, long since broken clean of glass as rocks were thrown at them in amusement.
The exploration of the old, dusty house, rickety in floorboards and overgrown with moss and plants. Sunlight shining through the ceiling in cracks. No fear of the darkness. Just bravery in bold exploration. He'd gone even farther than the dares had pushed him.
Down.
Down the stairs to the first floor. To the windows, and doors, not only barred in wood. But steel and iron. Through the dust saturated main rooms, to the door. Even as a child, looking at the door, he felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As it sat there, all on its own. In its terribly odd corner of the house.
He opened it.
To the basement below, black as night. Darkness driven away by the lighter he carried, all to reveal an empty room. Too empty. He turned around to go back up the stairs, and saw it. The figure in the light, and the vanishing of it as the door to the outside world slammed shut. The locks clinked shut.
And his lighter flickered.
The haze shifted now, to when he was older. Memories of the first days of his encounters. Visions. Vivid hallucinations. All the children at school, dead. Mauled in pools of blood and splayed out across the room like mere decorations. Reality itself would warp, twist on itself and bend into hellish displays.
And when he was alone?
She was there. Just behind him, in the corner of his eyes. Just beyond the edge of sight. Until he looked, because he couldn't look away. Into the eyes and the face. Grey-white dull eyes, matching grey skin, of some woman. Down to the mouth.
An impossible smile.
Jaws that could splay wide, stretching so far as teeth beckoned into the black maw.
He was pronounced as a schizophrenic. And then his life truly turned into hell. If he wasn't battling with the creature that was supposedly "all just in his head," he was battling the children. The teenagers. The adults.
Time wore on and he endured, somehow. Tripped, stumbled, and fell into a life of otherwise quiet, lonely normality. No more medication. No more doctors. No more evaluations and therapy.
Life was normal.
But he wasn't alone.
The dream ended as the sun rose for the day, and he woke up. It was common for his eyes to see her face. It always jumpstarted his heart, even if he was used to it by now. His usual morning routine interrupted by erratic spurts here and there.
Some days she was just in the corner of the mirror behind him.
Some days it was lights flickering, leaving him consumed in total darkness.
Some days, it was the coffee machine, pouring out blood instead.
In traffic, the world might twist around him and bend into a warped world of darkness, towering skyscrapers all around him, long since destroyed or mangled by something twisted. People and their vehicles turning into melded constructs of flesh and steel.
All of it, had since, become commonplace.
He had his theories about it, some days. His mind turning to the occult to try and solve what was wrong with things. Something old. Something angry, lived inside of him. It wanted to consume everything. And it wanted his body like a puppet. But maybe, by chance, something went wrong.
The thought gave him comfort and smiles.
How something so malevolent could be the victim of bad luck. It didn't have control of him. And it couldn't. So it was trapped, inside of him. Trapped with him. And so he lived a normal life, alone. Straying away from people because he couldn't hold a relationship for long. Doing his routine office work. Paying the bills. Getting his little victories.
He thought about it, some days. Maybe it was like a twisted sort of Stockholm syndrome.
It made him smile.
Because it didn't apply to just himself.
The presence was always there with him. Always watching. In the corner of his eyes, or just inches away from the back of his neck. He remembered it fondly, when things began to change. The hallucinations and twisted visions grew weaker. Less frequent.
Whatever lived inside of him began to break down. Not to her discredit however, as she became more inventive in her horror. Trying desperately to drive him to insanity. But it was all history now. And in its wake, he found something else instead.
He hesitated to call it what it was at first. Because he was never truly sure, at first. Was it some elaborate trick? He smiled, in the dim light of his home as he sat on his couch, late at night on another lonely weekend, surfing through channels. Not anymore, it wasn't.
He felt the breath on the back of his neck, and his eyes wanted to look and search for the sensation that made the hairs stand up. Slick with a hint of sharp resistance to it, along the back of his vertebrae, sending shivers. His head slunk as he relaxed, feeling the tongue trail along the side of his head, its tip brushing lightly against one of his ears.
