2 comments/ 20159 views/ 2 favorites Insomnia By: shellykaz It's the middle of the night and all I need is someone to tell me what I'm doing outside. But there's no one here. No one in this tiny little town shares my insomnia. Not tonight, not last night or the night before. Every night of this summer I've been for a walk – unable to sleep in the lonely humidity of my room. Every night of this summer I've wandered the streets of my village like a lost woman, exploring the shadows in search of my inability to rest. Another night that's nearly as hot as the day it's proceeding; the heat seemingly trapped within the isolation of the middle-of-nowhere, God-fearing town. I know I have nothing to fear here, the people wouldn't hurt a fly. And like every night I walk the dusty streets stifled by the thick air and moved by a need to tire myself out and finally sleep. Within twenty minutes every shadow is explored, I'm out of town to meander through. From one end to the other in twenty minutes. I pause and stare up at the forest that begins as soon as the buildings end. Not even a space for backyard behind this last wooden cottage. With a glance over my shoulder I cross the invisible line into the trees, into the pines, maples and oaks I know so well. I follow the main path even though I have dozens of options – even on this moonless night. I've embarked on a trip to there and back, my skirts hiked up slightly to keep the hem from catching on root. It's peaceful here, crickets chirping in bushes and owls hooting. Nothing to fear here, I know I'll be safe. Even still, a rustle in the bushes brings my fingers to the small wooden cross around my throat. I laugh at myself, remind myself that the Lord is watching over me and drop my hand back to my side – shaking my head at my own ridiculousness. On I walk, cooler in the trees and enjoying my midnight foray into the woods. I remind myself again that He is looking over me – over and over, still spooked by the nighttime noises even after 18 years of wandering these paths in day and night. He is watching over me. "You wear that like it will protect you" I jump at the sneering voice, turning to gaze fearfully at the silhouette of the man behind me, the rough edges of the cross now digging into my palm. I can't even move when he starts to glide towards me. A three dimensional shadow without features who walks like a ghost. "He doesn't love you. He doesn't know your name. I know your name." A pause in the air, it's heavy and everything's silent, the forest holding his breath and waiting for him to reveal his knowledge. "You are Rebecca, and you are mine." No one has sounded so certain of anything before in history. He says I am his but I don't believe it. I do not know this man, would not belong to anyone whose voice makes every hair on my body stand on end. I should run, but I'm frozen. "Let go your trinket" he laughs dryly, and I do. I don't know why but I do. I don't think I could've held on no matter how hard I tried. "That's a good girl, Rebecca... My Rebecca." I flinch as he raises and hand and draws a finger down my cheek. His touch so cold and dry it leaves a trail of fire on my skin "Pretty little Rebecca." I should run, but I can't. My feet are rooted to the ground. He circles me as I shake, shivering from the presence of this being – he is not a man – I know this and it stabs through me like a blade. One and a half times around my frozen form and then he stops behind me, wrapping his arms around my body and roughly grabbing my breasts through the top of my dress. Squeezing them tightly he pulls me towards him and now I can move – just that one step backwards so that I'm pressed against him with no space for even the smallest speck of dust to pass between us "My pretty little Rebecca" he hisses in my ear as he moves one hand to my stomach to pull me even closer to him. The sensation of the hand mauling my breast is overpowered by what I feel pressing against my rear. I know what that is and I want to throw up, bile rises in my throat but goes no farther. "My pretty little Rebecca" he repeats in my other ear, the feel of his breath makes the flesh behind my ear crawl as if a thousand spiders were scurrying over it. And as his hand creeps even lower my world starts to spin. I can guess what's coming and I can't move a muscle to stop it. His hand cups me through my skirt, fondling me just as roughly as he is my breast. "You are mine. This is mine" The vomit stuck in my throat pushes past whatever was blocking it and I'm sick. Over and over. Bent at the waist with only his endlessly probing hands holding me up, I throw up until I black out. When I come to again I can't recognize my surroundings – a clearing in the trees with boulders scattered about. I can't recognize it but a strange feeling of familiarity comes over me as I scan the area. I'm sitting propped against a tree; the man/beast is gone save for tender breasts and a feeling of being watched by someone or something. I know it's him, but as hard as I try I can't see him. My only warning of his approach is a rustle of leaves which I'm sure was intentional. Then, out of the darkness he appears in front of me, I know he's staring right at me even though I can't see his features. "Awake, are we?" I wish I wasn't. I wish I was asleep in my bed. I wish I had never come out tonight... I wish I knew where I was. I wish I could run. I wish wishing weren't so futile. I wish I had faith enough to pray. He's coming closer and I can't run, I can't even stand until he grips me under my arms and pulls me unceremoniously to my feet and leads me further into the clearing. I can't resist, my mind screams to but my body doesn't respond. This being has a strange hold over me and I fear that perhaps he doesn't lie. Perhaps, somehow, I am his. I try to throw up again but my stomach is empty, the dry heave doesn't clear my system of anything, especially not my fear and revulsion. With a sinister laugh he pushes me forward and I stumble, catching myself on the rough surface of a boulder only moments before my face would have hit it. Tears roll hot and wet down my cheeks as his hands roam over my stomach and up to my breasts. All the while he presses the bulge between his legs hard to my behind. A hand claws at my cross and jerks it down – the string snapping. I stare at it for a moment while it dangles in my view before he drops it, allowing it to fall to the stone in front of me "You won't be needing that tonight, Rebecca" he whispers in my ear again, sounding amused. As fingertips brush my throat he undoes the buttons of my top and runs his tongue along my ear. The icy fire of his touch is overwhelmed by the roughness of his tongue and how slimy the trail it leaves behind is. The tears don't stop and neither do his hands, carefully undoing each button as if he has all the time in the world. Still bent over the rock I find my arms mostly pinned to my sides as the monster behind me pulls the fabric of my top down past my shoulders. "Stop crying, Rebecca" he whispers, and I do. Tears stop instantly. I know I won't cry again tonight, I just don't know why. Every nerve in my body, every ounce of my being recoils in intense disgust as he slides a hand in under my bra and squeezes my breast even more roughly than before. "My sweet little Rebecca" Instead of a whisper, it's a rapturous moan, his fingers pinching my sensitive nipple while I cringe. "So perfect, so pure." Harder and harder he