Cautionary Tales (21 page)

Solita blanched inwardly. This sounded like a memory of sexual abuse, but that was impossible; she was close to her seven-year-old daughter and made sure she was never exposed to anything like that. Her husband was serving overseas, but she knew absolutely that he would never be guilty of any such thing; he was a completely moral man. So it must be some scary tale told by a classmate in school that had caught Lita's imagination and terrified her. Solita hoped that “horny” meant that it had a horn, like a rhino.

This was their second day in this newly rented house, and the price had been cheaper because of rumors that it was haunted. Solita had no truck with such notions, of course. Yet now a thin thread of doubt was creeping in. Could there really be a haunt?

This needed to be dealt with promptly and firmly. “Lita, I have watched you as you sleep. Nothing has touched you.”

“But it has, mommy! You just can't see it.”

Definitely imagination, maybe. “I'll prove it. Tonight I'll sleep in that bed and you can sit up in the chair until you are satisfied that there is nothing to fear. Okay?”

“Okay!” the child agreed gladly.

They changed places. Lita sat in the chair beside the bed, and Solita lay on the bed and drew the sheet up over her. She closed her eyes as for sleep. She was sure this would not take long.

But she was more tired than she realized, and in moments was asleep. Then something grabbed her left ankle.

Her eyes snapped open. There was Lita sitting in the chair, watching. There was Solita's body under the sheet. Nothing was grabbing her ankle. Nothing visible.

Another hand caught her right ankle. It was big and coarse-fingered, with hard calluses on the palm. Yet still nothing was visible. What was going on?

The two hands clamped down hard, compressing her flesh. “Ow!” she exclaimed. But no sound came out.

Solita tried to sit up, to sweep away the sheet and discover what the hell was happening with her feet. But her body did not move. She was paralyzed. Now she realized that her eyes weren't really open, either; she was seeing what she expected to see. She was in some kind of dream-frozen state, the kind that prevented people from thrashing around when dreaming. She could not move or speak.

The hands exerted brutal force, wedging her legs apart. She tried to resist, but the hands had more leverage than she did, and her legs inevitably parted.

“No!” she cried, soundlessly. She was helpless to stop it, or even to protest.

Now she understood what her daughter had tried to tell her. A lustful monster was attacking her, and it intended to do something awful. It was indeed horny in the physical and sexual sense. Lita did not understand that aspect, but Solita did: it was out for rape.

She fought with all her might, focusing on her legs, willing them to close. And they did! She was discovering how to resist the monster! It was psychic rather than physical, and she had to oppose it on its own turf, or suffer psychic rape.

The problem with rape was only partly the physical penetration. Things entered a woman's vagina all the time, ranging from her own fingers as she washed to the instrument of an examining gynecologist. To the hard penis of a man, which was fine if it belonged to a husband or boyfriend and was welcome. It became rape when it was unwelcome. The damage was generally psychological rather than physical. Her personal space was being violated, her will overridden.

That was what was threatening here. A psychic monster was determined to have psychic sex with her against her will. Therefore it was rape. But she somehow knew that if she could just hold on long enough, keeping her legs psychically as well as physically closed, she could prevent it.

She was succeeding. She was keeping herself closed to intrusion. The hands were straining at her ankles but not making headway. She was winning!

Then the bottom of the bed fell out. Her legs dropped down into a hole. She flung out her arms and caught the sides of the bed, hanging on, preventing herself from falling all the way in. She knew that this was figurative rather than literal, that her physical body was still lying serenely horizontal, showing no sign of motion. But her psychic body was in deadly danger, and that was the one she had to protect.

The gross hands yanked on her ankles, hauling her downward. She clung tight, aware that this was a new aspect of the struggle. If she fell all the way into the hole, she would be ravished by the invisible demon and hopelessly sullied. It might not show on her physical body, but psychically she would know she had been raped, exactly as if she had been physically abused. She had to hang on!

Now the hands resumed hauling her legs apart. In this position she lacked the leverage to keep them closed. Slowly they separated, and something blocked them apart. It felt like a gross apelike head. The hands were now free to move on up.

