Chapter 6

She is depressed, Daisy realizes, without really understanding why.

She wishes Randy had stuck around after breakfast.

Instead, he has gone into the city, which also got rid of Eric, whom she does not want near her, the one redeeming feature of Randy's absence.

But then, she reasons, perhaps it's just as well.

Because she does not feel fresh, alert, capable of exerting her charms on him. She is nervous, jumpy.

And glad there is not much more to be done to the garden today.

What little there is, she goes about with lazy, gliding movements, as though she is weak.

Which, at the moment, she feels herself to be.

And yet, it is not as though she cannot carry on.

And every move she makes, she accomplishes with her usual strength and dexterity.

But it is as though she is under water. Or the air itself has taken on a thickness, a heaviness.

So that there is not so much an active resistance as the shoving aside of an atmosphere become palpable, a new and difficult medium to move through.

So that she wants nothing so much as to simply sit down.

Or, better yet, lie down, close her eyes, and awaken anew, refreshed this time, this thick, unreal environment dissipated, itself a bad dream.

Like—no!"

She will not make much of it.

Two nights in a row, two explicitly sexual dreams, frightening in their vividness, in the danger to her they represent.

And yet, the hooded monsters had not harmed her, other than to take turns raping her, the first night in her cunt, the second in her ass hole.

Maybe she should mention to Randy that she wants to see a doctor.

If the cause is some irritation down there, then she had best address that, rather than drive herself crazy pondering the effects.

She is a logical, a reasonable person.

And one in control of herself.

So that these hallucinations probably do have a physical origin.

The main thing here is that she feels like shit.

Perhaps, if she were to go to her room, lie down, take a nap—

"Ah there, Daisy!"

And Cranston turns around, screwdriver in hand, slightly off balance from having stood on a chair in his stocking feet in order to reach the air conditioning duct's covered outlet.

"Just, uh, checking something.

"Musty smell coming out of the system.

"Guess the problem is with the filters.

"Eric is supposed to change them, but sometimes he—well, no matter.

"Say, you don't look at all well, Daisy.

"Anything wrong?"

"Just a little tired, is all.

"Thought I'd come up here and take a nap before Randy returns."

"Good thinking," he says. We all want to look our best for Randy."

Telling her that her escapade with the boss has not gone unnoticed.

And meaning what, in view of his earlier offer to help her out in any way possible?

But she is too tired to handle that now.

He picks up his shoes and goes to leave.

"Cranston?"

"Yes?"

"Uh, nothing. Never mind."

He shrugs.

"If you're sure."

"Yes, I'm just a little tired, is all."

"Well then, have a nice nap."

"Thanks."

She strips and takes a shower, watching as the residue of garden soil is washed from her body, whirling down the drain.

And a strong sense of deja vu comes over her.

As though she is being held, supported, while her stomach becomes uncomfortable and cannot hold its sudden, overwhelming fulness.

And she experiences a mild cramp, which is relieved when she does something she has never done before (or has she?) and releases the contents of her bowels, watching as they cluster at the drain, only to be melted away by the swirling water at her feet.

As her ass hole bums.

And burns even more as she turns away from the spray, spreads her cheeks, and lets the water blast her nether exit (or is it an entrance?).

If this shit keeps up, she tells herself, she will have to find out about seeing a doctor.

She finishes her shower, dries off, and peels back the covers.

She slides in, shivering as the air conditioning goes on.

She smells nothing wrong.

Perhaps Cranston has already changed the filters.

She notices the sunlight glinting off something shiny, just inside the vent.

But she is too tired to climb on the chair Cranston was using and see what it is.

She could use some sleep right now, in the worst way.

And she drops off.

And they are there, the three of them.

And it is night and the room is dark.

And from somewhere, music.

A slow, lugubrious waltz.

And she is naked and they are hooded, exactly as she saw them the other times.

And she is not tied up, not restrained in any way.

But neither is she able to move.

Rather, she can only stand there, naked in the moonlight.

As the first one takes her as one would a dancing partner, in his arms.

And leads leads her, gliding and slowly turning round and round, in time to the music.

