Holding Darkness Within
Sollipsist
6.
Indian summer had arrived with a vengeance. Last week’s jackets and boots had been tossed back into the closet and the autumn chill was relegated to the wee hours, defeated...for the moment. All over campus, students rejoiced in this brief respite, lazing outdoors in only the thinnest and smallest of clothes. Ian spent much of his time on campus trying to combat a constant state of semi-erection, to an extent unheard-of even in his high school days. Everywhere he looked there were bare legs, bare midriffs, cleavage and poorly-concealed curves. His classes were a nightmare of temptation and confusion, as he kept his reddened face firmly pointed towards his desktop, the instructors’ words droning, barely-heard, off in the distance. Normally, he would laugh away his dismay and try to solve the problem by finding a willing receptacle, but his agitation had reached the point where he was unsure he could make any sort of advances to a girl without falling to pieces like a geeky adolescent.
He didn’t even bother attending his last class of the day; in Sociology he had been stuck sitting behind a girl whose smooth, sweetly-perspiring neck and sun-bleached honey hair met his gaze unless he kept his face firmly down. Even then, the breezes from an opened window persisted in sending him deliciously arousing wafts of her sweat and perfume, and his pants became alarmingly confining. He bolted out of the classroom as quickly as he could and made his way to the parking lot where his rusty Mustang sat.
Getting behind the driver’s seat, he even crazily considered jerking off right there in the parking lot. If he could relieve the pressure, he might be able to save the rest of the day. He knew all too well if he drove back home he would just go straight to his room and masturbate anyway. But it was so bright in the car, and so exposed...so he put the car in gear and drove home.
He’d been hoping, with some shame, that none of his housemates had returned in the middle of the day. He was relieved to find that neither car was in the driveway, and sprinted towards the entry as if to give himself as much alone time as possible. Once he walked through the big front doors, he felt immediately better, as if the house was somehow a refuge from the insane heat and flesh bombardment outside. He drank a few glasses of water, and splashed himself over the face and shoulders. The hardness in his jeans wasn’t gone, but much of the feverish confusion had been blunted. He felt refreshed, and walking up the stairs he planned on curing the rest of his problems with a quick session on the bed, in the dark. He opened the door to his room.
Heather was there, lying naked on his bed. She had one knee bent, pointed upwards towards the ceiling, and one leg stretched out straight so that her foot was on the floor. An arm was thrown across her heaving breasts, casually stroking and tugging on a nipple, and the other was busy at her pussy. She looked directly at him, her mouth in a pouty smile, her eyes full of fierce temptation.
“Shh, don’t say anything,” she urged with a throaty whisper. “Just fuck me, Ian...shut up, drop your pants, and fuck the shit out of me. Please, Ian, I need it so bad...”
Ian’s cock was throbbing. In a few short seconds he’d gone from surprise to amusement to discomfort, but all emotions melted into a blur of raw desire as he saw the hungry passion in her eyes and heard her breathy voice, commanding but wanton. Unclothed, her round, firm breasts were even bigger than he’d imagined. His jeans and shorts came off instantly, and were still settling into place on the floor by the time she lunged to wrap her lips around his long-suffering cock.
Once they began it was brutal, raw, and unstoppable. Ian stretched out his arms as her practiced tongue leapt repeatedly to the skin of his cockhead. His fingers arched into claws, and he grasped her hair and drove himself deep into her mouth. She relaxed her neck muscles and let him take control for the moment, enjoying the submission while he whipped her head back and forth violently.
When she felt him start to tense up, she quickly withdrew and reached up to squeeze his shaft, shaking her head warningly with a wet, open-mouthed smile. Once she felt his muscles unclench, she slid her hands down the shaft and then up his firm belly and chest. When she reached his shoulders, she bore down with tender abruptness and forced him to his knees. Mimicking his clenched hold, she directed his slack face to her own crotch. Her fingers kneaded his skull as he began to piston his tongue in her pussy. When he began flipping the tip across her fiery clit, she had to sink her teeth in her forearm to keep from screaming.
