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Never Alone by Sexy Scarlett

Short story By: Sexy Scarlett

HE is in her head. That much is for sure, but is he real? Does he exist? Does that even matter? Perhaps it IS all happening inside her head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

This is the first in a multi-part stand-alone short story series.

Submitted:Aug 2, 2011    Reads: 2,256    Comments: 19    Likes: 4   

Gentle fingers caressing her forearm lift her out of a deep sleep. A hot exhale on her neck plunges her into wakefulness. The dim green glow of her alarm clock informs her that it is just after three, but it does not provide enough light to see by. The feeling of being watched is strong, making the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention.

She is not alone. Her body refuses to move. Her vocal chords are not responding. Terror holds her frozen, but there's something else - something soothing, reassuring. Confused and curious yet still so tired, she struggles to keep her heavy eyelids from pulling her back into the darkness. It's a fight she's going to lose before bringing herself to investigate. She slips into a dreamless sleep, that is, until the following night.

* * *

"Greta, are you coming tonight?" The voice from across her desk sounds far away, less real than the daydream of the gorgeous stranger she is wrapped up in. "It's Thursday," the impatient brunette adds, standing hands to curvy hips that are showcased by a pencil skirt.

"I uh... I can't. I'm sorry." She runs her hand through her fiery curls, searching for a good excuse, but her stock is severely depleted, having canceled weekly evening plans for about a month.

"What's the reason this time? Secretly have a hot date tonight?" Rebecca couldn't have been more simultaneously right and wrong, not that she is aware at all. She laughs aloud with that booming, overly-confident chortle that makes Greta cringe.

"I just can't. Maybe next time." But Greta won't be invited next time. She won't even be in the office when plans are being made. Worse, no one will even wonder where she is.

* * *

She stirs awake - unsure of the cause - and it is immediately apparent that something is not right. It's too dark, much too dark. And that smell. Musky. Woodsy. Manly. There hasn't been a man in this bedroom since... since... Well it's been a while.

Turning to look at her alarm clock, she realizes her eyes are covered with a thin piece of fabric. She reaches to remove it and suddenly the room grows warmer, the air thicker, the man-smell stronger. Panic spikes her senses, breathing, and heart rate all at once.

Something holds her arms above her head, forcing her to reach towards the corners of the mattress. Straining against it only increases the pressure on her wrists, and makes her aware how sore this position has made her. How long has she been stretched like this, all four limbs restrained to fully offer her body to her captor? The question sends shivers up her spine.

As soon as her mouth opens to scream, a hand covers it roughly, only increasing her panic and desire to call out. "Shh... No one can hear you. Don't bother." His message should cause more terror, but his voice and his presence are soothing somehow.

He watches the long, slender body bathed and pale in the moonlight relax. This serves as an opportunity to replace his hand with his lips. Her struggles beneath him as he crawls on top of her excite him, but they cease as she gives in to his passionate kisses.

There is something so familiar about him, but that's not the only reason she allows her lips to participate. She knows that if she were to slip a finger between her legs, it would come out glistening. How quickly her body has betrayed her. But this is just a dream right? That wouldn't be anything new to Greta. She's been with this dream-man before, but this is so vivid and...


His finger confirms her wetness theory as it plunges inside easily. Her back arches in surprise and pleasure, pulling hard against the ties. He seems to touch every inch of the sensitive flesh inside her. The desperate thrusts of her hips soon exceed those of his fingers, urging him to quicken his pace.

But he stops. The emptiness causes her to protest, but she is silenced by the taste of her own juices. His fingers slide sloppily out of her mouth. Firm thighs are pushing her own farther apart, but she hardly notices because of the attention her breasts are receiving.

The squeezing and kneading are almost painful yet she still finds her back arching, offering herself to his assault. His weight shifts on the bed and she can feel him at her entrance. His turgid member slides along her slick slit.

Never has a dream felt so real. Even the slightest touch of their sexes feels like a small electric shock that spreads throughout her body. Her hips rise as an invitation, but he retreats.

"Patience my pet." His voice is so soft and barely audible.

Did he just call me his pet?

"Please. I…" She is immediately hushed and strong hands put pressure on her insistent hips, forcing them back into the mattress.

"Begging is not very becoming. You'll learn." One hand has shifted so that the thumb can rub her swollen clit while the other is migrating northward.

"But I need… Oww!" His fingers clamp on one of her sensitive nubs. "STOP!"

* * *

The sound of her own voice frightens her awake, but when she stops screaming the only other sound is her heavy breathing. Her body is covered in sweat, matting her hair to her forehead and neck. Some of it has been soaked up into the old T-shirt she's wearing, but that is hiked up high enough to reveal erect nipples.

As she shifts to turn on her bedside lamp, she realizes her panties are damp. Some dream wasn't it? But the lamp's glow reveals strange purple-ish marks on her wrist. Her other wrists has a matching bruise bracelet.

The temperature of the room suddenly seems to rise again and she feels nauseous. Instead of deep breaths calming her down, her panic intensifies as a familiar yet impossible scent enters her nose.

This can't be happening.

Before she consciously makes up her mind, her legs are carrying her out the bedroom door, leaving blankets falling off the bed. A sprint down the short hallway.

Was that a shadow?

A precarious dash down the stairs.

Don't fall or he'll get me.

Unlocking the front door with shaky hands awards her with a cool breeze. She feels silly for a moment, standing on her front porch in only a T-shirt and dull underwear. There is no audience though because no one is outside at three in the morning.

Right when it seems safe to go back inside - it was only a dream of course - a strong dizziness comes over her. The road and the sidewalk are rippling. It's as if she's looking out onto a cement sea. The house across from her begins to tilt. The cool breeze is gone as she is wrapped in warmth again. She feels light as a feather for a moment, then she sees the stars before everything fades to black.








Find out what happens to Greta…

"In the Hospital"


**Author's note: This has actually become a novella after posting a series of short stories, the originals of which have now been removed. Thanks for reading and I hope you continue with Greta in "Never Alone" the novella.


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