But now, he stops.

And raises the hem of his robe, to reveal a long, thin erection.

And the other two grab her, one on either side, a hand on her back, another on the back of her thighs, and lift her, legs spread, impaling her on the tall, slender cock.

And he folds his arms around her body as they leave go.

And there they are, dancing in the moonlight as he fucks her in time to the waltz.

And she feels a combination of discomfort, of pressure, but of sexual warmth as well, as he fucks her and they dance.

And she feels her pussy getting hotter and hotter.

And now, it is going into contractions, reflexive spasms, milking the cock of its load.

And there is both arousal and an uneasy fear, as she tries without success to peer into the shadowy depths of his hood.

And now, yes, she feels him coming inside her.

But now, without missing a beat, she is lifted off his cock, which has completed its series of climactic spurts—

And promptly impaled on the monster of the shortest of the trio.

And she feels a strange combination of discomfort and satisfaction, as his mighty prong stuffs her pussy, fills her cunt, fills and stretches it as she settles down on him.

And now, they are dancing and fucking as the other two stand there, swaying in time to the slow, sad music.

As she feels the might, the power, the evil, driving force in that massive organ which has made a sleeve, a glove, a tight, perfect fit of her body.

And she gets hotter and hotter, feeling her hot juices lubricating their juncture, soothing her discomfort, replacing the dull pain with a lascivious warmth.

And yes, she is more than milking his prodigious prong with her cunt now; she is responding.

Rather, her body is responding.

Because her mind still feels somehow tired, depressed, confused and too depressed or exhausted to exert itself to clear up the confusion.

Rather, she is nervous but numb from the neck up.

Even as, from the neck down, her body is writhing and sensuously alive, tingling with sexual excitement.

As though it is taking her over, forcing her to stand by and watch, helplessly, as this strange intercourse continues.

So that it seems to her, even as she feels the delicious sensations of incipient arousal, that her body has somehow betrayed her, has delivered her into the hands of dangerous and malevolent beings.

Because these are not men, but merely man-like, male monsters which have captured her.

And not only physically, but mentally as well.

So that, even though not bound, not restrained in any way, she somehow cannot escape.

Out of the question, is how her inner voice puts it to her reeling, helpless mind.

As, dizzy and disoriented, she feels herself rising higher and higher up the rainbow of her sexual arousal.

Onward and upward they are driving her, not only the one fucking her but the other two as well, seeming to be part and parcel of some erotic unity, such that the three of them are designed (invented?) to act in concert, just as they are right now.

So that she is not disturbed or disappointed that she feels his thick, heavy load shooting up into her, flowing back out of her even, before she herself has peaked.

Naturally it happened this way.

After all, this is a three-creature fuck, and he is merely the second one, stage two of a three-phase trip to the moon.

And sure enough, no sooner has he shot his wad than a smooth transfer is effected to the third member of the fucking team, this one a big, heavyset man, with cock to match.

Who holds her effortlessly impaled on his prong, wrapped in a gentle bear hug as they continue to move, round and round, in time to the music.

As she continues to rise, higher and higher, through level after level of sexual arousal, becoming hotter and hotter, more and more excited with each rotation of their bodies to the music.

Yes, he is actually going to do it to her, for her.

He is going to take her—

All the way.

And now, they are coming, the two of them, together this time, his spurts and the spasms of her multiple orgasms alternating.

So that her pussy seems to be milking him of his load, communicating, her body and his mighty cock, in an infinitely intimate dialogue.

Until, at last it is over.

And she wakes up.

Definitely a dream, she tells herself.

Even as the others were.

But she feels much better this time.

As though it had refreshed, rather than exhausted her, this dream.

And her pussy feels much better now. Strange, how this time the dream seemed to soothe rather than irritate.

Maybe this, this... thing, whatever it is, which has afflicted her is clearing up, getting better all by itself.

So that these dreams are actually healing dreams, intended, perhaps, to get her juices flowing as a kind of dressing or ointment for whatever it is that is ailing her.

She cannot say.

But she does feel herself ready for action, should the spirit move Randy.