1 Kimber
“There. Right there!”
His lips ghost over my skin, and I’m mumbling words that don’t make sense even to me. Is it still a dream, or did I slip into reality?
Fingers press to my pussy, making me rock against the hand searching for more friction. I can’t open my eyes, and I don’t want to either. I want this euphoria to continue on in all the best ways.
Then his tongue presses against my clit, sucking it between his teeth, and I whimper. My lips are heavy, the liquor from before doing its job, and as he stretches me with a finger and teases my clit I try to seek more.
He won’t lift his head, and I can’t see his face. My fingers pull through light blond, then dark, then reddish hair. That can’t be right can it? Hair’s all one color.
I squirm, trying to see more. Is he my fantasy or my nightmare? I’m getting confused, and the lust edges away as I can’t make out what’s happening.
Then he lifts his face, and it’s not who I want to see. There’s blood all over his neck, and it’s not mine. It’s his. I already know it is -
I bolt awake at the sound of slamming, reaching for my nightstand. My skin’s slicked in sweat, and before I even turn on the light my fingers are closing around the handle of my gun.
Breathe. Just breathe. Look before you shoot.
Turning the light on is a secondary thought, but I’ve learned what happens when you fire into the dark. My eyes squint as they try and adjust, twisting in bed while I grip the gun but keep my fingers off the safety.
At the end of my bed is Brutus, my black and white kitty. He stares at me, those judgmental eyes seeming to mock me in the night. He cocks his head before stretching out on the end of my bed, and my shoulders sag.
I should’ve gotten a dog. Maybe the pup would protect me, but Brutus is old faithful. If he hadn’t been so damn bug and frightening I like to think Brutus would turn his bad mood on my attacker and scratch his eyes out. As it was, I worried for Brutus’ safety at the time, so I’m happy he hid. Groaning, I push the gun away, my hands shaking, and turn to kick my legs over the edge of the bed.
This is why I want the dreams to suck me under and never let up. When I’m sleeping, I’m free. Every waking moment is plagued by paranoia and guilt, but that doesn’t always translate into my dreams. When I dream, it’s all fantasy.
Like the dream I was just in the middle of would be fan-fucking-tastic to finish ifsomeonedidn’t slide into my memories and ruin it. I’ve had enough partners to identify who makes my body ache with need, and I know who I want to play with in my sleep.
It’s certainly not the man who stole my dream. He betrayed my trust and I guess, in a way, I betrayed him. I never should’ve opened up to him, or anyone, about my kinks. That’s where this whole mess started.
Somnophilia.It was a risk thinking he wouldn’t take advantage, and I miscalculated. Now I think I’m better off just not opening up to anyone ever again.
Sighing, I head towards the kitchen. I won’t sleep anymore so I may as well give into my addiction and have adrink. Brutus follows me, meowing pitifully, and I imagine he wants a snack. Peering at the clock on the stove, I see it’s just past four in the morning.
A shiver works its way up my spine. My nights are scattered at best because I can't relax. It’s like my body subconsciously remembers the time of night and forces me awake even when I’m bone tired.
Life’s cruel that way.
Brutus purrs when I give him a little dollop of whip cream in his bowl, because he might be rudely waking me up but he’s still my baby. I toss the can back into the fridge before moving on to the bottle on the counter and my glass, my hand shaking when I pour the drink straight.
The alcohol burns sliding down my throat. I should have warm milk or maybe a sleeping pill to get through the night, but alcohol does the trick. It rolls down my throat and makes my empty stomach groan in protest, but slowly the tremble in my hands stops as I take a second then a third gulp.
Leaning against the counter, I spy Brutus again. He’s sitting there watching me, licking his lips. “Don’t judge me. You have addictions too. You’re going to get fat snacking like that.”
Of course he doesn’t respond, and when I take a fourth sip and nearly clear the glass, my body unwinds. The alcohol cuts through my nerves, creating a nice little haze, and I roll my neck and lean further into the counter.
I’m not afraid of the ghost in my every waking moment. The gun is more of a comfort than anything, because he’s not coming for me ever again. I made sure of that. But when I close my eyes, my nightmares are confused.
“Think we’ll ever find a man who doesn’t try to kill us, Brutus?” I grumble, and my cat just stares back at me. I'm not sure why I even ask the question. I've tried dating, or just hooking up at the club, and so far it hasn't panned out. AnyoneI used to be interested in already hooked up with someone else and found happiness, and even with new members joining all the time I’m starting to feel like I’ve missed my chance. I could look outside of Sins and Secrets, but then I have to deal with the wholekinksdilemma.
Pushing the glass away, I head to the living space to watch TV. Bed calls to me, but until the alcohol soothes me I won’t be sleeping.
Maybe I can dream again. And in place of the monster, I could get lucky and see Rich buried between my legs instead. That’s who I want to dream about. He didn’t know it, but he’s at the top of my list. I’d love to know what kind of things that man is into.
~~~
I only have to get through the workday and then I can freely walk around Sins, other clubs, or really anywhere else that isn’t my job. After last night, I need something to mentally turn off my mind again.