pinches and then, nothing. I can still feel his fingers there even though he's moved to the other breast. His fingers pinch and twist the nipple until I whimper for mercy. His cat's tongue slides up my neck leaving its sickening wake of slime behind it. "It's time, my dear" and I don't doubt it. He sounds breathless and the pressure behind me is growing – harder, bigger. Still, I can't run and now I can't cry. I know it's not fear keeping me here between the rock and the beast. It's him, because he wills it; I am here. He works my heavy skirts up until they're bunched around my waist, the night air seeping through the fabric of my stocking and underpants. I've never felt so exposed before and then, I know exposure. My stockings and underwear are down at my knees and my most private areas are exposed to a being whose face I don't know. His hands slither over the back of my thighs. If a snake had hands they'd feel like this: smooth, cold, dry. But the deadliest of snakes could never inspire such terror in me. Nails scratch over my bottom and then his touch is gone and I can breathe again – if nothing else. I'm still bent over, staring at the rough surface of the rock and trying to make it my world. I'm trying desperately to block out his movements behind me. I don't know what he's doing and I don't want to, though I know I'll find out. Now I know. He's pressed against me, his bare skin against my own and now I can't pretend anymore that everything will be ok. He pushes my legs open and I can feel something probing a place only a washcloth has ever touched. The rock spins before me – my worlds, fake and real, have crumbled and my reality is a nightmare. "My pretty little Rebecca." I cringe "This won't hurt much." He lied. And the scream that rips through my throat awakens the forest. Everything flees but me and the being buried unnaturally deep inside of me. "See?" For a moment my heart soars as he pulls away, perhaps that was it? No, not nearly. He rams back inside of me after pulling nearly all the way out. Over and over he repeats this but I no longer scream. My broken fingertips leave blood over the rock as I dig them into it. My rock, my stability, my cross. In time he's moving more easily, slipping in and out of my inexplicably wet self. I no longer feel pain – both tingly and numb at the same time, but no pain – and I thank God for that. He does love me. I lose myself in the feeling, letting it take over my body and mind. A wonderful numb that lets me forget what it is pushing me rhythmically into the surface beneath me. It's just me, the stone and a wonderful feeling emanating from where I now know my soul to be, taking over and enveloping me in His love. It seems to go on for hours – each hateful thrust from behind me prompting more light to spill into me. So much now that I'm shaking, clinging to the stone and gazing blurrily at my cross. I am loved. I know this more than anything. I'm gasping – amazed by the stars in my sight. Behind me he's frantic and I'm calm, basking in the Lord's mercy and tears of joy flow over my cheeks. "Thank you" I mouth, too shaken to speak. A hand tangles in my hair to wrench my head to the side and his gruesome tongue licks my salty tear. I don't care – he's no one and I am flying. "You're welcome" he says and I can here the smirk as he slams into me, feeling thicker, and I cry out and convulsing, hold onto the rock as I explode around him. Wetness slides down my legs and he's still pounding into me. My tears are bitter now, though, because I know it's him, not God. It's not Love it's lust and I can't stop the incredible feelings pulsing through me – over and over. And when he cries out like the demon he is, holding his hips tightly to mine, I do the same. I scream to the sky and then it's black. We're back on the path, but I'm still shaking. "I'll see you tomorrow." And in that moment I'm granted clarity. I know he will and know that he's seen me every night for months. And I know what's been happening. I throw up and when I turn around it's just me and the forest. I yawn and wonder how long I've been out here. At least my walk tired me out, I muse, and touching my fingers to the cross around my neck I turn and walk back to my town and house, humming a hymn until I fall into bed. *** It's the middle of the night and all I need is someone to tell me what I'm doing outside. But there's no one here. No one in this tiny little town shares my insomnia. Not tonight, not last night or the night before. Every night of this summer I've been for a walk – unable to sleep in the lonely humidity of my room. Every night of this summer I've wandered the streets of my village like a lost woman, exploring the shadows in search of my inability to rest. Another night that's nearly as hot as the day it's proceeding; the forest is cooler, shadows providing some escape from the heat. A rustle in the bushes brings my fingers to the small wooden cross around my throat. I laugh at myself, remind myself that the Lord is watching over me and drop my hand back to my side – shaking my head at my own ridiculousness. On I walk, cooler in the trees and enjoying my midnight foray into the woods. I remind myself again that He is looking over me – over and over, still spooked by the nighttime noises even after 18 years of wandering these paths in day and night. He is watching over me. "You wear that like it will protect you" I jump at the sneering voice, turning to gaze fearfully at the silhouette of the man behind me, the rough edges of the cross now digging into my palm. I can't even move when he starts to glide towards me. A three dimensional shadow without features who walks like a ghost. "He doesn't love you. He doesn't know your name. I know your name." A pause in the air, it's heavy and everything's silent, the forest holding his breath and waiting for him to reveal his knowledge. "You are Rebecca, and you are mine." His hand presses to my stomach "And this is mine" I remember it all now, and with tears in my eyes I turn to say goodbye to the home I'll never return to. He tears the cross from my neck and I watch as he drops my faith to the dusty path. Wiping my face I look up at him and into his eerily glowing eyes: I am His. Insomnia Too restless, I listen to the wind breathe through the screen on my window, always exhaling; it does nothing to sooth me. There is fierceness in me that pushes like the wind, radiating from my skin. Always exhaling; like a long slow scream that started five nights ago. My gums ache and my mouth is raw from its discontent. I can not sleep. I can not rest. I can not say why. Movement becomes my measure of time. Exhaustion is a worthless endeavour, a vague wash of purple under my eyes and fingernails. The dreams walk before my waking gaze. There is an immediate need for violence as though stung and to weep as though spurned, yet there is no wasp to slap, no lover to despise. What would loosen my throat? What would transform this mania into bliss and allow me to inhale? I want to covet something, someone so that I may define my aching, trilling tension, to find release so I may sleep. Would you let me pour this scream into you and willingly suffer the echoes of it in your mind and blood? Shall my hungry lips and hands take your flesh? Would such a violation secretly please you? I will knock on your door, my heartbeat in my fingertips, in all I touch. Would you open it to let the dark spill into your hallway? Could you know