Copyright © 2003, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.
It came to pass that a mortal woman was possessed by a spirit in the night, and thereby it was trapped. I had to plan it all so carefully.
On the first night I did not know my dreams had beheld a reality beyond dreams. I awoke to find my pussy sore, and I feared I had contracted a disease. My most recent lover of that time had been taken in lapse of reason and lack of condom. Yet the soreness between my legs did not burn, and it did not bleed, and it did not discolor. It felt exactly as if I had been fucked by a man with an enormous hard-on, in which my dream had proposed. A stallion, no, a centaur had held me down in a glittering field of tawny grass and had entered me from behind in a drawn out rape of days, slow, digging, painful pressure. It's cock pushed me to madness and beyond, drawing orgasms and ruptured organs, driving mind out of body. My ethereal hands enveloped the demon's head and kissed it.
On the first day, I did not believe it. I dressed in my coarse, brown business wear, and I launched my racing cycle across the Brooklyn Bridge, and I chained by bike in front of my Madison Ave. Limited Liability. I worked my pains out on the managers and directors who depended upon my signature for their groceries, some of whom would have gratefully starved if only I might let them touch me behind my coarse, brown apparel. It was a good day.
On the second night I dreamed of centaur cock stuffing into my ass, pressing against my beating heart, and my ethereal arms pounded the soft earth in pain. I would not climax that night, but I had learned the taste of semen shot through my bowels, beyond my intestines, up out of my throat. It was a demon's nectar that warmed greater than any opiate. I awoke knowing I would need more.
My personal life was much like my business life. I called the shots. I took the risks. I ate crow sometimes, but more often I reaped the rewards and danced at my rivals' liquidation sales. To lustful spirits, I was a treasure greater than my dragon's horde of capitalism. I did not know my spiritual value on the second day, but I had already decided my response.
Instead of disbelieving the incredible, the fantastic, the dreams that left my body aching, I acted as I would have in business. I covered my ass from all potential threats. I did not believe in the supernatural. I would not have cared if ghosts or demons haunted me, or a clever rapist had found a way to drug me. Every violation required an appropriate response. Personally, I preferred to act beyond appropriate.
I did not know the tools or trade of the demonologist, but I knew the way of the spy. I had to find the secret entrance that would reveal the path to my tormentor's weakness.
On the third night, I said, "Kiss me."
The eager man body, attached to aroused horseflesh, stuffed his thick tendril into my mouth. I choked and I gagged. I awoke vomiting. In my dream, I had passed his flood of cum out my ass. Yet in its passing the liquid satisfied a ravenous craving in my soul, which it had addicted on the previous night.
My belly empty, and my mouth sour, I washed but could not eat. I arrived at work a calm leader with a grudge. I did not take grudges out upon hearts who did not deserve them. I worked efficiently, commanded absolutely, rewarded bravery, and rode down dead weight.
On the fourth night, I offered my breasts. His hooves fell loud, at a gallop, to my naked form. I lay upon dry grass and supple soil, awaiting him. This time he reached to touch my cheek, but he smote it with glee, and my head flew to one side soaked with pain. I raised my chest high and heard him laugh. I did not turn my bruised face to meet his. I felt his hands take me, scratching my tits and tearing at my nipples. Then his hooves fell upon me, driving me earth-wards. I sobbed with hurt and threw my legs wide. He raped me harshly. His horse tool tore in to my belly. Blood was wont his lubrication.
Yet between my endless shrieks I met his lust and found release. His cock did not finish inside me. It leapt out at the moment of its bursting and drenched my body in hot issue. I drew all that I could to my mouth and consumed it.
"Thank you." I heaved with passion. He only laughed, reared to a great height above me and shat at my feet. His hooves then leaped over the length of my body, and I awoke. A sting lingered in my cheek, and my nipples were red and my breasts were sore. I could not feel my cunt. It was numb.
I hardly remember the fourth day. It may have been the weekend. I idled in my home, furious that I could act no swifter in dream. I bathed for hours in steaming waters, scented, soothing. I planned and I plotted, but night took long in returning.
The fifth night. He rode across the sun drenched meadow, leaping like a puppy, glaring like death. Rampant need pursued him. I stood this time, above the grasses that scraped my calves. I knelt at his approach and thrust my hands behind me. I looked down. He grabbed my hair and lifted me. I choked down the pain in my scalp and cast my eyes low. He raised me to his face. He licked my neck.
His grunt sounded like a word, "ggd". With his free hand, he gripped my groin, thumb entering cunt, middle finger in my farther hole. His palm cupped my sex, adding support to my weight. I winced and I begged him, "Please, hurt me."
He threw me from him. I landed awkwardly, tearing sinew. I screamed and he mounted me. His length and girth skewered my ass and he pounded the earth with all four hooves as his rape commenced. He lingered over my pain, eyes burning with triumph. Cock like snake writhed among my pain, brushing damaged tissue. It drew an orgasm that coalesced inward from my bruised skin and outward from my abused sphincters. I did not expect it. I reveled short, until his semen filled me. It was the taste I could not live without.
By its cord, I pulled the phone off of the night stand. I called for help, and the ambulance took me to healers. They disbelieved my injuries had occurred from falling off my bed. The police interviewed me, just in case I was protecting a foul player. I scorned them and threatened them vaguely. They didn't press the issue. I was released that afternoon, which I used to prepare.
My body needed time to heal, yet the sores and wounds and fractures followed me into the sixth's night dream. I lay broken upon the withered grasses. My merciless demon pranced about, laughing at his victory, ready to take more from this helpless wretch.
The pain was unbearable, the pleasure hard to find, but he lured me with the promise of mutual rapture and more of his soothing cum. As always, he took me in no rush. His massive member pierced me in different places, reopening old wounds, tearing fresh ones. I was dying, but I felt his heat rushing inside me, and the little blood that still flowed within quickened as my nerves sought escape in the vicious torture which drove me to climax.
"By what name shall I thank thee in hell?" I begged in ecstasy. Demon semen exploded upon my failing flesh, and I heard, behind its rush, him say it.
As my consciousness fled, I repeated it in my head, committing it to my afterlife.
This time the police refused to release me from the hospital until I gave them a description of my assailant. They had tested every fluid in my body and every hair in my penthouse carpet but had discovered nothing, except my doctor's note.
On the previous afternoon, I had purchased a heart monitor and had it connected to my house alarm. When I died upon my bed, the response team was able to stabilize my final throes and revive me. The doctor's note, by way of an exorbitant bribe, specified a limited number of drugs that might be used in case of further trauma. The thing those drugs had in common was, they suppressed dreams.
I spent weeks recuperating. I did not dream, but I grew strong again, healthy. Also, during this critical time, the drugs helped ease a particular craving I'd developed. Eventually, I would be victorious.
My entire business celebrated my return. It was a party I could not yet appreciate. A few of my employees wished I had died and were buried deep. Most of the hell wishers were men and women I kept closest to me. I played upon their envy and rivalries by running them in circles, chasing the next one's tail. Above their petty politics, I could wield their malice. They were my whips upon my company's workers, and they took the worker's blame. To those beneath my whips, I played the merciful judge and benevolent dictator.
One bull of a whip, Steve Ratchet, snapped loudest to unseat and replace me. He was also the most polished and refined bull on my staff. Women were always falling before him. None of that had mattered to me when I hired him, but now it would be nice touch. I summoned him into my office and offered him a cigar.
"Steve, how long have you worked for me?"
"The better of eight years, Chairwoman." He addressed me in the manner I required of my lessers.
"Sit down and enjoy your smoke. What I'm about to discuss is not directly related to business, but it will be important to your future."