Caregiver

I find myself wondering what it was like on those old freighters, going as fast as the wind allowed, being forced to sleep in shifts because of the lack of space. So thinking I make my way around the table, before walking past the china cabinet on the way to the kitchen. A flash catches my eye and I look at the cabinet, straight at the storm tossed freighter.

Rain is splashing down on me the ground is rolling to and fro. Stunned I look about me reaching out with one hand to grab onto a bit of wood besides me. It is dark, very dark and I cannot see anything until a flash of lightning spears through the sky followed by a deafening boom. The light lasted long enough for me to see that just a little away from where I stand there is a railing, and past that, roiling sea. The ground is not ground nor is it carpet it is planks of wood broken here and there by what look to be trees.

I scream as a length of rope rolls into my foot, only to scream louder when a hand falls on my shoulder. I turn to look at the person who grabbed my shoulder, only to fall straight away into a faint.

The next thing I know I am on my back, there is no rain, though the ground seems to be swaying still. Then I realize there is the sound of gusting wind, a crack of lightning followed by the boom of thunder. My eyes open to see that I am in a cabin of some sort the walls are close in, the ceiling high above. All about are boxes and barrels with a path of sorts laid out down the middle.

About the time I noticed that I and everything are swaying back and forth there is a hiss to my left. With a shriek I try to roll off of where I lay only to find it is a hammock, dazed I lay under the sudden hammock roof until one of those creatures reaches for me. Scrambling backwards only to run into a beam headfirst, I roll over ignoring the soaring spikes of pain to scramble upwards and race headlong down what turns out to be the innards of a boat.

There, there is a door, perhaps an exit to the house I left, perhaps an exit from this boat on a roiling ocean with man like things that are not man. Perhaps it is at least an escape from the one behind, making its hissing scrabbling and creaking way after.

Hand pressed to the door, scrabbling for the knob the trailing thing lets out a wailing cry. Not a no, not any words, instead its mouth seems to have opened and let out a tirade of noise. This wail started high pitched and went higher, just when you think it has hit the crescendo it goes higher yet. I swear that my hand only scrabbled for that knob for maybe two seconds, but that wail seemed to go on and on, extending out into minutes, hours, days it seemed I was standing there at that door trying to find that knob, this wailing creature moving closer in it's jerky, creaking way.

Just when it seemed the creature should be grabbing at me my hand falls upon the doorknob, with a frantic twist the door is unlocked and being jerked wide. Instead of dashing through to escape the thing behind, I am falling back. The door did not open to the house I had been in, it did not open to someplace besides this accursed boat with man like creatures, it opened to more of those creatures.

On my butt again I try and scramble away, yet this time I cannot. The one behind is close, clammy slimy hands fall on me, clutching, pulling and squeezing until I am upright and being pressed forward into the door. More hands falling on me as the doorway passes by, I find myself being led toward a bed ahead. Gently placed onto the bed four hands appear tearing and tugging at clothes, with a rip there and a tear here their eyes alight on bare breasts and legs.

They of course are not satisfied with that, hands press again to me at the hips before there is another tear, then rip and I am lying before them in all the clothing I was born in. Shivering in fear because I know what is next, I am not afraid of the sex, I am afraid of one of those things climbing on top of me.

Instead of one of them getting on me, or them grabbing my arms and legs, they move away and look to be talking. I can hear faint belches and squelches, every once in a while one looks back at me. While they are huddled up talking I can do naught but stare at them, so struck with terror I am, and trepidation.

Yes trepidation, I am ashamed to admit it but I am excited that one of them will have its way with me. I don't know why I think just one, but it seems to me that just one will get atop me.

Perhaps it will be that one, with no actual hands, but tentacles where there would be hands. Or that one with no nose, perhaps the one beside him with no hair, and no skin, instead he has scales. They move aside, letting me see another behind them, his shirt is off already and his hands are working on his pants. He is looking down so I cannot see his face, but his body is lean and toned. As his pants fall I can't help but moan he has a most wonderful size. His skin is golden tanned, not much hair even down there. As he moves forward there are hands on me again, grabbing at my arms and legs, holding me open.