of the corporal succubus outside its protection who is not there to thieve but to share her damnation? I see in your eyes my fierceness reflected. When the heartbeat in my fingertips glides across the skin of your cheek I see the sleep fall from your countenance and I know you hear the scream. I see your throat go tight in anticipation, your pupils eclipsing the brightness of the iris. The click of my heels creates eddies in the tension suffusing the hall. I see the moisture of the night air glazing your bare skin. The sound of the door closing behind me holds the finality of a guillotine. The silence is too thick for words. I cannot kiss you, but let my fingers drift over your chilled skin. To kiss you would be my undoing and I do not wish to come undone. Not yet. The wall behind you holds you up to my scrutiny. I place one hand on either side of you and close my eyes as its cool texture braces me. My dry, soft lips move across your throat and brush your collar bone as I breathe you in. That simple touch is transformed into controlled violence as my brittle need manifests in my lips. I can hear it in your breathing. My lips glide down and my tongue curls out and over your nipple. I can feel the moan in your chest. The thin scratching of my nails on the wall raises your flesh in goosebumps. In the perfect silence sound becomes a sword-edge, so sharp and swift that it moves through tomorrow's twilight. Blues and purples and weeping whites fill the moment as night soaks into the emptiness between breaths. Sweetly, I lift my cheek a hairsbreadth from yours, as Psyche must have done while revealing her secret Lover before he was burned by her that night, betrayed by her restlessness in the broken dark. "My beloved," are the only words that I can whisper. I see your eyes close and I know you will not abandon me, that you will forgive my need. I caress the curve of your throat with gently crooked fingers, trailing my nail over the ridge of your collar bone, then, a fingertip to meld our heartbeats. I inhale your scent, my other hand tracing the line of your jaw as you embrace this most delicate invasion, but no kiss. Not yet. My nails move over your skin, my breath alive and warm against the flush of your cheek, the scream in me passing between us like an ancient phantasm. I am trembling. "Please." My last word is so very quiet I don't know if you hear. There is pain in me like my bones should bend from the wanting, from the wild in my blood. I know you have heard when you turn your lips to mine. Dust to dust has never felt like such glory as lips, dry and smooth as burnished gold, meet. The blood turns. Cold fire, like that which nests between stars, slides beneath our skin and the dust is burned away to leave softness, moving with the pulse our moistened lips share in that kiss. Without asking your fingers open the buttons of my coat while my fingers drift into your hair, nails teasing your scalp. I can feel your entire body shivering in your lips. Your hands slide into the shadow of the coat and over my bare flesh and your arms follow to coil around my waist. Like a slow, curling heat your touch climbs my spine. My hands glide over the globe of your shoulders and drop to let my coat fall away in a soft pool of black at my feet. It is wonderful. Simple. Wordless. Just like a scream fading to a sigh should be. The wild in me spreads over us like satin wings to catch every gasp and whisper so that we may soar. Your mouth steals my despair and I want to weep because you did not leave me to my torment. Compassion and submission and courage are your gifts as you draw me in tight to your body. Your name is coarse in my throat as my mouth consumes you. All other words break. I can breathe. Sensation crashes in. The salt of your skin tingles on my tongue. Your pleading, thundering heartbeat hammers beneath my palm. Long, smooth arms weigh upon the small of my back. Your head rolls towards my hand as it slips behind your neck, my fingertips teasing the nape while my lips insist on snatching fragments of your arousal from your mouth. The feel of your moan is heaven. I want to fall into you, to steal you and consume you and set you upon the crown of the world. I cannot taste enough of you. My fingers drift down your tapered waist and across your flat stomach, pausing on the peaking crests of your hips. They delicately, deliberately interpose themselves between your tingling skin and the loosely tied waistband of your pants. The restraint is both maddening and exhilarating as I smoothly slide the fabric away, my nails trailing its descent down over your thighs. Skin to skin, now, you step completely into my embrace, your lean body drawn tight with a deep shudder as you collapse into your passion. Your lips are ravenous, covetous of my skin, kissing and nipping all that they pass over as your knees bend to the floor. My breasts are firm and high beneath your hands and to touch them is to embrace delicious slavery. I feel the whisper of my name between your kisses like thorns against my flesh. Yes, my love! Drink me in like absinthe and fall like an angel corrupted knowing I wait in the dark of your dreams. Knowing I will never leave you. Let passion be your crime and my unstoppable addiction. Your hands are irresistible, moving like a ghost's, over and through me, like spider silk spun through my body, freeing the wild and the wanting from deep within. I meet you upon your knees to taste the lust upon you lips. Like a melody I am there on your tongue; bitter, sweet, potent, carnal, innocent and damned, layer after layer of language made into sex, into taste and scent and texture and perfect desire. I slide around you, taking you, robbing you, feeling you in my body and blood. Our moans fall into shivering silence undisturbed by breath or voice as our souls threaten to break. Flesh is transparent in our sharing as I arch back, opening my breasts and belly to your touch and kiss while I draw you in deeper. I am yours to consume, I am yours to murder, I am yours to complete. I gasp your name like a prayer and move my hips against yours. Your hands crush them to you with feral strength, your growl mixed with choked pleasure as the wild and the wanting take you. You bend over my arched body, groaning as you thrust, your arms wrapped tightly around my lower back. My nails find deep purchase in your flesh. My lips crush yours in that spiralling moment of ecstasy remaking each breath, each movement into the image of rapture. How can the mortal coil possibly endure? When shall we perish in flame and decadence? And then in a moment, in a scream, it is over. You whisper the name of your Goddess, your Lady, my name, trembling and clutching me as your body clings to that moment of passion and the name of my Lord, my lover, you, is upon my lips as I kiss your face, feeling you shiver. I move your hair back from your eyes and meet them, deep and dark, lost in pain and bliss. Words are set aside as useless when desire is the breath between our blistering skins. I feel your pulse bursting from your veins and you grip my wrists, as you look away because it is too much to endure. Yet, the heat is nothing compared to the agony of our bodies being parted. I cool your skin with more kisses and caresses so delicate they would shame a butterfly. I use ancient words passed on in the heart to recapture you, words that have never sounded so sweet. With them comes sleep and gentle arms to cradle you as