After an unprecedented second orgasm, she pushed him away and turned to face the bed. She knelt, throwing her head and breasts forward to the surface of the bed, and reached back to spread her pussy wide. Ian wasted no time sliding his pulsing cock deep into her. He dug his feet into the wood floor and gave her his full length; she buried her face in his pillow and came again, with a muffled scream.
Ian barely heard her, consumed with a lust that felt like anger. He grabbed her by the hips and commenced thrusting hard and fast, like a factory machine at the verge of breaking. His face had bunched into a strained grimace and his sweat-stung eyes glared at her smooth back while he wrenched her body back and forth furiously.
“Fu...uh...uhhh..” Heather trailed off, her voice losing articulation. Her moaning became incoherent and her head jerked limply with every vicious slam. The roaring in her ears masked his ragged panting and the metal legs of the bed were clumping madly against the floorboards, but she was almost beyond hearing anyway; each hard, hot penetration sent her deeper into unthinking animal ecstasy.
When he finally exploded inside her, he pushed against her hard enough to drive her head into the wall, but she was invulnerable in her battered, helpless joy. She came excruciatingly one last time at the sensation of his still-spurting cock sliding slowly out of her pussy. Panting hoarsely, he collapsed next to her, almost unconscious from exertion. For a while, only the sound of gasping for air could be heard in the room.
After a time, Heather raised her still-tingling body off of the bed, leaning towards Ian’s shining face.
“Nothing happened. Nothing changes,” she whispered, and disappeared through the door. Ian lay motionless and blank among the cooling dampness and body scent for a long time, as if struggling against the clutches of a deep sleep. Succumbing at last, he sank into dim wispy dreams that lasted through the night.
“Ian,” Heather was calling. “I don’t care if you skip class but you gotta move your car for Min.”
The door cracked slightly and a shaky hand held out a key ring. Heather snatched it out of his grasp and the hand withdrew like an eel into a dark coral den. She tromped down the steps, and saw Caitlin leaning against the door way in her bathrobe, a cup of coffee in her hands. Min was trying to adjust one ponytail with one hand while keeping her own coffee mug steady in the other.
“I love you dearly, Caitlin,” said Heather, “but it sucks that you get to sleep in every other day. And yet here you are, awake and seeing us off. I hit my snooze button until exactly twelve minutes ago.”
Caitlin thought about mentioning her explorations, but decided to keep a little treasured secret for the time being. “I could totally go back to sleep,” she admitted. “I was tired enough to fall asleep in my morning class yesterday, but my nerves were so jangled I couldn’t keep my eyes shut. Still didn’t learn anything...”
“Too much coffee?” said Min, sipping hers delicately. “Happens to me, too.”
“Ian’s not going to class?” Caitlin asked. So much for the privacy, she fleetingly thought.
“I think he had some trouble sleeping last night,” called Heather, as she got into the weathered Mustang. It lurched forward, almost into the grass, and stopped. She jumped back out and flung the keys to Caitlin, almost spilling her mug. “Let’s go get it over with,” she said to Min.
Heather privately thought Min’s driving was terrifying. The girl refused to use her brakes unless absolutely necessary, and even when Heather tore her gaze from the road she could still her torso lurching at every stop sign- or stopped car. Min was by no means uncertain at the wheel; if anything, the girl was confidently careless, shouting along with the songs on the radio while Heather clutched her backpack with a frozen smile.
“You look really good today,” she shouted, trying not to look at the road ahead.
“Thanks!” Min replied. “I’m going a little heavier on the makeup lately.”
“The red looks great on your lips,” she answered. In the house Heather had thought Min’s lips looked a little dark and gothic, but in the sun the fiery crimson glistened nicely.
“You look awesome today too...cool shirt!” Min replied.
“Thanks!” Heather yelled back. “You don’t think it’s too...I don’t know...?”
