Copyright© 2013 by Heel
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Night hands are always there irrespective of what you aware
I'm waiting for the sleeping pills to take effect. I crave for sleep because the last night's waking took it out on me – I got so nervous that I felt like plucking my hair off. In times gone, when I was tormented by insomnia, I just went out on the balcony for a smoke or tossed down a beer and everything was all right, but now the things are radically different. I'm not at home anymore, nor can I get up from the bed, and at such places drinking beer is not allowed. I'm dying for a cigarette and maybe that's why I can't fall asleep. Besides that I'm in terrible pain despite all the painkillers they are feeding me. I have never liked to sleep on my back but now I'm forced to lie on my back all the time. Day and night, it's horrible. Once I used to live an active life – parties, trips, fitness, you know how it is when you are 23 years old girl, and I played tennis two times a week ... but now ... now I'm just lying. If only it didn't hurt. But it hurts. They no longer give me those nice pills they gave me the first five days after ... I should not think about what happened. I should be positive. Very well ... I think I'm drifting off. And yet, they could have given me one of those pills. Morons! It's not possible to become an addict for a week or two. And why, for goodness sake, did I pay for a separate room? I could have company right now, someone with whom to share ... What will you share, bonehead, you are not able to speak at present! No one understands my lisp, and how could be otherwise when it's impossible at all for me to close my mouth. Budging my lips, and with great difficulty at that, is what I'm capable of. Damn it! I surely look like an imbecile with this constantly opened mouth of mine. How could that happen to me, of all people! I want to die!
I feel dizzy and my eyelids are getting heavy. The pain has subsided considerably. I deserve sleep, I deserve rest, and I deserve the mercy to forget for a wile the ... Stop thinking, relax, it could have been much worse. At least you survived.
My former boyfriend is leaning over me. Ross, who I broke with when I saw him necking one of my colleagues. His face is contorted in ugly, derisive smile. His forefinger sways rhythmically like a pendulum and his smile looks even nastier. He leans closer and I see the pores of his face. He starts talking, slowly, expressively, as if wanting every word to stick in my mind. And I can't budge an inch, can't turn my back on him, can't slap him in the face. I'm forced to listen how he offends me, how he derides me. He is telling me things like: "Just look at you now! You were absolutely gorgeous before and everybody gave you the eye but now you are just a pathetic piece of lifeless meat. Worthless shit. I screwed others too, you know, for you are cold as ice inside, for you are driveller who only knows to strut around. No one wants you anymore, you worth nothing. And why are you gaping like a cretin? Ha-ha, you look so ridiculous, like a dotty old woman. You know what? I'm glad you survived, you would not be suffering otherwise.
I wake from the nightmare with a scream welling in the throat, which finally streams out in the form of animal's snarl. I'm trembling like a leaf. Ten minutes later I wonder if it would not be better to stay awake. Because such a nightmare can crush your psyche, really. But I'm so exhausted that half an hour later the sleepiness persists again. This time the nightmares mercifully avoid me.
I open my eyes with a start. I feel there is something wrong. I haven't wet myself, which calms me down to some extent, but I'm so confused that the obvious evades me. And the obvious, as I become aware a minute later, is that the room has sunk into pitch-black darkness. The lamp that some time ago was shining with soft yellowish light is now off. I see stars through the window whose radiance however can't cope with the oppressing darkness.
Yes, I find the darkness frightening and oppressive, which is probably normal considering my condition, but the main problem is something else. The main problem is that a strange shifting shadow is lingering out there. I wonder if I have gone mad, so much to hallucinate but no ... the "thickness" of the darkness is changing, indeed. Moreover, I feel unordinary presence. I can tell which of my senses detects it but I feel it. My mind begins to create frightful images of monsters, ugly, fierce monsters, born in the depths of hell. The time passes, nothing happens, but the shadows are still there and my galloping heart is on the brink of bursting. I try to convince myself that I'm safe, that nothing worse can befall me, yet I'm paralyzed with horror because neither can I move nor can I shout. I am helpless. I slip instinctively my right hand aside, feeling for the alarm button. I reach it and press it but do not hear the familiar buzz which means ... My scream resembles low guttural gurgle, or rather, the noise of a broken flushing cistern.
I feel a feathery touch, somewhere up there where is my left foot, and my eyes, slightly accustomed to the darkness already, make an attempt to penetrate deeper into it but manage only to discern the whitish cast, covering my thigh and knee. And up above, over the end of the bandage where, I knew, my bare, limply drooping foot rests, I can see nothing except dancing shadow. Another feathery touch, and another. Someone's hands feel my numb toes, tenderly and cautiously as if examining them, and then slip along the arch of my foot, lingering over the sensitive skin there. I don't know what's happening, why is it happening and what will ensue but I'm scared since I am not able to react in any way. I'm ticklish, virtually breaking down, so I strain every nerve and somehow manage to stir my foot in a futile attempt to chase the intruder away. This results in a sharp prod in the shattered knee and my gaping mouth emits a prolonged moan. But I would rather scream my lungs out. The hands as if become aware that I'm in pain and withdraw for a moment, then my heel finds itself in a cupped hand and something very soft touches the tip of my big toe. More touches, scores of them, and then – hot human breath. Gosh, someone is kissing my foot! But does it mean that the person in question is just a harmless pervert who don't have bad intentions? Whatever is in his mind, he can carry it out for now I'm as helpless as a newborn kitten. Oh, would the darkness be gone!
This is a man, no doubt about it. And surely his motives are sexual but why he has chosen me of all women. If he wants, he could ... nothing can prevent him from doing it. I make another effort to scream but only a painful wail sounds, then I do a strikingly stupid act – I lift myself on one elbow on account of which my body tilts slightly and I hear the metal fixators supporting my broken right femur creak like an unoiled hinges.
The blast of pain is so powerful that I'm gasping for breath. Then the darkness assumes pitch-black quality and I feel I'm about to faint and the hands suddenly settle on my face and start caressing it ... slowly, tenderly, soothingly as if saying:
"Relax, don't be afraid, everything will be fine, everything will be fine, everything will be..."