you listen to my voice stretch beside you and walk you into the dark of your dreams. Insomnia She lay in bed; her legs twitching; the palm of her hand pressing deep into her thigh. She shook her head, "c'mon all I wanted to do tonight was get some fucking sleep." She knew she wasn't going to sleep; the urges she felt were too strong, always too strong. She had seen doctors about it; they had tried to help, but nothing worked. She sighed and rolled out of bed, stretching her body while looking in the mirror. She liked looking at herself. Her D cup breasts were still firm and her rose colored, large nipples pointed to the ceiling as she stretched her arms above her head. Her skin was almost a translucent white. She looked back a little to see her round ass and smiled. She loved her ass; her hand came down and she rubbed it for a second before giving herself a slap and throwing on some jeans and a tee shirt. It didn't matter what she wore; she was pretty enough and forward enough to get what she wanted without dolling herself up. She slipped on some heels. She was a very short girl, not reaching five feet tall; she needed the heels to help with her mission. She went to the mirror, and shook out her red hair as she giggled. Her hair was always a mess, always had that "just fucked looked." She got to the bar and ordered a vodka and seven-up. The bartender brought it over with a smile, "what are you up to tonight?" "Not much, Josh, same ole same ole, you know." He gave a knowing nod, "yeah I know. You got your eyes on anybody yet?" She tipped her head back and laughed, "I just got here." She turned her chair and looked out. There weren't very many people there. She was a little let down by this; most of the time when these urges came she needed more than one person. She turned her chair back around and caught the eye of a man at the other end of the bar. She smiled at him and bent down to suck her drink through the straw. She kept her eyes on him, both letting him know that she was interested and scoping him out. He was a good looking man, shorter dark hair. He had a set jaw-line, she liked that, and though she were sitting, she could tell that he was about a foot taller than she was. She giggled to herself and thought how glad she was to have put on the heels. She stared at him a little bit longer before bringing her attention back to the bartender. As she sat bullshitting with Josh, she'd ever so often look back at the man. She would twist her body so that he got a good look at her braless tits in the thin white, tight tee-shirt she had thrown on. In the middle of conversation, the man called Josh over to him. She waited patiently, and soon Josh came back over with a new drink for her. "From him." Josh always acted a little put out when things started to happen. She thanked him, then raised her glass and nodded at the man. He smiled and waved his hand to dismiss it. She thought to herself, "god I hope this guy isn't a pussy. I don't want to have to do all the work." Her thought slowly diminished when the man picked up his beer and headed her way. He sat down next to her, "hi." "Hi there. How are things?" "Better now." She laughed and put her hand on his arm, "oh stop it." He smiled and took a drink of his beer. "So what brings a lovely girl out to this place so late in the middle of the week?" "Couldn't sleep." "I see, so you needed a drink to help." She let a slow smile cross her face and put her hand on his upper thigh, "no that's not what I needed." His eyes widened as he caught on to what she was saying. His hand went down to rest on her inside of her upper thigh. "What else do you need?" An impish look crossed his face. She giggled and shook her head, "You know." Her voice had become raspy and she let her hand slide up his thigh. He pulled his hips forward as her hand reached the area of his cock. She liked the fact that he was in khakis. The thin material allotted for a better feel of what she was going to get. She pressed her palm down and slowly rubbed. She could feel his cock move, but this was a man that was going to need more than just an outside feel to get aroused. She liked that too. She let out a small moan as she felt his hand cup her pussy. "That pussy ready or what?" She laughed, "This pussy is always ready. That cock gonna be ready." It was his turn to laugh, "if you can make it." "Is that a challenge?" "Maybe." She slitted her big eyes at him. "I'm-a go to the bathroom." She hopped of the stool and slowly sauntered toward the back of the bar. She knew he was following so there was no need to look back. She primped her hair in the mirror and turned to see the door open. She saw him try to lock it. "No, no don't do that. It'll ruin all the fun." "What if someone walks in?" "Maybe they would like to join." She said with a wink "We could be kicked out, arrested..." She put a finger to his lips, "don't worry, Josh ain't gonna do anything." She trailed her finger down his lips, to his chest, slowly moving it down to his cock. "Now you gonna be a pussy all night or are you gonna fuck mine?" She moaned as his hand went up into her hair and he whipped her around. She could feel his cock on her ass and she slowly moved her hips, grinding it into his semi-hard cock. "You sure are a disrespectful, forward bitch, aren't you?" "Yeah you gonna do something about it?" He shook her head by her hair which caused her pussy to moisten even more. "I'm gonna shut you up!" He whipped her around again and dropped her to her knees. She let out a grunt as her knees hit the hard floor of the bathroom. She thought to herself that he may be all she needed tonight and that was good. With his other hand, he took out his cock and began to jack it off. She watch his hand move along the big, thick cock and her eyebrow raised as she noticed just how big it was getting. She couldn't help but to egg him on, "I don't see how jacking off is making me shut up." He let out a growl and forced his cock past her lips. She let out a moan that was cut off when he jammed his cock down her throat. She looked up at him; this is what she needed, what she couldn't sleep for and he knew exactly how to give it to her. Most guys wanted to be quick or to go slow, she needed it rough. He grabbed her by her ears and slammed his cock into her throat. She choked and felt hot tears fill her eyes. Her pussy was pulsing; she knew she'd come off sucking his cock if he kept it up like this. "Yeah, you little whore, you like that?" She nodded and brought her hands up to his ass, helping him thrust into her throat. She wanted him to keep it up; she needed to come so bad. Her body shook and when his cock was pulled from her throat, she had seconds to moan before it jammed back in there. He looked at her, his eyes widening, "Oh fuck you're gonna come off of this aren't you?" She nodded and pulled his hips in closer. "What a fucking slut!" She looked up at him and saw him smiling as she shuddered with her first orgasm. He pulled her back up and lifted her shirt over her nice, round tits. He fondled them for a minute, "You want this cock in that cunt, don't ya, slut?" "Yes, I need it. Give it to me. Fuck the shit outta my pussy." "I'm-a fuck you whore. I'm-a fuck you hard. I'll have you screaming by the time I'm finished with you." She nodded and moaned as she felt his hands pull down her jeans. He turned her around and pressed her against the bathroom wall. "You ready, bitch?" "Yeah fuck me. Stick that big