The couch shifted and moved, the material ruffling as weight found itself on the cushions beside him. He smiled, closing his eyes as the game started. He let the remote slide from his hand onto the floor beneath his feet, as he felt something clamber over top of him. Bare skin with a slightly cold nature to it, rough, as if it had just taken a tumble through dirt.
He felt the breath on his face, and opened his eyes.
There, in plain sight, finally. Her pale face, draped and partially covered under long black hair, eyes atrociously wide, bright and white with nothing in them, stared at him from atop her impossibly wide smile. He smiled back, sliding a hand across her cheek, wiping the slight coating of dust and dirt away to reveal her bright pale skin, etched in dark veins.
Lips stretched back to fully reveal the extent of her teeth, as her jaw opened wide, a maw of darkness that consumed him as she tilted her head and leaned forwards. A jaw capable of stretching far wider than ever thought possible, easily wrapping around his mouth to encompass parts of his face, all the way down past his cheeks. He felt teeth press gently against his skin and the rattle of warm breath, and he knew what was coming.
He no longer feared it. In truth, there wasn't much he feared anymore. Not with her always in the corner of his eyes. And now, as time had passed and he had entered this new, strange form of a relationship far beyond her malevolent rage, he welcomed her, openly.
He felt it, pressing on his lips, like the same sensation as on the back of his neck. He let his mouth slide open, inviting not one, but two of them this time, as they slid into his mouth, squirming and twisting in their slickness as they pressed further down into his throat.
His hand found the back of her head as he slid it through her dark strands of hair, further deepening her twisted version of a kiss as he sucked on the appendages pushing past his mouth, before she pulled away, sliding them out and retracting them back into her mouth, leaving small sticky strands to stretch behind with them, like some yearning reminder of how much they wanted to keep doing it.
She pulled away from him, closing her jaw up, leaving him to smile and plant a return kiss back on the teeth of her stretched mouth. Long slender hands with elongated, sharp, bony like fingers trailed over his clothing, undoing buttons on his shirt as they made their way down lower in slow, careful progress.
He returned the favor, sliding the old, worn tatters of what looked like a dress down her shoulders, revealing more of the pale skin and her odd body, her thin features exaggerated slightly by her bones. Her dress slid low enough to reveal her chest to him, and his shirt was opened in full, leaving her to open her maw once more as she advanced.
Her bony, but surprisingly soft body pressed against his as her jaw clamped around his lips and face, the slick appendages of hers returning once more, in greater number this time, some to explore his mouth, and others to wind and twist past, rubbing or exploring his face as if they wanted to wrap around his head.
He felt the tightness in his pants, only spurred on by her subtle movements over top of him and the exploration of her tongues, as his hands roamed past her ribcage and down to her hips, gripping them through the tatters of her dress.
The appendages in his mouth responded, aggressively pushing past his tongue and deeper into his throat as his breath grew short and the rattle of her warm breath on his face made him flush. The slithering mass retracted once more as she unclamped her jaws, leaving him to catch his breath.
If only for a moment, before her dark maw spread wide and the slippery, almost black leechlike tongues of hers roamed across his chest freely, causing him to shudder from the thin slick coating they left in their wake as they traveled down, before she herself slid off his couch like ink, trailing her bony fingers across his body as she found her preferred spot on the floor.
His pants were undone quickly, exposing him free at last. He looked down to the sight between his legs. Bright white dots for eyes, focused on him like razors, her soft pale face, always seemingly etched with some manner of dust and darkened veins under her long and gentle sweeping black hair and her token gaping smile of large teeth.
He knew what happened now and he enjoyed it every time, in some perverse fashion. Like it was his demented little secret. Under any other circumstance he would have been terrified or repulsed. But now.....he enjoyed how warped it was. He watched in anticipation as her jaw opened, and she bore down on him.
Whatever she consumed slipped into the dark void of her mouth, as she watched him intently, keeping her jaw open so as not to hurt anything with her teeth. And then, he felt it. The squirming of her insides, dark and slippery, hot and cramped as they reacted.
