Tormentor

Terry looked through one of the dirty windows of his apartment at a collecting storm that he hoped might wash him away, just so that he might finally have a little peace. On the secondhand night table next to his bed was a bottle of prescription sleeping pills he'd just gotten refilled, and a glass of orange juice. Condensation beaded on the outside of the glass, and was no doubt working on a nice water ring to add to the variety of other water rings he'd made over the past year.

"Okay," he pled quietly, but desperately with a God that he wasn't sure existed, but couldn't completely discount, "Just one night of sleep without a nightmare, please? One night without waking up with my pillow jammed in my mouth to keep from screaming? Haven't I earned it, just this once in all my twenty years?"

Receiving no answer, never had, of course, he sat on the edge of his bed, dreading sleep, as he had since he was six and started having disjointed, disorienting, terrifying nightmares. There was no fathomable reason for them, as he was not the product of a broken home, not abused, molested, or subjected to the things that screwed up so many other kids his age. His parents were okay, hard-working, and he was an only child.

He scooted back onto the bed, leaning on one side and grabbing the bottle of sleeping pills. He opened it and fished two out, dropping the little, blue capsules onto his tongue, and then downing them with a few swallows of orange juice. He set the open bottle and the glass of juice back on the nightstand and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. One pill each night was all he was supposed to take, but one did nothing to keep the nightmares at bay. Maybe two would. Or maybe the whole bottle could do what nothing else seemed to be able to. His parents, frightened for him, had taken him to be evaluated by a psychiatrist when he was eight, and the nightmares didn't seem to be going away. The man had asked him a lot of questions he didn't quite know the answers to, and had, with his parents' permission, put him under with hypnosis. He'd screamed so loudly that he would lose his voice for almost a week after, and the frightened psychiatrist had brought him out of it quickly.

Every nightmare, as far as he could remember, had one central character in it, one alluring, tantalizing, yet terrifying creature. It had no eyes, no eye sockets even, just smooth skin between the forehead and the bridge of the nose. It was tall, about six and a half feet, the shape of the most beautiful woman that he could ever imagine otherwise. It had teeth like a shark, but seemed to have no speech impediment because of it. Its hair was almost platinum, glossy and luxurious. Around him and this creature, fires raged unchecked, buildings all black and melted, the ground charred, torn, broken bodies heaped in piles around him, blood dripping and running and cascading into the earth, screams fixed on the faces of every corpse, all eyes plucked out and fashioned into some bizarre necklace that the thing wore on its naked breasts. The eyes gazed on, somehow still alive and seeing, all looking at him, and he understood that, in some strange way, the eyes were how she could see the world. She stood before him, completely nude, except that she was bathed in blood that never seemed to dry. The nightmare changed constantly, ever shifting, yet she didn't.

His eyes grew heavy as the medicine began to take effect, and he shuddered in dread, because he somehow knew that he wouldn't be spared this night either. Still, even as he still fought against it, he fell asleep. He smelled it before he could see it, the reek of death and decomposition, blood and despair. Then he could see. He lay on the floor of an office building. Ashes swirled around him, as all the windows were melted until they had dripped down the walls beneath them, pooling on the floor. Charred lumps of metal littered the floor, unrecognizable as anything now. He got to his feet and walked out of the room, but then the shadows danced around him, and before he could take another step, he stood outside. The sky was the color of coagulated blood, boiling and flowing along sluggishly above him. And, ever present, was the creature.

"Do you think," it spoke in a silky, alluring woman's voice, "that you can escape me with pills?"

Terry couldn't speak, didn't dare.

It grinned, its shark's teeth gleaming a radiant white, "You can never escape me, boy. You are my plaything, and nothing can take you from me until I am done with you."

Terry backed away, but where was there to run. It was everywhere, could fly, could materialize out of nothing, rotted, corrupted, maggot-infested mind filled only with his torment.

It moved closer, its arms extended to him, its nails long and razor-sharp, so filthy that they promised of disease and infection, "Come to me, boy. There is no resisting me, not by such as you."

He shook his head, still unable to speak, his eyes averted from it.