motherfucker in this cunt right now!" She let out a long, loud moan as he thrust his cock into her pussy. Her pussy grasped his thick cock tightly and she heard him whisper, "aw fuck." She giggled, "that's a tight pussy isn't it?" "Oh my god! It's so fucking tight! " He pounded his hips into hers and she fucked him back. She knew how to make a man come in a matter of minutes. She never liked these sessions to last too long. She gripped his cock even more, tightening and releasing her pussy with a fast rhythm. "Oh fuck bitch you're gonna make me come." "Yeah, come for me. Come on! Do it!" His hands came down on her hips and he thrust hard and deep into her. She felt another wave hit her and her body tightened as she screamed out, "fuck yes! C'mon fuck me!" She felt his cock getting ready to explode, "come all over my fucking ass!" He pulled out and she felt his hot cum hit her skin; she moaned again and rubbed her ass against his cock until he was completely finished. She turned around and smiled, "Thank you." He laughed while she grabbed some napkins and wiped the now cold, sticky seed from her skin. "No, thank you. We should do this again." She laughed, she never made any promises, "You know where to find me." She left the bathroom, downed the rest of her vodka and headed out the door. She could sleep now. She knew it. Insomnia I found that once I graduated from high school, I got to see my friends less and less. I was under the impression that I would be free and near completely unoccupied- how wrong I was! I was excited about the fun and games and the weekly outings to a club we finally agree upon partying at. But nobody has time. Somebody always can't make it. Uni. TAFE. Work. Something is always in our way! The unspoken rule of our group is 'it's everyone, or call it off.' But this Friday night brought a miracle. My best from high school, Felicity, managed to organise a night IN ADVANCE (something nobody else thought of doing), so that we can cough through the phone and get a day off from work- without getting abused by our respective bosses. The 90s night that the Icicle Bar has to offer is always a smash hit- now that we've all turned 20 (save for Kid Genius Sandra, who's 19), we've become old enough for the 90s to be excitingly nostalgic. We partied 'til 5am, we probably spent hundreds of dollars on drinks and danced to Aqua, Vengaboys and Britney Spears. Seeing that we're all on our provisional licenses, we were definitely not allowed to be driving. We managed to get home by taxi, and somehow, during our various stages of drunkenness, we also found places to sleep in Felicity's house. Sandra found a bed in a wooden table covered in cushions, Felicity slept in her room, Annie used the house's only sleeping bag, Mike was perfectly happy with the shagpile carpet and Phil and I ended up sharing a sofa bed. Truth be told, I don't want to share a bed with Phil. Don't get me wrong- I have nothing against him! My memory of him in high school was that of a shortish guy who was zealous about study. He was quiet, slightly reserved and very private. But how five years can change people! He was outgoing and completely comfortable with his innovative dance moves that can only be called innovative. He was now taller than me too. I used to tower over Phillip Howard. I generally don't like sharing beds, because I can't sleep through any kinds of distractions- quilt-stealing, snoring or a hypnagogic kick for that matter. "Sandra? Can you turn the lights off?" I barked, cranky as I just wanted to get to sleep. "I'll do it. Sandra's fast asleep," Mike got up from the floor and eventually found the switch. With a click, the lights went out, and I felt the blanket of sleep close my eyes and pull towards the world of dreams. The thump of Mike crashing back onto the (probably) uncomfortable floor snapped me awake again. Then my mind began to wonder. I'm not a very good sleeper anyway, as I'm always thinking about something, however trivial: wow, we drank a lot. My feet hurt. My ears are ringing. My head is throbbing. I have to get that assignment done by Monday. Hope we can go out together soon. Phil is adorable. He bought me my favourite drink- how nice. He was staring at my ass, and thought I didn't notice. His eyes didn't leave mine when we danced to the Backstreet Boys. What the hell am I thinking about? I'm not even that attracted to him. Why can't I stop thinking about him? Is it natural to reflect on how much somebody's changed? Is it normal to obsess over every detail; trying to prove whether or not he was attracted to me? Or was I being delusional, as I am secretly attracted to him? We didn't get the opportunity to talk much, as maintaining conversation at a club is hard... I don't think I can go to sleep like this... so I will have to pull out my favourite trick to fall asleep. Masturbation. It's really easy to fall asleep after you cum, you know. I remember reading somewhere that cumming releases some kind of relaxing hormone that aids in sleep. I've been using this technique for a while now. It's pretty cold, too. Since sexual arousal hastens blood flow, it warms you up. It gets my feet warm- which is important as you can't fall asleep if your feet aren't a comfortable temperature. I look both sides in the living room's darkness; as though I would be able to see if everyone's asleep. I'm too scared to utter their names, as they might awaken, and I would have to wait until they fall asleep again. Now I have to get into the zone... I'm pretty sure everyone's asleep. I've done this many time, at many friends' houses. I've mastered how to keep quiet and jerking in ecstasy to a minimal. Breathing through your nose is the key. When you feel like you have to moan, puff your chest and slowly breathe out of your mouth. If you breathe out too fast, you'll let out a vocal shudder. I pulled up my dress and let my fingertips sensually pass over the satiny smoothness of my 'invisible' panties. I took a deep, but painfully silent breath in as I felt the two mounds that was my vulva. I've got masturbation down to a pat. I love teasing my self. I carefully and very gently stroked the tip of my nail in the centre; stroking over my clitoral hood. I gulped a little, and looked both sides again in paranoia. It felt like each stroke of my finger made my blood pump faster. My stomach caved in as my body struggled to break free from the shackles of my will; to jerk in response to its appreciation of the imminent pleasure to come. My body got warmer and warmer as my clit got harder and harder. With my free hand, I ran my fingertips over my clit. It was pretty firm, and dying to be rubbed more aggressively. Stroking my clit through my panties is not good enough anymore... I slid my quivering hands under the tight satin and roll my clit with my index finger. It's becoming tougher to not let out a moan of delight, but boy, do I love a challenge. I can feel my now-moist hole throbbing a bit; longing for something thick and warm to slide in and out of it. My pussy's gotten to the point of no return- the skin around the hole was now as moist as fresh raw meat, and my clit now a diamond. I had to come. As I reached closer to climax, my toes curled into the sofa; my toenails making a grazing noise. The fear of getting caught woke me up from my world of naughty dreams. I'm so fucking horny now that I'm softly rubbing over my clit as I carefully try and listen for any signs that somebody has