Rain Bird Enchantment Hunger

His head floated with electronic sounds, too-perfect drum machines, and feminine vocals. His footfalls played rhythms on cracked nighttime pavement. Smells of wet, smells of smoke, smells of the gutter he stepped across. His shoulders flexed and broadened under the strap of his bag, and his chin raised to the sky, expansive, moving in every corner of his sight with a gentle texture of raindrops.

"I wonder what she's been doing in my apartment all day," he thought. The rise and fall of her breathing was still in his mind's eye. Surely by now, she had unfurled her limbs and risen to move about. He pictured her warm, soft body, her dark eyes, passing from room to room, picking up and inspecting his things in silence from behind an inscrutable fringe.

As he passed through the park, nearing home, a movement and glint on the footpath drew his gaze. There, near his feet, was a lump of some composite of matter: fur, bone, dirt, flesh, a shiny slick of wet red, come to rest under a fluorescent park lamp. He slowed to identify the object, and noticed his heart catch in his chest as he failed to identify what animal it had once been. Its head seemed too large for a rat, and its limbs too small.

Before he got closer and inspect it, a rush of black feathers and a sharp woosh stopped him abruptly. He flinched and cowered before realising a large black bird had plucked the corpselike thing from the path bad held it, dangling in the moonlight from its sharp beak. Its bright yellow bead of an eye, the eye of a predator, assessed him fearlessly. His hand slipped to his pocket and he turned off his music. The two stood in still silence for a moment before the bird wedged its feet in the ground, pushed off, and carried its prize back into the night.

He noticed a crease on his brow he was unable to dismiss all the way to his front door step. He lifted the key with a funerary reverence and delicately inserted it into his door, unsure what he would find behind it.

As the door slowly swung open in its frame, a sensation met the tips of his fingers. As they entered the air of the apartment, it felt as though they were being tugged, compelled. The sensation spread from his fingers to his arm, as he entered, as though he passed into an invisible force field. Some quality of the air was coming into contact with his skin and doing something to it, changing it ever so slightly - down his arm, shoulder, up his neck, as he stepped across the threshold. He felt this sensation like a polite request to proceed deeper into his home, yet he also felt that if he were to resist, it would alter its composure from a loving caress to a grip, and he would be dragged from the light of the stairwell into his apartment's dark belly. As he moved slowly down the passageway by this force, it stroked his brow and removed its crease, it caressed and cajoled. It invited and it threatened. Such was the force of it that he felt himself grow aligned to a new purpose by the time he reached the first room of his home. He could think of nothing but discovering Her, the source of this invisible force of persuasion.

"I need you to fuck me," her voice whispered forcefully in his ear. She had appeared next to him. Her hand laced quickly down his arm and pinched his wrist, drawing it towards her cunt with a steely insistence. His fingers felt warm sticky wet folds of skin between them.

He could make out her figure in the strip of light from around his door frame. Her limbs and taut curves were given form by slivers of light that lay against them greedily. The veins, sinews and muscles of his wrist disappeared like a bundle of cables beneath the roll of her tummy, into a dark patch outlined by her hips.

"Now," she whispered, pushing his fingers against her and squeezing them between her thighs.

He turned to her and put his free hand against the wall behind her head. His fingers pushed their way further into the fold of her. His attention wandered down between her legs and begun to paint her shape in his mind, the shape of her inside, as his fingers busied themselves exploring her. She made a victorious sound and released his wrist, leaving a sticky trail as her fingers unclamped. She pulled at his button and wrenched open his fly and rubbed her sticky fingers to cover him with her fluid. The musky smell of her rose to meet him. Intoxicated, heady, dizzy with its strength, he ploughed his fingers back and forth as she whispered, "Yes, yes."

He nuzzled into her neck and worked back and forth. Pulling away for a moment to breathe, he felt a tickle against his cheek, like a stray piece of cotton thread. Noticing his moment of distraction, she reached down and held his cock steady while she positioned herself precisely, pausing to align herself just so, before pushing herself down onto it.

He felt a shock of satisfaction pulse through him. His cock plunged deeply into her, filling her. He felt her hunger and her urgency. Her need. His need. It felt hot and tight inside her. She pushed herself down on him and squeezed him. The image flashed in his mind of her skin pocketing him, sheathing him, dragged to and fro as she moved, stretching her as it half emerged and bulging her inside as it disappeared into her again.

A leg flexed and extended its way around the small of his back, locking him into position, and another leg, around his other hip. She encompassed him. She wrapped her whole body around him a little more tightly with each joyous and eager thrust of his body. He began to feel his face tingle and tickle with what felt like more cotton threads. More and more. As they moved, he could feel sticky tendrils of her fluid stretch and compress between her dripping folds, his thighs, her thighs, all the way down to the floor and his feet. He could feel her rhythmically grip him each time he thrust into her, reluctantly letting him drag his way out again each time.

He felt her ankles lock him into her. Stabs of pain pierced the small of his back. He could feel her hands grip him, her fingernails embedded in his shoulder blades. He felt wet trickle down his back. The room seemed to darken as he saw her grow before him, rise up to the height of the ceiling, and where her eyes were meant to be in the darkness, he saw the bright yellow bead eye, the eye of a predator. Great fangs extended from her large jaw, quivering with strength, dripping from their tips, moving towards him. Even as he thrust insatiably into her, his face, now sticky with her webs, was punctured by enormous, venomous black fangs, just under his eye.

"Fuck me," she scolded him in a deep, monstrous voice.

He felt the toxins move through his face, hardening it into a grimacing statue of pain and pleasure.