Min waited a second or two and brought the car to a wrenching stop at a red light. She then looked over at Heather’s shirt. It had very short sleeves and ended halfway down her belly. Thin horizontal stripes traced the curve of her breasts like a topographical map. The diagonal shoulder-strap of the seatbelt caused an extra tightness that Min found interesting, and oddly becoming; it was almost a shame Heather couldn’t wear the strap all day.
“Green light,” called Heather. Min whipped back and hit the gas hard.
“Looks good to me,” said Min. “The shirt. I like it on you.”
Min caught herself glancing over at Heather for the rest of the trip, especially when a hard brake sent the girl surging forward against the seatbelt. Heather was not always looking away.
Caitlin paused, looking down the stairwell at the dim cellar. “Am I going to do this or not?” she demanded of herself, again. She never cared for the basement at her parent’s home, and this one promised to be even darker, dirtier, and probably more full of critters. The motivating excitement from discovering the attic letters eventually overcame her nervous distaste, and she began to climb down the stairs.
She’d brought a flashlight, but the pale light of morning struggled though a few high half-windows and gave her a good general idea of her surroundings. The area didn’t much follow the shape of the house above; it was more of a series of rough semi-rooms separated by walls that were solid in places, and mere crumbling suggestions of walls in others. The floor was uneven and pitted but mostly flat, often covered with dusty piles of rubble and refuse. Caitlin shone her light into every dim corner, looking for anything that might contribute to her historical inquiry. She sketched a rough floorplan of the cellar in her notebook as she wandered.
Despite the house being ideal for a ghost story, Caitlin had never had more than a moment’s sense of spookiness until she entered the cellar. Even the attic was more like a secret refuge than a source of unease. Down here, however, the decrepit age combined with unhealthy dampness and barely-heard noises, putting Caitlin a little closer to the edge of her nerves. After disturbing a nest of centipedes under a promising-looking footlocker, she found an old broom handle to poke with instead. The feeling of being armed helped steady her a little.
The strangest part of her expedition was the way her mind kept wandering, trying to imagine what possible use every little cave-like room had seen. She had visions of the huddled bodies of escaped slaves, but dismissed this as pure fancy as the 1890 date put the house well after the Civil War. Some were more obvious than others; there was a sturdy (ish) workbench in a corner beneath two brighter windows, piled with Mason jars half-full of rusty bolts and screws. Nearby, the telephone junction box and a bundle of old colorful wiring created a scene that seemed more out-of-place than reassuringly recent.
A slow, tiny, dripping sound could be heard, echoing far off. Caitlin was getting irritated by the cobwebs that brushed up against her hair, and by the mundane character of all the items she’d examined. The damp chill was also seeping into her feet and hands- it seemed the Indian summer had no sway down here. She returned to the rotting workbench and considered abandoning the project for the time. Looking at her hasty map, she laughed at the proportions (which changed scale as she drew closer to the margins) and noticed that she’d neglected to check out one corner of the area. “Okay, just a quick walk over there to square the map, and then I’m leaving,” she promised herself.
There was little point in her final journey; the far corner turned out to offer nothing more than some broken wood and a big hole. Some sort of drainage, she decided, uninterested in the mundane plumbing details. It was a very large opening, though, and when she shone her flashlight into it, she saw the tops of what almost looked like shallow steps.
“Nah...” she said to herself, looking closer. They did in fact resemble a series of steps, though rough and missing completely in places, running in a downward spiral along the slick walls of the well-like fissure. The flashlight beam faded into blackness after several feet of this. There was no change in the stillness of the air which touched her face as she looked down.
“I am not doing this,” she whispered, laughing nervously as she lowered her shaky shoe to the first step. “I’m going to turn around and go back upstairs,” she continued, bringing the next foot down.
