The Visitor Pt 3

His words scared her far more than any nightmare.

“I am carving my fucking name inside of you. Every dick you take from this day forth will be stained with my name. It will be burned on the shaft for trespassing what I own,”

Did he do just that? Did her inner walls now contain the name of this man? God help them all if they did. He was marking her body in the most internal way possible, yet, she didn’t even know his name.

Screaming as the nectar dripped from her core, her legs will forever have the stains of her shame. What had happened to her? This man, this stranger, had forced her body to react to his touch. Her mind was screaming for him to stop. The real battle for her life was the one that she fought all on her own. When the eyes close and the body rests, the demons come to play. She had fed this one with a part of her soul the moment she allowed his image on her canvas. It wasn’t the paintbrush; it was the need for comfort that called him forth.

Trickles of blood ran down her chest, the warmth leaving a trail over her skin. She had marked her own body, and he had marked her soul. “Please go,” Gypsy cried. If a voice ever fell on deaf ears, this would be the time.

“If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have created me,” he laughed. His voice almost mechanical and without feeling. A hand instinctively went to his zipper, breaking the teeth as he tugged it down. His cock sprang to life as he let out a groan of relief—body aching from the confinement during her time of release. “We’re done when I say we’re done,” he whispered. Pressing the head of his cock to her ass, it wasn’t there he wanted. Any man could fuck an ass. He wanted this cock to torture where he had marked.

Blinking her eyes repeatedly, she waited to wake from this dream. Each time a little longer, but his presence still there. She summoned him and now would pay the price for what she had done. One thrust buried him deep inside of her walls, her screams the response he had hoped for. By the look on her face in the mirror, she had never expected her dream to bring her back to life.

“Oh fuck, stop, please, you don’t exist,” she cried.

His hand, though unseen, left perfect fingerprints everywhere he touched.

“You can close your eyes all you want, but that doesn’t make me unreal. I live inside of you, lying dormant, and when you least expect it, I will be the nightmare you seek,” he said. A large hand slid up her chest. His fingers wrapped tight around her slender neck. He could easily snap her like a twig, but what good would she be then? Holding his fingers to the arteries on either side, he restricted the blood flow to her brain. She tightened every muscle in her body the moment his fingers squeezed. His touch was constricting her breaths.

“Is it burning yet? Your chest?” he asked. He was forcing himself deeper into her cunt, stretching the walls to capacity. “Breath,” he laughed.

Gypsy gasped; her head leaned back against his chest as his dick held deep in her core. When the body contracts, the vaginal walls put a strangulation hold on the cock, making it almost painful to stay inside. As he tormented her, she did the same to him. Every pulsating vein in his dick begged for him to release her, but he was as much a junkie for pain as she was. Tears ran down her face in a flood of emotions; all she wanted was to live again.

One last thrust and her body flooded with warmth; his growl almost animalistic when released. Hot, heavy ropes of seed shot deep inside of her pulsating cunt. Sedated by her body, his parting words will forever imprint upon her.

“No matter who you have sex with or the drugs you consume, there will be no one that can make you fear the darkness as I can,” he whispered. With his lips to Gypsy’s ear, breathing deep, “You can escape, but I will always find you.” He turned her body for the first time, only allowing her one look at him. One that she would never forget. This man or beast would forever own a part of her. That part that itches so deep inside the soul that nothing can ever extinguish the need to scratch.

Hours later, waking on the couch, the only memory left was the blood that stained her body, and the image of his face.

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Edgar Allen Poe

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