awoken. Considering my toe-curling a lucky escape, I continued ahead on the long and intense road towards orgasm... The sound of a door opening stabbed my heart to a stop. I couldn't help but let out a gasp of fright. I tried to stifle my increasing heavy and audible breaths; making it difficult to tell what's going on. I heard some gentle footsteps as the sound of the door closing brought relief. Furiously touching myself again, I let my mind travel to the excitingly tantalising world of my fantasies. Getting ravaged by my History professor on his desk. Getting fucked by a cop to avoid a ticket. Having sex in a confession booth. It seemed that the hornier I became, the more 'taboo' my fantasies distorted themselves to become. "Hey," I heard a whisper. I froze on the spot; not being able to help but rub my warm wetness all over my clit. "Hey, Allison," I heard a male whisper. The only person it could be was Phil, if the voice sounded like it was coming from next to me. "Wh-what?" I replied, trying my best to conceal my breathing. "Are you OK? I heard you gasp, and you've been breathing heavily for a while, now," Phil informed me. Here I thought I was being clever about things too. "I'm fine. I was asleep, and the door suddenly opened, so it scared me," I explained; desperately hoping the explanation satisfied Phil. His whispers were so soothing... I couldn't do anything but hate myself when my body decided that I should rub myself again. "You're still scared?" Uh-oh. This wasn't a good sign. He sounded sceptical. "Y-yeah, so what? It's still dark out there. God knows what kinds of creeps are lurking." Phil then... chuckled?! "You really think I was born yesterday, Allison?" Allison. I loved the way he whispered my name. When I'm horny, anybody sounds like a good idea. Especially when I'm too hot and bothered to object. Knowing where this is going, and even desiring for this to keep on going, I didn't bother to try and fight off his guess. "I don't know about you, but I can never mistake the sounds a girl makes when she's horny," Phil's hot breaths in my ear- as sad as it is- was enough to bring me on the edge of orgasm. Phil. Short Phil. Was now turning my crank to point it will break off and I will lose control of myself... His... forwardness took my voice away. But my breaths seem to be doing fine... I couldn't control my breathing anymore. I let out a long breath; a trembling moan trying to escape along with warm air. "That's it," Phil whispered into my ear, as he put slowly snaked a hand around my waist. "It's not good to bottle it up. But I was listening to how hard you were trying to keep to yourself." His hand slithered down the small of my back, over my butt, and finally, it rested on my inner thigh. I didn't object him inching closer to me. I didn't resist him placing a leg over my bare one. He was so warm... it felt so good on this cold winter's night. He softly caressed his masculine hand along my inner thigh. In this darkness, I couldn't know what to expect. Every touch was a pleasant surprise; so thrilling and exciting. I let out a gentle moan when one of his fingers passed over my wet hole. It was pretty embarrassing. My switch was already turned on. I didn't want him to think that I was that horny for him. No way... "Looks like I don't have much work to do. I think I've jumped in at the right time," Phil put his hand over my pubis, and patted it twice. With women, it's all about anticipation. I can't wait for him to finger me; to rub me; to caress my back once he's done. "Don't tell me what to do. I'd like to find out for myself, using my tongue." Wait... what? Oh God... the thought of a wet, hot tongue sliding over my clit is more overwhelming than my desire to cum! He dove under the doona and came to stop. I felt him place his hands on my hips. Hurry up, Phil! I don't want this moment of waiting for that tongue to lick my pussy clean to last forever! I ran my hand through his styled hair to usher him. "Be patient," a muffled voice instructed me. Soon after the command, I lay and waited. Then I felt it... oh yes. Yes! The tip of Phil's tongue circled around my clit. I clamped my legs around his back, as I could no longer hold on by self-restraint alone. I was so close to cumming, until I was interrupted- so he's right- he has his work cut for him. I left my hands on my face, as I felt my ass rock back and forth in delight. It feels like my bottom half is melting off from the rest of me... I felt his lips- wet from my pussy juice- cushion around my clit as he gently began to suck it. All I wanted to do is scream, but I know I couldn't. Even though I was losing myself in his hands, I know I couldn't. "Oh God... oh GOD!" I whispered aggressively; trying to not let my voice sneak out along my passionate cries. I then sensed a finger just about to enter my wet hole. Oh... it's so wet that maintaining friction will not be easy. His fingertip eagerly searched for my G-spot- which I was dying to tell him where, but he insisted on finding out for himself. As soon as he unintentionally brushed over it, my legs squeezed around him. As though he shouted out "Bingo!", Phil's finger pressed against my button and massaged furtively. I could feel my pussy tighten and loosen around his finger as my body grew more and more erratic from raw pleasure. "OH GOD!" I whispered loudly again, as I was only a second away coming. My body shook as that final lick and final stroke of my pussy tipped me over the edge. My shaking legs unhooked from Phil's back and I panted like I ran 2km without stopping. I heard him re-emerge from his doona cocoon. It was pitch back, but I knew he was grinning in self-pride. Without saying a word, he turned over and tried to sleep. My body was hot all over. My pussy was still throbbing from being pounded with his expert finger. My panties were damp from the juices of passion. This time, for real, sleep had finally arrived. I let out a sigh, as my final thought was wishing that I'd always have Phil to help me go to sleep... Insomnia Sanya watched the curtains bluster outward. Or was it inward? They were moving towards her and away from the open window. It was these types of questions she pondered when sleep despised her presence. As far as she was aware, there were no Gods or Goddesses of sleep to offend, but she was beginning to wonder if some sort of sacrifice might be in order anyway. She lifted her wrist grudgingly to see what time it was. On the final ascent to her face she remembered she'd ditched the watch hours ago with a nice toss towards the far wall. She'd gotten tired of knowing how few hours for sleep she still had to grab before her alarm clock blared. Speaking of which, where had she hidden her alarm clock this time? Oh well, she'd remember soon enough when it went off in its hideously soul piercing call of doom. Drumming her fingers on her stomach, she pinched at her satin night slip. It clung to her in an annoying way. It felt more like a mourning shroud than something sexy and alluring. Not that anyone was there to take in the way it draped over her perky breasts, dipping just slightly into her cleavage, suggestive of a hidden landscape ready for exploration. Deciding whether to take it off or leave it on was her next predicament. Moving would show defeat in the eyes of sleep. Did she want to admit she'd been a failure at sleep again? Not that being frozen in nearly one place was conducive to sleep. Damn, life questions were too much