Was it only the adventure of discovery that kept her descending, inch after inch, into the depths? She almost seemed to be watching her hands and feet persist in foolishness while her rational mind came up with numerous and persuasive reasons to do the exact opposite. Claustrophobia sapped her breath, and missed footholds shook her courage, but to her body there was never any doubt.
“She’s curious.”
“Lovely.”
“Why would such a youngster care so much about old dead things?”
“I was much like her, then.”
“Very inexperienced.”
“Not as deep yet as her friends.”
“I know her best...should I go to her, as I did Heather?”
“We could just take her, now.”
“Tender.”
“Give her a little vision, sweeten her mind.”
“To know us when we come.”
“Soon.”
Caitlin came to the bottom of the steps, and shone the flashlight around her in a quick, sweeping circle. There wasn’t much to see; the steps fell to a slightly rough earth floor strewn with old straw. Caitlin stood in the center and could almost touch each wall with her outstretched hand. Except for the mildewed hay, the room contained nothing. It smelled slightly of copper and moss.
Disappointed, Caitlin kicked the piles of straw. They peeled off the floor in dried clumps. One flipped over, and stuck to the dark bottom of the dried sod was a necklace.
No, not a necklace, she realized, delicately peeling the tarnished links from the stiffened mould. It was a long chain with a double circle or figure-eight at one end, with the larger hoop encircling a lens opaque with ancient filth. Perhaps a magnifying glass of some kind? Caitlin cradled it, trying to find a compromise between keeping it safe and not touching the possibly icky item any more than she had to. She eventually stuck it in the soft front pocket of her shirt and made a quick kicking check of the rest of the hay, to see if there was anything else stuck to the sheets of decayed vegetation.
When nothing turned up, she climbed the stairs back to the cellar. She was horrified to find that time had flown, and she had already missed half of her first class. “Well,” she sighed, looking at the tarnished find, “It won’t hurt too much if I skip today. I can make good use of the time.”
At an antique store, she discovered that what she had found was called a “quizzing-glass” and was probably already an antique when the house was built. “Regency or Victorian,” mused the owner, a white-haired woman on the offramp from middle age. She demonstrated its use with a surprising dramatic flair. “Beau Brommel was known to use them,” she chuckled, squinting at Caitlin from behind the ocular artifact. Once she’d cleaned the silver links, they regained their flexibility and almost shone. The owner even encouraged Caitlin to get the lens clean enough to see through again, and made vague appraisals despite the girl’s resolve not to sell the piece. Caitlin bought some glass restoration cleaner and a special cloth and took it home; planning to wait until the next day and do the stinky job outdoors in the sunshine.
Later, in the cool relief of the early evening, she sat in the front parlor and attempted to compile her findings. Her housemates had come home and were ostensibly studying in the dining room, but loudly and with laughter. Not willing to completely isolate herself in her bedroom, she sat just outside the dining room archway and made a quick social connection every so often.
She’d located some books on local history, and was now pouring through them looking for any reference or connection to the house. The octogenarian spinster at the public library had not been able to help; when Caitlin has used the term “Queen Anne”, the librarian seemed to conclude that the girl was a high school student doing a report on the British monarchy. Caitlin felt a little guilty that she’d so quickly assumed ownership of her finds, but she couldn’t imagine the skulking landlord having any interest in a stack of old letters. The quizzing-glass was slightly more difficult to rationalize, as it was fairly valuable; Caitlin had already developed certain possessiveness, however, and couldn’t stand to think of the delicate adornment being sold for booze money.
Disturbed by a grinding noise outside, she looked up and out the front windows.
“There’s a police car coming into the driveway,” she called, and rose to get the door. Ian casually scanned the room for anything that might be in any way incriminating.
“See! What did I tell ya,” Heather said. “I bet it’s my friend Officer Williams, isn’t it?”
It was. Caitlin invited the big young policeman in and led him to dining room. He declined a seat, giving the four of them an uncomfortable smile and nod as if he was unsure whether to be friendly or official. “Sorry to stop by without calling first- looks like you’ve all had a rough day,” he said.