"Yet you persist," it chuckled darkly, a sound like vomit gurgling in the throat of a convulsing corpse, "How long have I hungered for you, boy? And yet you would continue to deny me, though I could take you whenever I wish. I could, but I prefer you come to me. You would taste so much more delicious."

Terry turned and ran, fleeing from it as he had for years, only to be pursued relentlessly through the death-scape of broken, bloody bodies, empty eye sockets glaring at him as he passed.

"This is the world that I have made," it crowed in perverse delight right behind him, "You should rejoice and be glad in it!"

Terry ran in terror, as he had in every nightmare, knowing that doing so was futile. This time was no exception, as it appeared in front of him, and he scrambled back, gagging.

"Do I not please you?" it cried with glee, "Do I not stir your loins in such lust? Does your blood not boil for my caress?"

He continued to run, drawing in harsh, burning breaths, coughing out ash, and she was suddenly above him, horrible, skeletal wings extended, with crudely-sown flaps of human flesh fused to the bones.

It rode the sky, laughing as he fell, scrambled back to his feet, and ran more, "You may run until your feet are but charred, bleeding nubs under your ankles, and you'll not escape me, boy! I can smell your soul, and I shall follow you to the ends of the earth, until you come to me!"

Suddenly, the shadows raced, and he found himself climbing enormous mountains of dead, yet malevolent rats that bit at him and hissed, and he shuddered as his feet crunched over bones and scorched fur, amid the furious squeals.

And even then, suddenly exploding from the dead rats as if propelled from a cannon, there it was, its arms out and seeking him.

"Your flesh calls to me, boy!" it hissed, "It begs for my caress, it pleads for my lips! Come to me, that I may possess it!"

He climbed-scuttled-clambered over the mountain or living rat corpses, fell down the other side, all the way down to the bottom, dizzy, and then fell from his bed, thumping onto the floor, writhing, kicking, flailing himself awake. He pulled himself weakly to his feet, reeling, his heart pounding thunderously. He collapsed back onto the floor as his legs refused to bear his weight for the moment, and he huddled miserably on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and shuddering, his breath heaving. As he looked into the gathering morning light, he saw something that he found tremendously ominous. In the corner, on the floor, was a rat corpse facing him. It glared at him with dead, glazed eyes, its teeth bared menacingly... but it was dead. It did none of those things, yet the sight of it offended him all the same.

Once he had strength in his legs again, he disposed of the rat corpse in the garbage chute in the hallway outside his small apartment, using a small dustpan and whisk broom, as careful as possible to avoid touching the offensive thing. There was no way the rat corpse could've followed him out of his nightmare; this one had probably already been there already, and he had just missed it. He showered, scrubbing twice, washing the sour reek of fear-sweat away. As he dried off, he looked in the mirror, noticing the pallor of his skin, the circles under his eyes from the lack of restful sleep. Not much had changed from his childhood. His nightmares had been the sole focus of his life, and he had been unable to make friends. People regarded him as an oddity. He didn't fit in with society, so he existed outside of it, a pale, nervous wreck with long, dark hair, a leanly-muscled young man with no real future to think of. The trust fund left to him by his parents had gone into a savings account, and he basically lived off the interest, using just enough to get by, and he had little dealings with the outside world. There was Cliff, the man who owned this building, who collected the rent each month, the doctor who prescribed his medicine, and a delivery man from the grocery store who brought his groceries. Everything else he needed could be gotten without human contact.

"Who would miss you if you just disappeared?" something hissed nearby, and he whirled, but he was alone. He knew that voice instantly, and was disconcerted by it.

"No," Terry shook his head emphatically, "No, you can't be here."

"How long would it be before your corpse was ever found? Until the rent was due? Maybe even longer?" the creature asked from nowhere, "One is truly alone when one does not even know if one's corpse will be found before it begins to fester."

He looked around wildly as it spoke, but he couldn't even pinpoint the source of it.

"I await you just as eagerly now as I did when you were but a child," it whispered in his ear.

"Leave me alone," he begged quietly, "Just...leave me alone."

"Why should you want that? I'm the only companion you could ever hope for, boy."

"Why me?"

The thing chortled thickly, "Because your soul cries out from your flesh, and it calls to me. It is a siren-song, and I could resist it no more than ancient sailors lured to their deaths by sirens upon rocky shores."