She couldn't put her own hands down to stop them, because she couldn't let go of her desperate grip on the sides of the bed beyond the hole. She had to suffer the handling.

And handling it was. The fingers moved up inside her legs, past the knees, and on to her thighs. They stroked and squeezed, evidently appreciating her unwilling flesh. She tried to lift her legs clear, but immediately the hands gripped her knees, holding them down, and she lacked the strength to get free. All she could do was stay where she was, refusing to be drawn down into the hole.

The head turned its gross face to her left knee. A hot slimy tongue licked it, and around her leg. It felt like oral sex—with her knee. She tried again to yank it free, but could not. Disgusted, she gave up the effort and let the monster slurp, fouling her leg with his saliva.

Now the hands slid up to her crotch. Fingers hooked into her panties and dragged them down, and she couldn't stop it. They cleared her hips and thighs and came down to her knees. They could not go farther, because the head blocked the way. That was some small relief.

She heard a munching sound, and realized that the monster must be eating her panties. So much for relief!

The hands moved up again. This time they found her bared bottom and stroked her buttocks. They squeezed, savoring the flesh. Solita knew herself to be a well-proportioned woman, having kept herself in shape, but she had never intended to be appreciated in quite this manner, and she was disgusted. But she couldn't even try to stop it unless she let go of the bed, and she did not dare do that. So she remained vulnerable to the lecherous interest of the monster.

The hands slid around to her vulva and drew the lips of it apart. It seemed she was being examined. The eyes of the head must be peering into her open cleft. Then a horny finger poked into her vagina. It was as big and hard as a normal man's phallus. She tried to clench her vaginal muscles to bar it, but could not. It shoved up into her until the full length of it was embedded. She felt horribly distended. It moved about, pushing against the internal walls. The thing was having finger sex with her!

If the monster thought that was a turn-on for her, he was mistaken. She was utterly turned off. Or maybe that was the point: to degrade her until she simply had to try to use her hands to resist.

That was not the worst of it. Now the head moved up, its bovine-sized tongue licking at her thighs, crawling onward like a giant slug. It reached her open cleft and slobbered greedily across it, coating it with thick gooey spit. It tickled her clitoris. Such an action by a man she loved could have evoked her orgasm, but as it was, it made her want to retch. And still she could not act to stop it.

The hands moved up farther, sliding across her belly and back. Where were they going?

She found out all too soon. They came to her breasts and lasciviously fondled them, lifting, squeezing, pulling. “No!” she wanted to cry, but could not make a sound.

It got worse. The head moved up until the demon face was at her chest. The tongue licked her breasts all over, thoroughly coating them. Almost, she let go of the bed and grabbed the horrid thing to haul it away from her. Her breasts were special in ways her genitalia were not. But she knew that was what the monster wanted. He was trying to tease her into doing exactly that, so she would fall into the hole and become his complete captive. She still had to endure the disgusting process.

The mouth focused on her left nipple. The demon closed on it and sucked, hard. Soon it felt as if half her breast was inside that orifice, and still he sucked as if trying to swallow her whole mammary. Again, done by a lover, this could have worked her up toward a climax, but as it was, the effect was opposite. She felt like vomiting, but refused to give the thing the satisfaction of making her so obviously sick.

Finally the face withdrew. Was it leaving at last? No such luck. It returned to her vulva, and the tongue ran into her vagina, pressing it open, forcing its slimy mass on in.

Again it shoved, as the finger had, ramming into her helpless aperture. Now she felt
really
distended, as though her belly was bowing outward from the incredible mass of the thing inside her. So it wasn't actually physical; it still felt like a flesh-pulping rape. She had never had sex like this, and wished she could somehow cut off the obscene tongue and spit it out of her body. But it was having its sickening will of her.

At last it withdrew, sliding slowly out like a spent penis, letting her stretched vagina contract back to an approximation of normalcy. Was the nightmare finally over?