to face alone, in the dark when too exhausted to sleep. Of course had she been able to sleep any of the previous nights she wouldn't be exhausted. Sanya put a track mark of teeth down her lower lip. There was still the remnant of her cherry lip gloss. It was wrong, just wrong that no one else's teeth or tongue was wicking away the last taste of cherry for her. Life wasn't fair. Here she was in an expensive night slip, her hair was freshly washed and conditioned for lively buoyancy, according to the label, and she had the dorm room to herself. This wasn't even taking into consideration her kickass body from being on the gymnastic's team. Her mind harkened back to class earlier in the day about the fall of the Roman Republic and Caesar's antics. Maybe it was time to relive history and go and conquer a sex slave for her very own. Caesar never had a cold tent at night. Now thousands of years later she was living with indoor plumbing and heat but her mattress was getting cold. She punched her mattress for its insolence in only supporting her and sat up. It was time to go and hunt for a man. If Caesar could do it, so could she. She had Roman blood in her on her father's side after all. An army wasn't in her arsenal, but her legs could slay by contour alone and her slip did leave a lot of her body available for eyes to prey on. The little bit of her body covered could easily be shoved out of the way by insistent hands. Battle ready she was. Now she just needed an available cock to soothe her tired limbs by and thereby be granted the blessing of euphoria induced sleep. Now that would have been a great Roman name for a woman. Euphoria. Sanya mentally jotted down that idea in her brain so she could bring it up in class and watch the men try to refrain from squirming and her teacher play with his suspenders. She did notice he played with his suspenders a lot when she opened her mouth or waltzed by him to find a place to sit. Suspenders were a great guide into the lower regions of a man's anatomy. Men should wear them far more often than they did, she rationalized, shifting her legs off the side of the bed and getting to her feet. Shoes and slippers were unnecessary. At this time of the night, the only place she was going to find a captive was in the TV room at the end of the hall. Maybe, if luck was going to bless her, like it often had Caesar, a poor pitiful, male, soul would be watching TV instead of faking sleep. A poor pitiful, male, soul that didn't have a Macedonian war-prone, girlfriend hidden away would be even better. But she was desperate and would deal with any ignited war flames later, after she'd had her conquest and was satiated. Giving her hair a toss to undo any damage lying down had done, she slipped quietly over the carpet out of habit. Not that her roommate came back much. Bitch. How dare she be more successful in bed than her. At the door she turned the nob and listened. It was one thing to go half naked into a room that might be empty, but she really didn't want her floor masturbating to her image if she wasn't going to get any action out of it. Outside sounded empty, so she shifted into the hall and left the door ajar behind her. An exit plan was always a smart move history taught, and she prided herself on being a fast learner who could apply history to daily life. Sanya opted for silence over speed and proceeded down the hall under as much stealth as her poorly clad body allowed for. She certainly wasn't going to fade into the institutional off -white paint should somebody's door open to answer the call of a bladder or middle of the night hunger pain. She now stood pressed against the door frame, her neck craning around the open door to see what exploits lay in wait. Ah, the gods of sleep might not look kindly on her, but clearly the priestesses of sex did put in a good word for her. One, lonely, soul was contained by the room. And it was a man. Cock be with her. The guy's back was to her as he slumped down in the sofa angled for prime TV viewing. Either he was asleep or her gymnastics were coming into use. Had she wanted, she could leap onto the sofa right now, but she needed her prey alive, not in the ER from a heart attack. Hair style was too college male to help in identification so she crept closer. Not that it really mattered who he was, but it seemed polite to at least know who she was about to confront. It was the shirt that eventually gave it away. Only one man that she could remember was married to grey plaid shirts and khaki pants, and that man was Xander. For his sake, she hoped the name was short for Alexander and not something his parents had intentionally done to him. It was almost as bad as misspelling women's names to make them sound cuter. How emasculating. Xander was room number four-zero-four. Sanya noted in her in internal filing system in case she decided to start marking territory later. You never knew when sex would turn to civil war on campus. He still was comatose. Sanya looked up at the TV. The sound was too low to hear, but it was clearly a nature show about the less than moralistic sexual practices of ducks. Interesting nighttime choice but then again at this unholy hour the choices were probably limited as the TV didn't pick up cable stations. Sanya approached as close as she dared before he might notice her presence looming over him. "You know," she said huskily, "males have to impress the females with their looks and prowess before a female will consent to sex without force in the animal kingdom." She knew it wasn't entirely true, but it got the point across and proved he was alive and breathing as his body stuttered in a failed jump then fell back onto the sofa. "Don't worry," she murmured, leaning over the sofa and grabbing onto his shirt collar, "I don't expect much from you tonight. You can just lie there and let me do all the work. I just need you for your cock." Xander started to open his mouth. Sanya placed a hand over his mouth. "Shh, don't blow this for me by talking. Like I said, you playing dead is just fine by me, and I really don't think you want an audience, do you? Or are you into that sort of thing?" Sanya's hand shook his head back and forth for him. "Good, but depending on how well you please me we can negotiate that for another night," she paused with a glint in her eyes, "perhaps." In a well-practiced move out of the context of normal gym equipment, she let go of Xander, grabbed hold of the sofa's top edge and jumped up, legs out wide in a split. One hand came up and let the other pivot so her legs whipped around and she came down with enough force to pin Xander under her as she faced him off. Xander's eyes fought for which would out bulge the other as his diaphragm let out all the air his lungs had stored up. He actually began to cough and wheeze. "Now really pull yourself together. I can't have you going emphysema on me when I'm this close to fucking you. I'll even let you come if you want though that is a side issue to my own orgasm. I'm that considerate a person." She cocked her head to the side and smiled. Her thighs tensed to show him what he was up against. She leaned forward and cupped each of his shoulder with her grip to push him back into the sofa. "You learn only so much from nature shows. Sometimes you have to get in field experience to really know what life is like." Xander sat under her paralytic. "Come on, I've seen the way you and all the other guys look at me. You can't deny