"Oh God, please make it stop!"

"God is a child among elders, boy! Your world is his anthill with which to smash at a whim. He couldn't have created you any more than a worm could create a bird, and he cannot help you."

How could this be happening? Terry clutched at the sides of his head. Surely he must be completely crazy, otherwise how else could it be speaking to him now?

He drank the lukewarm orange juice on his nightstand, loathe to waste it, swallowing it down in greedy gulps as fast as he could. He logged onto his computer, one of only a few luxuries he allowed himself, and he tried to lose himself in the world of the internet.

"Now that I can speak to you in your waking hours," it spoke from behind him, "There is truly no escape for you. And now, behold, boy!"

Terry whirled around in his seat, and cried out in terror. It now stood in his apartment, its arms crossed over its full breasts, grinning triumphantly.

"I have come for you, boy," it whispered huskily, "For I am your only respite."

It shimmered in the air as if it was only a mirage, but then there it was again. Its skin was no longer covered with blood and gore, shark teeth now human, it even had eyes, a deep, dark blue, sparkling with mirth and malevolence. It was still unclothed, just as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, and Terry averted his eyes as he had in his nightmares.

"Come to me, boy. Come and I shall give you your prize."

Terry shrank back, trembling like a rabbit only an instant before being trapped in the jaws of a fox. It strode across the floor, crouching before him, regarding him hungrily, a ravenous lust in its eyes, only inches from him now. It reached out one slender hand, no lethally sharp claws now, only well-manicured fingernails, and caressed his cheek. He whimpered, his eyes tightly shut.

"Boy, why must you still resist me, the only one who desires you in this world or the next? Surely, you sting me with your denial! Give yourself to me."

It touched his cheek, stroking the pale skin almost tenderly. Then its hand grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet.

"Your cowering resembles a lizard in the talons of a hawk, afraid, yet surrendering its life. It annoys me, boy."

Somehow he managed to keep his feet as its hand now touched his chest.

"Open your eyes, that you may look upon me."

His eyes opened, regarding it with abject terror despite its human appearance.

"Come and claim your prize, boy, this instant."

His hand, still trembling, raised, seemingly on its own accord, and touched its smooth, flawless cheek.

"Yes, boy," it cooed.

His traitorous hand moved to its mouth, his fingers drawing lightly across its lush lips, which it puckered to kiss his fingertips. It moved close, and he could feel its heat, no hallucination, only flesh. It took his other hand and placed it on its breast. Its pink-lavender nipples were already stiff with its arousal, poking against his palm. He grasped its breast and kneaded it, feeling its firmness. His other hand, trailing down from its lips, moved down its taut stomach and to the moist, lubricious cleft below, dipped a finger into its delicious heat.

It took him by the shoulders and pushed him to his knees, and then brought one of its long, beautiful legs up to rest on his shoulder.

"Taste of what flows only for you," it urged, drawing his head close, and he obeyed, his tongue swiping over its lips, and then in between, thrusting as far as he could reach, the ambrosial fluid drenching his tongue instantly.

"Yes, boy, taste it more!" it demanded.

He licked furiously, following instincts he never knew he'd possessed, his hands grasping at its buttocks, squeezing them as it wailed with the pleasure of his attention. It seemed that the fluids that flowed from it would never let up, and his mouth glistened with it, but he could not get enough. It thrust its hips forward, grinding against his face as it neared release.

"Booooooyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeee!!!!!!" it screamed, and then his mouth was flooded with its sweetness, forcing him to swallow it, more and more, even as much of it flowed from his mouth and coated his chest. It suddenly pushed him away, stumbling slightly before regaining its composure.

"You show such promise, boy," it gasped, pulling him to his feet. It thrust its tongue, pink and long, into his mouth, kissing him deeply for a moment, and then lapping its own spend from his chin and chest. It reached down and tugged slightly on his erection, which was throbbing and oozing pre-cum from its tip. With his erection in its hand, it guided him to his bed, pushed him down upon it, and climbed atop him.

His fear, still acute, was injected with a lust he'd never known, and he was repulsed even as he was aroused, as the creature straddled his hips and began grinding itself across his length, pressing it against his pelvis with its still dripping pussy.