Slithering around him and wrapping tightly as more fought with each other to extend forwards, slipping past her teeth to the outside world, only to wrap around whatever they found dangling below. He tensed immediately, gripping the couch as warmth and slime, combined with a wrapping constricting feeling drove more heated breath from him.
And then, she started moving her head. Pulling it back or tilting it sideways as her insides held on, slipping and squirming with every motion. As her jaw hung open he caught sight of her own slick fluids leaking out between the gaps in her teeth, pooling and overflowing and only adding to the sensation as she moved her head alone, keeping her hands otherwise occupied down below with herself.
She slid easily, back and forth, bobbing and weaving her head, as all he could do was grip the couch helplessly and stare into the white pits of her eyes as her tongues constricted and wound, squirming and slipping in their jumbled mass as every part of him lit up.
His breath sped up and he grew flushed everywhere, groaning out to the darkness of his home as he felt and listened the slick appendages of her mouth do their work. He gripped harder, tensing for the buildup as he closed his eyes and leaned back, ready.
And like thin air, it was over. One second, she was there. And the other, she was gone. This was her game, after all. Her newfound way of torturing him in her devious nature. He was left, just on edge, heart beating its hardest, muscles tensed for the release that never came.
He stared at the static of his TV, tensed but suddenly tired, as he closed his eyes, drifting into a half awake state of pleasure. And then, she made her move. He felt her fair hands cup his face, the feeling of her teeth against his cheeks as her maw opened, slick and overflowing as her tongues exploded outwards in coils to invade his mouth as fluid spilled out to splash onto his chest like a shock.
Simultaneously, as she reappeared, she found herself poised over top of him, and in one fell swoop, hilted herself on him. His home bore witness to his release as her hips rested square against his and she enveloped him in full. Her pale form pressed to him in every way possible, he let go.
Reveled in the explosion of sensation as his hands found her bony outline and pulled her tightly as he practically screamed into her maw, muffled in the darkness as nothing more than heated huffs could be heard. Her long black hair enveloped him in a shroud, her maw consumed him in writhing, hot darkness.
Her body shuddered as she bucked, feeling him release with her insides clamping on to him as tightly as everywhere else. Her sharp fingers dug into his back, and in the heated commotion, he heard one thing that truly pushed him to euphoria. From inside the dark maw and the squirming mass, he felt the rattle of her hot breath as it escaped.
One very quiet moan, resonating into his mouth, delicate and frail.
A long sigh of happy exasperation.
Utter contentment, as if some long overdue chip was finally taken off her shoulders, as she herself went slack, her body collapsing on his in the closing moments of the night. Such a perverse high for him was only ever met with the deepest sleep, utterly consuming him.
Sometimes, but not always, late at night, he awoke from the heated moments of a bad dream. A quickly evaporating haze of emotion or fear. Under the glow of a TV left on, he stirred, if only barely. Enough to reach the remote on the floor. And there, he found a skinny, pale hand on the carpet, long, sharp, bony fingers splayed out.
His attention turned as he realized in his half sleep that she was on top of him. He felt the expanding and contracting motions of her ribcage on his chest. He was draped in a mess of long, inky black hair that splayed out in fine strands all across his body.
He smiled as he shifted, wrapping an arm across her back.
Whatever, or whoever she was, she needed sleep too. Rested when he wasn't up and awake to actively see her. He found it comforting, as her naked form rested over top of his. It didn't matter how twisted she was. Or where she came from or how she came to be.
Even now, despite his years of trauma and misery. Right now, the being over top of him was different. Changed. He remembered the very first time he'd done this with her. The shock and disgust. The revulsion. And then, with enough time and thought, his quiet appreciation for it grew.
She had changed, and so too, had he. He couldn't complain. It wasn't like he could have gotten rid of her or ever knew how. He smiled, stroking the long strands of dark hair on her head.
Life had a funny way of changing quickly. Sometimes, so fast that if you blinked you might miss it, for good or bad. For good or bad, he was here now. She, was here now. He smiled, one last time for the night, kissing her gently on the forehead.
He leaned his head back, sleep about to claim him once more, as he raised his arm, remote in hand.
The TV blinked off.