“No more than usual,” Heather said, smiling at him. “But I’m definitely not at my best.”
The officer pushed up his cap with the end of a black pen. “Now, you were the one I spoke with last time...Heather, right? What was that last name again? Okay, got it...and I remember you too, stereo girl,” he smiled at Min, who was perched tautly on the arm of the sofa, “but I don’t think I know the other two. Can I get everyone’s name real quick?”
Caitlin introduced herself politely. “This isn’t still about the party, is it?” she asked.
“Yes and no, miss. Seems a couple kids went missing, and as far as we can tell the party was about the last place anyone remembered seeing them. Doesn’t mean much, of course...I just have to follow up on it until they turn up.”
“You don’t think anything bad happened to them?” Min asked. Williams looked over to her, and asked for her name before answering. Writing it down in his pad, he continued, “Most likely no...you’d be surprised how many kids go missing from colleges every year, only to turn out they’ve been staying with friends, or holed up in their rooms playing computer games, or decided to take an unscheduled vacation.”
“Like Terri,” Min blurted, and then dropped her head as the officer peered at her. Caitlin rushed to her rescue.
“Yeah, we were supposed to have had another roommate,” she said, “but she decided to see the country instead. She was an artist,” she added lamely. The officer nodded as if that explained everything.
“Well, anyway, I have to check around for these kids,” he said, producing a couple of photographs. “Who knows, they probably decided to go to Atlantic City and get married.”
Caitlin examined the photos, shaking her head. The skinny skateboarder boy in the first had a face like hundreds of students on the campus, and the girl in the other two pictures rang no bells. She barely even looked like the same girl in both photos- in one, a high school class photo, she was a mousy brunette with long straight hair and a shy smile; in the more recent one, she had cut her hair into a short bob and died it jet black to match the heavy eyeliner and lipstick that made her face generically gothic. “Sorry, I don’t really recall either of them.”
“Yeah, I’m not totally sure, but I don’t think I remember them either,” said Heather, who had few specific recollections of the evening in question.
“I do,” spoke up Ian. The officer turned to him, and wrote down his name. “I remember passing them while they were kissing in our kitchen. The night of the party. I don’t remember seeing them after that, though.”
The officer laughed. “You know, that’s just about the same story I got from a few other people. That’s part of what makes me suspect they might have taken off together to get married or something.”
“Happens often, huh?” Heather said, looking over his shoulder. The officer turned, slightly startled, and then nodded.
“Often enough. One’ll drop out, the other follows.”
“What about students falling for local citizens?” Heather asked, offhandedly.
“Well, miss, that really wouldn’t constitute a crime unless the student in question happens to be under the legal age of consent.”
“And what would that be, again, in this state?” Heather asked. “I’m a Jersey girl, you see.”
“That would be eighteen years of age,” he said, clearly.
“Ah...so a junior, like for instance me and my housemates, would be legal. Age of Consent,” she said, as if thinking aloud. “Got it.”
Officer Williams drove away, his mind strangely jumbled. He was fairly new to the local police force, but he’d lived in the town all his life. He liked to think of himself as a friendly face, an envoy between the locals and the college kids, and only slightly envied them their carefree existence. He had been a fairly wild teen, not averse to drinking cheap beer and drag racing with his friends along the dark country roads, but after graduation pursued law enforcement with a casual excellence that surprised those who had known him before. He was more likely to let kids off with a scare and a warning, but also more attentive to details than his clock-punching co-workers. He was uneasy when he left the house, and as he drove back to the station he tried to define the cause.
The kids at the house looked a little unhealthy. It was hard to really compare, as he’d only seen the Asian girl and the flirtatious blonde the one time before, and they’d both been drunk. But all of them looked just the slightest bit pale and tired, with a slight feverish brightness to their eyes. Possibly some bug going around? But that didn’t account for the officer’s inner alarm, a tiny instinctual voice that he’d come to listen to even when he couldn’t pin down the specific words it spoke.