"This has been such a long time in coming," its voice was ragged with desire, "But now, at last, you may claim your prize, boy!"

It grasped his erection, positioned itself, and then drove him deep inside her with a demanding thrust. He cried out, mingling desire and misery, as it began grinding itself on him, forcing him as deep as he could reach in it.

"Yes, boy!" it impaled itself on him, and started bouncing furiously, fucking him relentlessly, its hands braced on his chest, its eyes open and boring into his own. He marveled at how tightly it gripped him, pulsating, seeming to suck at him, and he knew there was no way he'd last very long, definitely not as long as it would no doubt require of him. Even as his mind raged against this insanity, at this abomination of a love-act, his body betrayed him completely, thrusting his hips up even as it came down, seeking to push more of himself inside it, fueled by its moans, and wails, and cries.

He could feel his orgasm swiftly approaching, and then it was there, enveloping him, crashing over him, consuming him whole. It laughed gleefully as his cum splashed inside it, coating it liberally. He gasped, his body trembling, but it showed no signs of slowing. Instead, it pulled him atop it, its thighs spread, and he found that, despite such an intense orgasm, he was as hard as ever. He drove himself back inside, and its legs wrapped around his hips, its hands on his back.

"I desire more!" it commanded, "More of your delicious seed!"

Terry plunged helplessly inside it, over and over, so deep into its heat that he was sure that this would hurt any mortal woman, but it only seemed to want more. It cried out with pleasure, and urged him on, and suddenly he growled as he released more of his spunk inside it, and grunted as he didn't stop, wasn't growing flaccid in the least. The pleasure was too much, he had become over-sensitive, enough so that it hurt more than it felt good, but even that wasn't stopping him, he was only plunging and grinding, using it as much as it was using him.

After another climax shook through him, it pushed him back, grabbed his dripping, still-throbbing manhood, and positioned it against its puckered sphincter.

"Your cock is plenty wet enough, boy, take it now," she gasped.

He did as he was told, pushing against it, feeling as it reluctantly yielded to him, and the head disappeared inside its anus. It howled as Terry continuously entered it, and its sphincter began to relax. Soon, he was thrusting himself into it as he had been with its pussy. It rested its legs on his chest, its calves on his shoulders, and it made no move to stop him. As he looked down at what he was doing, he could see its anus stretching to accommodate him, swallowing up his entire length. He could feel himself inside, thrusting deep, and it was so tight that, despite the lubrication of his and its comingled cum, there was still friction. Still, even as tight as it was, he rocketed to orgasm, shooting his cum into it.

Finally, he fell onto his side, and it allowed him to. Both panting, sweaty, lying on their mingled fluids, he felt corrupted, filthy, and he found that he no longer seemed to care. Obviously, this must be what it had wanted, for it grinned even as it panted.

"No more, or your body will not recuperate. I want more, but you will rest first. I will come to you again when you are ready."

It climbed to its feet and stood above him, stretching languidly in the afternoon sun.

"For a boy, you know how to give so much pleasure! Such as you I've never known. Now rest, and I will return."

Terry closed his eyes, unable to move from his side, his erection finally subsiding as he slipped quickly into sleep. Amazingly, for the first time in so long, there were no nightmares, no tortured, twisted, hellish landscapes, no flight of terror in vain from that horrible creature, just peace, silence, the sleep he'd been desperate for after so long.

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Over the next week, Terry dragged through each day, jumping at the slightest sound, expecting that the creature would be the source of each sound. When the grocery deliveryman knocked on his door, he let out a half-scream, and, when he opened the door, the man started at Terry's appearance, but didn't mention it, just taking his money and deciding that it was none of his business. Despite the whole week of relaxing, peaceful sleep without even a glimpse of a nightmare, he was terrified that the creature which had been haunting his nightmares since he'd been six would make good on her promise to come back. It was just a matter of time. Even worse, mixed in with his dread and terror was a measure of lust for it that caused frequent erections that were almost painful in their urgency for satisfaction. His thoughts constantly ended up on it, its beautiful, full-breasted, alluring body, no matter how many times he tried to think of other things.