I struggle with them as he moves closer, wanting to be able to wrap myself around him instead of being held open like this, until he looks up at me. I turn into a mad woman then, I'd rather have the tentacle handed one on me than him, any of them but this man. I use the term loosely, while he has the body of a regular old man, even his face is quite handsome, his eyes are dead. Not even just dead, but pure black and large, shark eyes for lack of a better comparison. Except not shark eyes, shark eyes have a white border and you can see them moving, his eyes are just black, and there seems to be something roiling within.

He is crawling atop me now, his hands groping at my breasts, my body moving away from him as much as possible in revulsion. I close my eyes so I don't have to see what is about to enter me as he lines himself up with me. I can't move away from his prodding member, my legs are pulled taut to either side of me and his weight atop me prevents any upwards movement. I am caught and vulnerable for his use.

His cock is nuzzling up to me, starting to enter as he moves around atop me. I whimper as his hand grabs my chin and turns my head to face him. Even with my eyes closed I couldn't leave my face turned upright. Then his fingers are atop my eyelids, the pressure trying to pull them open, a sort of crooning hiss urging me to look. I resist as long as I can, his cock nudging closer and closer to having the entire head inside of me.

I can't look, he is almost taking me, I want him to take me; I am ashamed to admit if I could move my hips would be thrusting up to take him inside, but I could not look. Deep down I know if I look at him, look at those eyes I would be lost forever, just another one of those faces on the milk carton. He moves one finger to get a better hold of one lid, my right eye is starting to open I am mewling under him in intense fright as his face starts to appear, so close to my own.

Suddenly his hands pull away, my eyes shut tight again I don't know why I am saved from looking at him. Then I hear it, a cry, from a baby, my arms are free, my legs are free. I feel clothes on me again; I am standing upright, with my eyes closed of course. Warily I crack one eye, there before me is the table, and farther along the china cabinet. At my hip there are more sounds, rustling and cries from an awoken baby.

With a sigh of relief, and regret I move around the dining table to the kitchen door. It is one of those swinging doors so popular long ago, 'Back when everybody had dinosaur pets,' I think in a lame attempt at making myself feel better about what just happened. The kitchen unlike the rest of the house is modern, stainless steel fridge and oven, though the stovetop is gas, always the best choice. There is an island in the middle, stainless steel with black granite surface. Dangling above the island are three cast iron frying pans, four stainless steel pots and two oven mitts, white with red roses and pink frill.

Opening the fridge I find several Tupperware dishes, all marked on white packing tape with the contents, pot roast and steamed potatoes, chicken fried steaks, mashed taters with gravy and corn on the cob. Here is another marked pizza, and there is fried chicken, oh my there is a gumbo way in the back there is a sushi. On the top shelf I find several baby bottles, grabbing one I turn to the microwave while screwing the top off. On the door to the microwave I find a sticky note, it says micro the bottle for twenty seconds.

Following the instructions I head up the stairs holding a mildly warm bottle, Michael still fidgeting about and crying a little over the monitor attached to my hip. At the top of the stairs I pause for a second, trying to remember where his room is. My dilemma is fixed when he cries out, his cry goes in my left ear then my right as the monitor responds to his noise with the slight delay inherent in such things. Confident I know which way to go I turn left and head down the short hall to find two doors, one on the right and one on the left.

Stuck again I find myself stopped for a moment, tossing the bottle between hands as if it is a hot potato, waiting for the baby to make more noise. Instead all I hear are furtive tussles over the monitor and small plaintive cries, not loud enough to hear without the monitor. After trading hands holding the bottle with quick tosses about three times I reach for the door on the right and open it leaning my head inside anxiously.

I am afraid to look in at first, perhaps it is that room on that schooner again, with those things waiting for me. Perhaps that man with the dead black eyes is waiting for me to look in and lose myself in those pools of black. Of course pools are a kind way of describing them. Pools at least move a little, to give the illusion of life to them at least these black eyes don't move, they are simply holes falling into nothingness. Just the thought of looking at them is terrifying, the thought of looking right at those lidless, dead blackness that pose very badly as eyes make me shut my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, there is nothing in the room.

