But that night ended horribly. It ended with Atticus screaming and running for our father, claiming he had seen…itin the bed with me as I groaned and whimpered helplessly.
Thatis why Atticus is the only one I can fully confide in. He’s seen it—he’s been there in the thick of it. And he didn’t judge me or condemn me. Only, having seen it, he’s become so protective that he’s cut himself off from the world outside and all the people who occupy it.
He barely leaves the castle, and when he does, he makes sure to keep everyone around him at arm’s length.
I shut the door to my bedroom behind me softly, heading toward the bathroom.
I take a shower, dress in my night clothes, and just as the moonlight begins to seep into the space around me, I slide under the duvet.
Will it come tonight? My symptoms haven’t been too bad today, but there’s never a pattern. No discernible sign I can cling to to prepare myself.
And if it comes, and I find myself enjoying it, how long will I have to spend on my knees in the chapel tomorrow?
Everything around me is dark. As I become aware of it, this never-ending darkness, I sigh out a large, deep breath.
It’s always dark here—I’m not allowed to see it. There’s blinding sensation only, and some part of me feels grateful for that. I can’t even see my own body, though I can most definitely feel it with heightened clarity.
I can hear, too. I can hear the groaning of my wooden floorboards as it approaches, the sound of my bedframe creaking as it sinks onto the mattress at the foot of the bed.
I’m shaking; I can feel it. I’m anticipating a pleasure-coated pain, a release.
Long, cool fingers wrap around my right thigh, and I shiver, the sharp fingernails catching my skin slightly. It pulls my leg to the side, spreading me.
A small, half-scared, half-interested noise leaves me. And as I stare into the pure darkness above me, I’m overwhelmed with the sensation of its cold tongue dragging over my hipbones.
When the long fingers of its other hand brush over my nipples, my cock lengthens, and a loud, low growl fills the room around me.
I can’t move.
Something wet and almost slimy in sensation drips onto my erection, and soon after, the fingers on my chest travel downward until they’re wrapped securely around my shaft.
“Ugh.”I can hear my own voice. It’s startling every time, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the onslaught of noise that leaves me throughout the night. It happens every time.
It fists my cock several times, the fingers on my thigh holding me in a bruising grip. The pleasure and the pain shift into one sensation, and I choke on it, leaking onto its hand and my own stomach.
Then, far too soon, the hand is leaving my length and traveling lower, two wet fingers circling the rim of my entrance before slipping in without hesitation.
I cry out at the sudden stretch, the sting, and the feeling of being filled with something foreign. It’sintoxicating, and my mind can focus on nothing else.
It’s so distracting that as the fingers pump into me suddenly and harshly, I’m shouting as sharp teeth begin to nibble on my pebbled nipples.
Another finger is added, far too soon, and I’m staring wide-eyed into the pitch-black as I heave out heavy pants and incoherent noises.
“Ahh,” I cry, wishing with everything in me to move. Not to run, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to anyway, but to react.
To arch my back, or to grip the duvet below me.AnythingI can use to ground myself. But I cannot. I am being swallowed by sensation, just as I always am. Swallowed up by the feel of these cold hands, the all-consuming darkness that surrounds me.
The long fingers leave me, and I sigh in a mixture of relief and disappointment. Then, not even a moment later, the smooth head of something cold and pulsing is pressed against my hole.In the span of one second to the next, the steel-like appendage is buried to the hilt.
Cool, clammy skin is pressing into the back of my thighs, and a loud hiss presses into the walls and drowns out my own cry.
The head is soft and round, but the shaft is ridged, almost as if a thousand little balls are embedded in the skin of thisthing. It’s long and thick, and as it begins to move, I can feel it drag against every inch of my inner walls.
This goes on for a while. I’m not sure how long I lie here, taking each punishing thrust after thrust, as time has no meaning here in my nightmares.
But after some while, as it shoves back into me, because we’ve done this one-sided dance so many times, the thing angles upward and slightly to the left, slamming straight into my prostate.
It abuses it thoroughly, its cold tongue licking away at my chest. My cock throbs, and I can feel the hot wetness of my own tears as it soaks into my hairline.