The strangest thing about the experience was much more immediate. He’d slowly gotten used to the multitude of attractive girls he met while dealing with the students of the college, and never much joined in with his partners’ crude discussions of any given girl they’d seen. But all three of the girls at the house had affected him instantly, even with their apparent incipient illness. He left the house more than a little aroused, and wondered why. The blonde chick was brazenly flirting, that was obvious, and had happened to him before- but he’d never thought of following through before. The brunette was quietly gorgeous, precisely the type of woman he’d imagined himself marrying eventually. And even though Asian women usually didn’t do much for him, the third girl had him fantasizing about- of all things- kissing her delicate feet. Though the threat of an embarrassing erection faded as he got further from the house, such feelings were so intense and unusual for him that his typically carefully organized mind was racing by the time he got back to the station.
“Jennings and Conroy are out checking out a shoplifter at the 7-11,” said the Sergeant as he walked in. “Any new word on that missing kid thing?”
“Not really,” Williams said. “I went back to that house that had the party. Nothing new; it’s still the last place anyone’s seen them, but the tenants were all drunk that night. One kid remembers seeing them, that’s about it.”
“Oh yeah, that’s funny,” the Sergeant said, scratching his moustache.
“How so?”
“Bunch of years ago, maybe ten or twelve, I remember a couple of kids who were renting that house went missing.”
“Ever find ‘em?” Williams asked. The Sergeant grunted a quick humorless laugh.
“Do we ever find any of ‘em?” he answered.
“It’s just a coincidence, though, right?” Williams said.
The other man looked at him oddly. “What else would it be?”
Min was dreaming of a dance club. The pounding of her heart matched the bass, and her black-gloved hands were working the twin pink turntables. Shimmering silver headphones hugged her head, with a slender microphone arm that hung an inch from her bright red lips. Min was whispering echoing words of encouragement, direction, and command that disappeared into the mix but slipped into the dancers under and between the beats. She sent pulsing waves of music through the crowd, liberating and dominating them; the beautiful people froze into undulating columns during the minimalist breaks, and were returned excruciatingly to frenzy with a teasing buildup. It was a seething, writhing mass of flesh that responded to every nuance of her control.
Min’s spotlights fell on a lone figure at the center of the dancefloor. Sinuous and forlorn, wanton and wanting, it was a girl with long straight hair gathered into ponytail whips. Painted like a jungle animal and sheathed in skin-tight seamless latex, Min did not instantly recognize Heather. The blonde girl, however, had focused an unblinking gaze on Min’s face, and was walking slowly towards her. In her eyes Min saw rejection of all impediments to the hungry seeking of pleasure, but also a willing rejection of self-control, a need to provide loyalty and loving service.
Min mouthed acknowledgement, and acceptance, over the sound system. A path for the initiate opened through the crowd; the scene resembled a black and red-litten ordination, or a sacrifice. Draped in flowing white, Heather swayed forward, her eyes pouring adoration and promises to Min. The dancers were chanting with the music as Heather took her first steps up to Min’s altar of flashing lights and spinning wheels. The blonde knelt and offered a bouquet of velvet red roses, and Min bent to bury her face in their scent...
Min woke with her face crushing against the old velvet of the confessional. Her dream forgotten, she had a split second of panic, confined in the total darkness and with no memory of entering the tiny room. Her last recollection was setting her alarm on the nightstand and falling into bed. Had she been sleepwalking? It would be a first. She roused herself enough to push open the door and climb out into the hallway.
A spill of moonlight startled her, revealing a pale motionless face turned toward her. Her heart leapt, but the face was familiar; it was Heather, standing motionless in the center of the dining room.
“Oh God, Heather,” she whispered, feeling a rush of warm relief. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Heather didn’t answer. Min moved closer, with a fluttering foreboding. The blonde’s eyes were half-open, and her pupils had rolled upward so only the bottoms could be seen. Her mouth hung slightly agape, her bottom lip drooping full and slack. As was her sleeping custom, the girl was stark naked. A shifting shadow from a breeze-tossed limb outside sent ribbons of black flitting across her pale breasts.
