All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
It’s only a dream
The gallery went dark around her. Gypsy knew the weather in New York was raging outside, but they have generators for days like this, right?
“Gallery is down for the day. No one can leave, so you need to get comfortable. The photographer delivered the bad news to Gypsy. She was the only artist in the building tonight.
“I’m going to pass out on the couch in the lounge. No sleep last night has me exhausted,” she said.
The man had no interest in small talk. He was more interested in the maintenance boy than anything else. Gypsy had worked with him for a year now, and he was the best when setting up a new show.
Thankfully, the gallery contained a small apartment with a shower for artists. The skinny blond turned on the water until the small bathroom was filled with steam. Gypsy had a bad habit of using water so hot that her body looked scalded afterward. It was a form of self-punishment. She was no longer the submissive she longed to be. Her scars would now internal.
She closed her eyes as the spray of water hit her face. It was liquid fire against her priceless flesh. Gypsy didn’t care. Not tonight. Not that she ever had. Gypsy might desire the control of a man, but she was a strong female.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” shaking, her body covered littered with waves of chills. Her areola’s darkening as her small nipples hardened with the heat of the water. For Gypsy, her body wasn’t average. The cold did nothing for her. Maybe her soul did belong to hell.
She moaned out when the tips of her digits brushed lightly over her breasts. She would have to cover her mouth if she continued. As the tips of her fingers trailed down her abdomen, her body tensed. Doing this was not acceptable. She was not allowing this to happen. It had been longer than she could remember since being touched.
“Stop it. Fucking stop!”
Her own voice scared her. Without thinking, she slapped her hand across her wet breasts, the mounds instantly rising with welts. Again, punishment for a disobedient girl. This time the tears threatened to fall, but she held them back. Gypsy knew that even if she were not married, she would live as though she was.
Shutting off the shower, she was almost sad to feel the water cease. Her whole body trembled as it accumulated to the temperature change.
Gypsy grabbed her fluffy white robe. Her body felt relief the moment it was covered. A quick tie of the belt and she was ready for some sleep. Sadly the little light that once filtered through the windows was gone. Her cell phone flashlight would lead the way to the lounge, locking the door once she was in. You can’t be too careful these days. She has had her share of stalkers.
Nestling her body down on the oversized leather couch, Gypsy pulled the blanket that rested on the back of the sofa, wrapping her body like a human cocoon. Her eyes let her know she was more tired than she realized. Fluttering once or twice, the lids of her eyes closed tight, allowing her to drift into a twilight sleep.
You know the place between sleep and awake, the place where you can hear but not see. It’s a scary place. It’s a place that the dreams start and the nightmares form. Gypsy knew that place all too well.
“Gypsy, wake up.”
The voice was male. Her body shook the moment Gypsy heard her name called. Hadn’t she locked the door? She had a vivid memory of closing the metal door the moment she walked in.
The blanked pulled from her body, exposing her to the man. She could hear him, but he was void of a face. His hand wrapped tight around the base of her throat. Her slender neck felt the pressure of his fingers. Not to the point of choking, but she couldn’t move.
“You’ve waited for so long for me,” his voice growled.
She found herself paralyzed with fear. Gypsy refused to open her eyes and look at the man. Something in her brain told her if she could not identify, she would live. Maybe she had watched too many police shows when she went to bed at night.
“Please, please don’t hurt me,” her voice raspy. She felt pleasure in the fear.
It only took one hand to hold her in place. The intruder doubled her weight. His fingers large, calloused, and powerful. She gasped softly as the grip tightened. Her body shivered as she felt cold metal on her abdomen. It wasn’t a gun. It was a knife. The outline could felt when she sucked in a deep breath.
“I could gut you, but not yet. Not before I have what I want. Do not move. You won’t like what happens if you do.”
Her lips trembled as she caught the lower pillow between her teeth. The assailant flattened the knife to her belly, trailing it down her stomach. He didn’t stop till the tip pricked her pubic mound—a small trickle of blood formed at the end of the knife.
“Of fuck. Please don’t hurt me!” her voice trembled with fear.
“Shhh, stop talking. We’re going to play a little game. Don’t worry. I have no desire to rape you. Though I will be tasting that pussy tonight,” his words coming in a growling tone.
She heard the first click, then the pressure of cold steel inserted into her cunt. He was pushing the barrel of a handgun into her tight pussy. Not stopping till the trigger guard rested against the small area between her pussy and asshole. Memories of Frank rushed through her head. No, he was dead. Nicolette made sure that she sent him to hell.
“Masturbate for me! There is one in the chamber. Displease me, and there won’t be any left in the chamber. I’ll blow your fucking cunt, but not in the way you want.”
Gypsy moved her hand down her stomach, her fingers pressing against her flesh until she left a mank on her perfect flesh. She wasn’t scared of death, just the process that would get her to the point she no longer breathed. That was the part that scared her the most.
Her palm rested in her pubic bone. She didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want someone to see her in this position. Gypsy cried out. Her legs shook as she felt the barrel of the gun inserted deeper inside of her—the little notch on the top, scratching her inner walls.
She didn’t want this. How could this dream be invading her mind? Never in her wildest of dreams had Gypsy thought of something like tonight.
“Please stop doing this to me. I have a lot of money!” she cried out, the scent of copper in the air. She was bleeding. The metal had cut her inside.
She cried out the moment, the sounds of the impact registered in her ears. She could feel the welts rising on her cheek. He had hit her. Slapped her face with more force than Gypsy had ever felt.
Lights flickering, music playing, the electricity was back on. Sitting straight up on the couch, her hands were still shaking. It was only a dream. A sick fucking dream. Gypsy hadn’t had one like this in months. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—a yellow flower on the table in front of the couch.
“Sleep well, Princess. I’ll be back?”