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Everything comes into focus slowly. The shadows bleed into one another, blurry uncertainties in the dead of night. You struggle to make sense of the room that you know is your bedroom. The absence of light transforms it into something out of a nightmare; or maybe it’s the sudden awareness that you can’t move, your limbs heavy as though weighed down with lead.
You want to groan in frustration, if you were capable of making a sound right now. It seems like you’ve landed yourself in your fourth or fifth instance of sleep paralysis of the week — it’s hard to keep track at this point. You’ve been waking up extra groggy and drained of energy after each night. The one blessing is that you don’t seem to remember much of these horrible episodes upon waking, apart from the racing heart and the obvious lack of sleep.
You’ve been doing a little bit of research about the phenomenon in your waking hours, in an effort to stay awake during your work. Some people have had success in gradual attempts to regain control. They claim that starting small is key, wiggling your fingers and toes until you can move more of your body and snap out of it entirely.
You decide to try this now, experimentally moving the toes of your right foot. It’s shockingly difficult; you read somewhere that your body is paralyzed during sleep to prevent you from acting out your dreams and harming yourself. It’s hard to be thankful towards your own body when your brain wants something very different, but you try not to be too upset with yourself as you try not to give in to panic with each movement.
Slow and steady wins the race, and all that.
Once you’re feeling a little more comfortable with your right foot, you start to move the toes on your left. Things are getting a little easier, but you still have to fight against invisible forces to keep your focus. You move on to your hands, starting with your smallest finger. Moving down the line, the rest of your fingers twitch with attempts before finally relenting, letting you move your fingers in full. You still can’t lift your hand, but this is a good sign.
“I wouldn’t move, if I were you.”
The strange voice in your empty apartment makes your blood run cold.
Okay, calm down, you try to tell yourself. You’re experiencing auditory hallucinations. Your dream is continuing on while you’re technically awake for it. That’s all.
But then you feel something wet and slimy on your face. Your eyes search in horror until the shape of a person starts to form itself in front of you.
Dark indigo hair and eyes a startling deep purple, a grin stretched wide across an attractive face. This is more detail than your vague nightmares and sleep paralysis episodes tend to show you. His tongue lolls out of his mouth lazily, and you realize it was the source of the cold slimy feeling on your face. He licked you. Something about this frightens you more than the understanding that there’s a strange man in your apartment that definitely does not belong here.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, tauntingly. Your eyes widen, the only fear response you’re able to give in your immobilized state. “You slept through the past few nights, but I guess it is more fun to see you react.”
His words catch up with you all at once, your brain frantically piecing together every detail you can possibly recall of the previous nights. The sensation of being completely stuck, not remembering much in the morning, feeling as though you’ve been drained of energy even though you were just sleeping…
The slight sore feeling between your legs.
Fuck.
“Tell me, stupid human, have you ever been fucked as good as when I do it?” He laughs cruelly, knowing you can’t give a response. “Of course you can’t. And of course you haven’t. You humans don’t know what you’re missing. I hope you’re feeling gratitude, human girl.”
You want to shake your head, but of course you’re forced to remain still. You want to scream, but of course your throat feels impossibly strained.
“Feel this?” Something hard presses against your cheek. Terrified, your eyes try to see what’s going on, but only the strange man is in view, his face burned into your memory. You lower your eyes and realize he’s holding his hardened cock to your face. He slaps it against your cheek a few times, runs the thick head across your lips as though he’s testing you out, trying to see if you’re responsive. You can feel yourself close to hyperventilating. “This is going deep inside you, human. I’m going to fuck you until you pass out from it. Maybe I’ll even let you scream, just to hear how much you love it.”
The head pushes past your lips, and even though you try to clench your jaw, he’s able to force your mouth open with ease, gripping your cheeks roughly.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asks as he shoves his length down your throat, not caring when you sputter and cough and choke. “I can do whatever I want. Your humanity restricts you, but I’m not bound by the limitations you are.”
Demons are real plays in an incredulous repeat in your head. There are worse things to worry about now, you know this, but it’s like your mind is fixated on the most impossible of them all, trying to spin it into a narrative you can parse through, a problem you can fix.
He pulls himself out of your throat and immediately you feel your pussy being probed by something indecipherable. Fingers, maybe? Surely he isn’t that fast. Then again, you don’t know anything about the capabilities of demons, given that you didn’t even know of their existence until a few minutes ago.
When he forces himself inside you almost immediately, you realize he is indeed capable of such speed, because it’s impossible not to understand that what stretches you is his cock. Deeper, deeper, impossibly deep, it seems. You gasp around his girth, wishing with everything that you could move, could try to claw at him or to pull yourself away. Maybe this is all an extended nightmare.
But there’s nothing but sinful pleasure in the rhythmic thrusting of this man. His speed and strength is – obviously – inhuman, the sound of your skin slapping blending together to something you’ve never heard before, never thought possible. The squelching sounds are unbelievable; you can’t fathom that you’ve gotten as wet as it sounds, and you distantly wonder if he’s done something with whatever powers he has to increase your arousal.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so tight. It’s better than when you’re asleep. The fear really keeps you tense, doesn’t it? Humans are really something.”
No, no, no, you respond in your head, in the frantic breaths you pant, in the stricken look of horror on your face. But he keeps going, listening to the yes, yes, yes of your hopelessly wet pussy, your pulsing walls, the silky smooth grip you have on his cock.
It’s a relief when he comes quickly, with a roar, slamming into you as though you’re not breakable, or maybe he just doesn’t care. You’re suddenly glad you can’t move, needing to catch your breath and give your mind time to process what’s going on. All it repeats now in your head is: is it over? Is it over now?
But the demon doesn’t need any more time, it seems. After a brief slump over your body, he looks up at you with a fresh grin. His cock twitches inside you, still impossibly hard even after he’d used your body so roughly.
“Only the first one of the night, girl. Don’t get too comfortable.” Still keeping your body immobile with an unseen force, he props you up on his lap, already readying himself to hold you in another position. Your heart quivers with fear. “We’re just getting started.”