“Heather?” Min said, a little louder. She flapped her hand in front of the girl’s face, with no response.
What does one do with a sleepwalker, Min wondered. “Come on, girl, we’ll get you back upstairs,” she whispered. She went to put her arm around Heather, to turn the somnambulant girl towards the stairs.
At the first touch of Min’s skin, Heather let out a soft moan. Startled, Min snatched her hand back and watched as Heather’s face shifted slightly. Her vacant eyes barely moved, but her lips curved upwards just enough to suggest a smile.
Min tried again. Her arm gently fell around Heather’s shoulders, and Min braced her legs and hips to rotate the standing sleeper. To her surprise, Heather turned smoothly under Min’s direction, and even walked slowly forward when Min applied pressure. At intervals, a soft quick sigh escaped the blonde’s parted lips, a sleepy contented cooing.
At the stairs, Min had anticipated difficulties, but once again Heather’s legs stepped with hers. Min tested the process by stepping up and back several times; the other girl followed step unfailingly. It was weird, but increasingly fun. Min wondered how long Heather could stay like this.
She finally got the girl through the open doorway to Heather’s bedroom. Min wasn’t familiar with the layout enough to navigate well in the dark, and froze with a pounding heart when she banged her knee against the corner of the bed. Heather seemed unaffected by the noise, and even seemed to subconsciously recognize the surroundings. Her eyes still unseeing, her body glided into the bed.
“That was pretty easy, considering,” whispered Min to herself, rubbing her knee. Heather now looked normal, just another nighttime sleeper. Min was about to leave, but paused as a cool draft tickled her ankles. Thoughtfully, she took hold of the bunched sheet and stretched it over the exposed girl’s white form.
She stopped halfway.
Her fingers began to tremble slightly, hovering above the soft furry curve of Heather’s pussy.
She released the edge of the sheet, which fell across the tops of the sleeper’s thighs.
A tentative finger uncurled, and slowly descended.
It felt a little like warm velvet.
“Yes...” sighed a sleeping voice. Min snatched her hand back and held it to her breast, a bead of dew clinging to the tip of her index finger. She bit her lip hard, all of her reason and instinct screaming at her to get up, walk out, and go to bed. She readied herself for the exit, and then popped the finger in her mouth in a wild millisecond of curiosity.
It tasted like spiced blood and lust.
Her hand returned to Heather’s labia.
Min only knew what had felt good to herself, in many darkened hushed dead-of-night explorations. These had increased in the last few weeks, so the memory was recent and familiar. For encouragement and confirmation, she had Heather’s unconscious moans. These increased in volume and frequency as Min explored the sleeping girl’s soft ribbon folds and little caverns, and the little rubbery nub that revealed itself as the body around it shivered deliciously.
Min hesitated, with a wild nervous glance towards the darkened hallway outside, before lowering her face.
Heather was tasty and warm down there.
Min closed her eyes and let her tongue travel slowly down the moist, tangy crevasse. At the center, she probed deeply into a delicious coppery depth, tugging a savory curl of wetness back to her mouth. She could feel Heather twitching, and the vibrations of her plaintive cries tingled along her Min’s cheeks. When a tender nibble was tried upon the blonde’s firm clit, Min felt a passionate hand arrive at the back of her neck. She let the sleeper teach her the proper ebb and flow, and after a while was rewarded by a strangled cry and a surge of hot cum.
Min leaned back, her slickened face cooling in the sudden open air. Heather was stretched out in a long curve of satisfaction, lips silently mouthing slow gasping smiles with her eyes shut tight. Min ran her tongue around her lips with wonder, wanting to taste the moment as long as possible. “This was not a dream,” she thought happily, and glided like a night breeze back to her own room.