Well nothing is a misnomer there are walls and a roof and a floor, but little else. I can see here and there a dust bunny, some boxes, but whatever this room is to be is not apparent, perhaps they have not unloaded the rest yet, except there is no moving van or truck outside. I suppose they are going to buy something, a sewing machine is the last thought in my head as I back out shutting the door behind me.

Confidant I know where Michael is now I walk the short distance across the hall, a whole two steps, and open his door. The room is quite dark, faint orange light coming from a nightlight on the far wall giving me a fuzzy view of a rocking chair in the corner. Across the room from the rocking chair is a large white crib. Standing up holding onto the side I can see a toddler, has to be Michael. Reaching for the light switch besides me I talk to him, calling him booba and talking about how I have a bottle. As my hands crawls over the wall beside the door looking for that darn switch he just stands there, not moving, not talking, not blinking.

It is then that I notice, he isn't blinking, his eyes are not moving either, they are just black. His head swivels to face me fully, and I find myself staring across the room at a toddler with black eyes. His head twists left then right, as if shaking his head no at me, each twist of his head drawing me closer. The black pits of his eyes not moving, not reflecting, not getting lighter or darker, simply stay staring at me, perfectly black, perfectly dark, perfectly soul swallowing. With each twist of his head I move closer, his eyes not moving, at all now it is like his eyes are nothing more than two objects floating in front of his face, no matter how he moves those black pits of nothingness stare straight at me.

I kick something with my feet then, I don't feel it but the swooshing clatter of it skipping and sliding across the floor makes me look down. When I look up again I realize that the child before me has the black eyes, and that I am afraid of, the black pits called eyes because there should be nothing else on a person's face either side of the nose. With a sharp intake of breath I back away, only a few steps before my hand presses into something sticking out of the wall. 'Must be the light switch,' I think as my fingers move to wrap around it. For a fleeting moment I think perhaps it is not a light switch but one large cockroach, the switch even feels like a struggling bug for a brief second then light floods the room.

Michael is not standing up, he is sitting there looking at me, his hands to his head as if to say, "Well it's about time you doofus." I walk over to him, timidly, half scared he will freak out since I'm not his mom, and half scared that his eyes really are black pits that will suck my soul up.

I reach him with a sigh of relief. He is not freaking out, not screaming, and his eyes well his eyes are eyes, a gorgeous deep blue peering up at me arms outstretched for the bottle in my hand. I look down at him for a moment as he drinks hungrily from the bottle, his hair hanging about his head like a short halo, peach blond in color. When he turns his head just right his hair turns a fiery red and he actually takes on a sort of devil smirk.

I just know he is going to be a redhead and a demon child, one of those kids always trying their hardest to get their way. I feel sorry for his mom then, which also brings back memories of her sitting with me on the sofa and my thoughts about her.

Feeling myself moisten I quickly retreat, turning the light off as I go. Thinking only of going downstairs and pulling out my romance novel, I really could use some time in the steamier parts. At the bottom of the steps I glance to my left, toward the dining room, feeling a pull to go near that ship in the glass ball again.

I take a step toward it, then two, a third shortly follows before the draw to my romance novel and a free hand pulls me back the other way. Swiftly I am in the living room, my bag grasped in one hand as I move for the chair, not wishing to sink into that sofa again. After pulling my romance from the bag I set it aside, stand again to pull my panties down a little then perch near the edge of the chair so I could lean back and really enjoy the steamy contents.

Leaning back, legs spread just so, one hand down there just rubbing absently near my lips I bring the book up to start reading when I see it. I spring out of the chair ready to run, when I notice there is nothing beyond. The window is empty, there are no throngs gawking at me waiting for the show to begin. I move closer to peer out and see that I am looking down at the street, not because the window is higher then the ground, because the house is set atop a small hillock.