Then it slurped across her anus, greasily lubricating it, and pushed while the hands held her buttocks apart so that the face could nudge in closer. Her revulsion multiplied: it was going after her ass. She tried to resist, to clamp her sphincter muscle, but the serpentine thing just kept licking and poking, wedging in bit by bit. She made a supreme effort and managed to close her rectum off so that the tongue could not get more than the greasy tip through. She was stopping it!

The hands reached up and touched her ribs. The fingers tickled wickedly. “Aaa!” she screamed, for she had always been hyper-ticklish there. And in that moment her sphincter relaxed and the tongue got in another inch. That gave it leverage, and though she clamped down again, hard, it slowly expanded, oozing slippery oily saliva, until it breached her defense and got the rest of the way inside. Now it coursed on through like a cruising serpent, an endless python, invading her colon, completing the conquest. It wrestled around in her intestine, probing this way and that, as if tasting every part of it. It stirred her gut from inside, reaching far along her alimentary tract, stroking it in unspeakable ways.

Solita gritted her teeth, literally, as she suffered this obscene intrusion. But yet again she knew she could not afford to let go of the bed, lest she be sucked down and trapped in the void below. The monster was doing its best to overwhelm her determination, but she somehow knew that if it succeeded, she would be doomed.

The tongue continued, withdrawing somewhat, then thrusting in again, repeatedly stroking the channel, like a phallus seeking its culmination. It went on and on, in and out, sliding through her system, stirring her gut, almost fondling her rectum as it pulsed through its constriction. What was the point? As it was, she was beginning to get a reaction, much as she hated the notion.

Then she had a flash of realization: the thing was trying to stimulate her into orgasm! To make her really have sex with it, in this loathsome fashion. That must be its way of truly possessing her. The vagina had failed, the clitoris had failed, the breasts had failed, but this time it would not relent.

She had to resist it. She tried, but it had finally found a way to turn her on. That was the ultimate obscenity: overwhelming her repulsion as well as her body. She fought as hard as she could, but that imperative pumping was evoking a reaction she had not known she was capable of: sexual pleasure from the anus.

The realization, perversely, caused the effect to intensify. She absolutely hated it, but could not prevent it. She was riding a hot greased flexing pole, and it was making her react. She built into a phenomenal anal orgasm.

“Ooooo!” she cried soundlessly, in mixed revulsion and guilty pleasure, as her body pulsed in response to the continued thrusting of the huge tongue. Her whole lower body seemed to explode into ugly rapture, making her too breathless to moan again. Her anus squeezed the tongue, relaxed, squeezed again, as the siege continued. The tongue, too, expanded and contracted rhythmically, feeding her climax, extending it amazingly. Her ass was one huge filthy font of ecstasy.

At last it passed, and she shuddered into relaxation. She knew she would be forever appalled by what had happened and her reaction, but also that it was the wildest orgasm of her life. She was ashamed, yet also supremely sated. She had never imagined that she could ever suffer such a foul intrusion, yet derive such delinquent delight from it.

And the tongue, evidently satisfied, withdrew. It slid out of her tract like an extended turd and was finally gone. The monster was departing, having had his will of her in more than one manner.

Now she felt strangely depleted, as if more than her relative naiveté had been taken from her. What had the monster seized, apart from her reluctant passion? She dreaded the answer.

Then it came to her: the demon had stolen her innocence. She was adult, and sexually seasoned, but now she knew that she had known almost nothing and experienced less. She had been forcibly introduced to her own ugliest buried lust. Because despite her horror of the process, she had in a perverted manner liked it.

She slept, emotionally exhausted, and did not wake until morning. There was Lita, watching her. “Did it come?” she asked anxiously.

She could not lie about this. “Yes it came, dear.” She was aware there was more than one meaning there, but that couldn't be helped. She also was not about to tell her innocent daughter of the monstrous degradation she had suffered. That would be her secret, preferably for life. She had had sex often enough, and understood its variations; the violation had been of her will more than her body. Indeed, her body was untouched. It was her spirit that had been dirtied. “You were right: there is a monster.”