you wanted to fuck me, and here I am. So let's do this nice and quietly." Her off hand slowly released its clasp. Xander's mouth opened but nothing came out. "You know," Sanya pondered his mouth, "men are best when not talking. It's not like I can believe anything that comes out of your mouth anyway. And certainly no one you tell this too will. So really it's best you just shut up before you even start." Xander's mouth hung open for a moment then shut. "Much better, and I like how well you follow directions." Xander's eyes dilated. "Now this is how we're going to play this out," Sanya patted his shoulder. "I'm going to get that dick of yours out for inspection. If I like what I see, I'm going to mount you and pump up and down until I'm dripping wet. Don't even think of moving those hips of yours. This is my pole vault and routine. I don't like competition when I'm in it for the win. Got it?" She waited to see if his head would bob. It did. "Good." Watching him, she assessed the body under her, a bulge propping up his pants and hitting at her unclad pussy. "Well now, that's more like it. I was beginning to think you were calling me ugly," she pouted. "That would make me angry and less inclined to let you have any pleasure from this. I don't like being put down. I get cranky." She wrinkled her nose. In answer, his cock butted her through the khakis, and he quietly groaned. "Aw, does the poor cock want freedom? Are you being pinched?" She pressed her free hand down on the bulge to push it between his legs. Those very legs fought against her, but she didn't relent until she saw him biting his lip to the breaking point. "Wimp." She slowly let the bulge spring back. She flicked her finger at the bulge and laughed as it contracted away then rammed right back into stretching his pants towards her. "Aw, how cute is that. So ready to come out and play. I like that." She smiled and pinched the bulge between her palms, trying to get her palms to meet up. Xander's ass pressed into the sofa, but his cock and bulge stayed where it was, trapped in her grip. He choked back a growl which made her try again to press him flat like an iron. "Remember who is in control here. You know that's me, right?" She let up on the pressure then intensified it in one last offensive strike. Xander tried to bob his head without moving his legs or torso. "I knew I liked you. You're a fast learner. I see that as a sign of respect." She let the captive cock go and watched the bulge lash about like a caught fish deprived of water. "Hmm, button or no button? Do I just go for the zipper? If you try to squirm away you get trapped by your own clothing, maybe even snag your tender self on the ends of the zipper?" Xander closed his eyes. "Fine be that way. Cower in the darkness of your own oblivion." Sanya pulled down the zipper ignoring any reticence the tines or fabric had. Her hand darted in and snatched at the cock through the fly of his boxers, yanking it out of cover. The legs under her tensed and stayed that way. "Does this make you a scaredy pants?" Sanya laughed, ignoring the fact Xander didn't join in with the merriment. A hand flat to his chest helped her raise up so there was enough of a gap between them that she could stick the tip of his hard cock into her. Lubrication was not an issue, and she ignored any tightness that might have appreciated a slow procession. Accompanied by a mutual grunt, she bore down on him with one swift push that buried him deep within her. Now she was back to the split on top of him and a large smile on her face. Her eye lids fluttered and her throat relaxed into a sigh. "This really is so much better than sleeping pills." Xander didn't answer, but one eye did open to snatch a look at her then close. "You ready for my routine? You do play an important part. Equipment should never be taken for granted. Someone needs to oil and care for the wood." She pinched his lip between her thumb and pointer to dissuade talking back. "You might want to grab onto the back of the sofa. I'll be miffed if you slide and disrupt my mount." Xander's hands flew up to the top of the sofa and latched on clamp-like. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, her trimmed nails digging into his shoulder blades and back of neck. The shoulders blades were cloth protected, but the neck was bare skin with a smattering of curly hair to ensnare. Sanya tested her mount, seeking the point of balance as her hips rotated and rocked back and forth, bending and twisting him in her so he touched all the good parts. At the slightest hint he might be making a sound, she let up on one hand to slap him across the cheek then return to her normal position. Base of her palms rammed under his collar bone as she started to push up and down. Her legs used the friction of the sofa to help in the ascent and then slide out as she started slowly then revved up, pummeling his balls with each premeditated crash down. To prevent a cramp from forming in her hands, she released the kinks with a slap to each side of his face. Her glazed eyes didn't catch the look on his face as she went back to her shoulder crush on him. She felt his cock grow, pressing down on her stretched perineum. She reveled in the pressure and pressed down on his thighs with her ass, wishing she could take his balls inside her too, but liking the way they squirmed against her as she let gravity win momentarily. Need built with each twitch of his cock, refusing to listen to her admonitions of being still. The animal was alive and she wanted to tame it back, make it beg for mercy, beg for release. Her hips swayed in a gentle back and forth motion, but her control began to ebb away. The animal inside her was ready for the kill. She could smell him now wanting her and it ate away at her control. Her hips upped the speed and ferocity of hitting into his stomach. Clit against hairy balls and groin sent her close to the edge. Part of her wanted to hold on a bit longer, but her body had other ideas and overruled desire for lust. Hips were now on autopilot, knowing just how to jut back and forth to force his body to please every bare piece of pussy that grabbed at him. Her muscled seized his cock as her clit ignited into sparks that travelled up her spine and shot out her head. Euphoria had started with the first wave. Her fingers dug into his neck, pieces of his skin building up under her nails. Her torso rotated, forming a cyclic oval with his cock locked inside. She twisted and bent him to her will, her need, as she squirmed to get her clit as satiated as her g-spot. Bending towards his chest, she angled his cock right up deep inside to the spot that crested her over on a second wave of spasms that left her drenched inside and out. Loosing cohesion, her body slumped onto him, spine and muscles no longer enough to keep her erect. As her head eddied in and out of consciousness she realized he was no longer erect either. With the last hint of arm strength she levered herself up enough. "Get out of me." Xander shakily moved his arm and with robotic motion pulled himself out limp. Sanya retracted her legs and slid down him, landing with a gentle thump on the floor. Using his knees, she hauled herself up onto faltering legs and looked down at him. Nodding, she shuffled out of the room, trying to get her night slip back in place over her thighs. She tugged at the hem to get it covering enough ass and thigh. It was time to finish off the night with sleep.