Fears averted I move back to the chair, picking up the book where I had dropped it in my hurry to rise before sitting down in the chair. This time sitting all lady like, knees pressed together, butt at the back of the chair perfectly upright, to make sure the window was really not packed with drooling men I suppose before sliding my rear up near the edge of the chair and leaning back.

Hand again between my legs idly moving about as the book once again comes up to rest in vision. For a time I am drawn into the world of the book, the dangerous west I am a widow with a new farmhand. Course he is not your everyday farmhand no, this one is tall blond chiseled and tanned. He has large hands large feet and you just gotta assume large other things.

I don't know how long I am drawn into this world where the world is against poor little me and my small farm, and the only protection I have is the farmhand. I'm just getting to the part where the chiseled blond man who has been sleeping outside my room for protection comes charging in to save me from the dastardly sneak who had come through the window to sample my wares. I am about to read how I offer him the same wares he saved, when I feel something on my leg. At first I idly flick my hand down there, moistened from my lips. The thing returns though, again my hand flicks and it goes away, this time returning sooner.

I lower the book to look, and I see a big bug. I don't know what kind but it is big black many legs and a tail. With a shriek I stand up fast, whipping the book across my leg expecting it to hit the not so far wall. Except it doesn't, I look about for it, it is not on my leg, not on the ground anywhere between me and the wall and it is not on the book. Thinking about it there probably should have been a noise from the book hitting it, but there wasn't.

I'm sure it hadn't gone up my arm and down my back, but going to make sure I run my hands around my skirt then flatten my back against the wall. Not feeling it scamper away from my hands or the wall and not feeling it on my bare legs I run for the kitchen to find a flashlight. I cast a glance toward the center aisle with the two hanging pans and one pot before heading besides the white refrigerator. There in the drawer that always seems to be the miscellaneous drawer is a flashlight, a book of matches and a candle. Grabbing up the cheap plastic pink flashlight I run back into the living room making sure the light works on the way. Dropping to my knees I shine it under the chair and sofa in turn before pulling the sofa away from the wall a bit, peering behind as I do so, shining the light as much as possible.

Still no bug. I think perhaps I should check in the dining room it may have scampered there, but the thought quickly dies. The thought of going near that schooner rolling on the storm-swept seas in the glass ball being a worse thought than letting whatever that bug had been get away. If it had been there in the first place, this house looked pretty old, as I sit down again in the chair I find myself being sure it was simply a draft in the old house combined with my horny mind picturing something that wasn't there.

Fears assuaged, thoughts of the bug driven from my mind I again take my position on the chair, leaned back hand idly stroking. Once again I am back in this simpler world, feeling the farmhand's mouth against my neck, his hands roaming my body that I am surrendering to him. I can feel his hand against my breast, cupping me, moving about before his mouth clamps to me there. My legs spread wider of their own accord, fingers moving faster, sliding in and out palm pressed to the pleasure nub. My orgasm is nearing I can tell, I can feel the farmhand climbing atop me, pushing my legs out for him with his hips, his large cock pressing at me, moving about to cover in my wetness.

I'm going to cum I just know it as soon as he enters me I'm going to call out my pleasure. This is going to be a big one, all thoughts of babysitting, the bug, my boyfriend, the schooner with the strange men on it, it all is swept away by the onrushing orgasm. He's about to enter me, the words are there just a little ahead of where I am in the tale, just a little longer, fingers going at lightning speed now, toes curling I'm almost there, just about to scream my joy, just one more word. Then two words enter my thoughts, except they weren't on the page, I didn't think them, I heard them, right next to my ear I swear someone is there. They whispered in long dragged out words, "Sex miss?" I don't know how I did not scream in terror, I didn't orgasm that's for sure, my blood went cold instead, my fingers stopped, my eyes shot wide.

I look over the book out the window, but there's nobody standing before me. My eyes dart to the left and right, no one sitting on the sofa, no one by the TV. I let out the breath I had been holding and turned to look beside me, imagining one of the almost men's faces next to me. I can see it now, leaning over beside me is the man with the black pit eyes, his handsome face smirking at me, his eyes waiting to devour me, his cock erect and yearning to claim me.