Puppet

Happy Halloween! To celebrate, here is my first erotic horror submission, as well as submission in the

Literotica 2021 Halloween Story Contest

(!!), Puppet. Thank you to LaRascasse and TRCIII for looking this over. And, as always, all characters in this story are eighteen years old or above. All readers should also be eighteen years or above. Enjoy. -L

I feel dizzy.

I clutch my hands to my head, grimacing, blinking hard. The pain is shallow but nauseating. I see blurs of black, of white, of green, of moonlight spilling through the window. Nothing is clear; the room is spinning.

The room. I focus on my surroundings, now, on making something out. I frown, blinking away the fog. Nothing is spinning, now. The room is still.

That's when I realize: This isn't my room.

No, I remember vaguely. My room isn't this white, and I certainly don't have this many plants...or beds. I look closer, my eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight. There are three other beds in the room. Two occupied, and one empty. I can't make out any of the occupants; it's much too dark. The sheets are the same on all of the beds, though. Plain, white, and crisp.

Making as little noise as possible, I roll out of my bed and walk to what I assume is the bathroom. It's just as white as the room, but fortunately less dark once I find the light switch. I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. I look like myself, thank god, but myself would never wear this plain nightgown. Myself would be in my room. Where I know where I am. Where I am safe.

Fuck, I whisper to myself. I've never set foot in this room...I've never met these people. I am lost.

As I stumble out of the bathroom, the door gapes as if to taunt me. A lonely tear escapes from my eye and I crawl through the dark back to my bed. Maybe, if I sleep, it will all go away. It will be normal, like before. Like what I imagine it was before.

I sleep, I wake.

It feels like only ten minutes later. Nothing has changed. It is still dark outside, but the girls...my roommates are awake now. I'm exhausted and confused. But maybe they will know better than me.

I take a moment to study Girl #1's features. Her hair is short, swooping gently over her eyebrows to almost rest on her eyelashes. Her eyes are deep brown, and her lips are full and pink. She looks like an athlete. A soccer player. Perhaps, in another situation, I would flirt with her.

But not now; now, I have to find out where I am. Girl #1 is closest to me. I'll ask her.

"Hello?" I croak. I don't mean to sound so afraid.

She turns to me. "Lana?" she asks.

Lana. My name is Lana. That, I remember. But if that's true, why is everything else so unclear?

She smiles at me. It is a lopsided, dopey smile that would normally make me swoon. Now, here, it upsets me. It makes certain that she is sure. She knows, and I don't.

"You must have slept good," she says. "I'm jealous."

I don't know what to say to that. Instead, I try to meet her smile.

"Well, good morning, sleepyhead," she chuckles. "Don't forget that Marissa is moving in today."

My unknowing stare must be obvious. More obvious than I'd wanted.

Girl

#1 is heaving a sigh.

"

Marissa,

" she groans.

Oh, Lana. Always so forgetful.

"Our new roommate?"

"Right."

Crossing my hands nervously in my lap, I frown. There seem to be so many things that I should know. That I forgot. Everything is unnatural in the way that television is. Where everyone knows their lines, but I have forgotten my script. I don't even know where I left it.

Sighing, I turn my attention to the other girl in the room. This one, Girl #2, is more eccentric. Her hair is dyed green at the ends. She is out of place among the plain, white sheets and standard-issue nightgowns. She's not what I would consider attractive, but I know that she shares something in common with me. Maybe, it is the many unfilled piercings dotting her face. Maybe it is her forest-green hair. Perhaps we all became roommates due to our shared sexuality.

Catching my stare, #2 frowns. I know she's wondering why I'm staring. After all, we live together.

What reason do I have to stare?

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting her question before it can escape her lips.

"I'll get it," she announces, walking briskly to the front of the room.

Framed by the open door is a short blonde. She looks familiar, but I can't place her face. I use my critical thinking skills and determine that this must be Marissa.

"Hey, Marissa," #2 smiles. "You can put your toiletries and things in the bathroom. Your school supplies are already in the bag on your bed."

This is a school. That is something at least.

"Thank you, Allison." Allison. "I'm so excited to finally move in. Sorry it took me so long. My mom got sick last minute."

#1 shrugs, the same dopey smile on her lips, as she exits the bathroom. Drowning in the depths of my thoughts, I never even noticed that she left.

"That's no big deal," she grins. "We're excited to have you anyway."

"Hi, Sam!" Marissa exclaims, dropping her bags to hug the brunette. Sam returns the embrace, chuckling softly.

"Hi, Lana. I almost didn't notice you, you're so quiet. I'm finally moving in!"

"Hi, Marissa," I smile shallowly. Maybe I know Marissa, too.

"Sorry about her," Allison apologizes for me, shooting me with a strange look. "She just woke up."

I nod. "That's true." The room is silent for a moment before Sam's voice penetrates the fog.

"Alright," she pipes up, facing Marissa. "Start unpacking your things, and I'll tell you our schedule for the day. Our first class is at nine o'clock and our second is at eleven-thirty. I would eat something beforehand so that you don't get hungry."

Marissa nods, placing a box of tissues on her nightstand. She doesn't seem to have any clothes with her, and it leads me to assume that all of our clothing is determined for us here. Everyone's wardrobe seems to resemble my own.

Sam continues, "Fridays are kind of easy days, so we don't have much to do after that. There are some

'mandatory group activities'

this evening, but they won't miss us."

"Why? Why aren't we going?" Marissa asks innocently.

"Well, first of all, Lana won't be here, and actually that's the second reason too. We get special privileges--so-to-speak--thanks to Lana's...thing with the headmistress."

I smile, temporarily distracted from my predicament. Finally, the first thing that makes sense. I hope that whatever version of me's body I am in has comparable taste in women. The headmistress. Maybe she can make my time, my confusion, worth the trouble.

"We'll probably order in tonight. Maybe before Lana leaves?" Allison questions, now facing me.

"Sure."

One last glare.

--

The classes are a blur.

This school is normal--for the most part--aside from the ugly uniforms and the strict rules. Luckily, I don't have to know where to go, Sam is in my group, and we share a schedule. Allison is with Marissa. The lectures are on subjects which interest me--calculus, philosophy, et cetera. In

my

school, I have studied the same. I take notes and I feel confident that by next Friday, I will blend in. All I will have to do is get through the weekend. That is simple enough.

After class, we have dinner. Allison orders two pizzas and we share and discuss our day. I am starting to like these girls. Sam and Marissa are kind, and Allison is warming up to me. Maybe I can adjust, if I can't remember.

Sam pulls me aside.

"Tomorrow, we're having a welcome-home dinner for Marissa. Try to make it, if you can get away?" she winks.

I smile. "Will do."

Sam frowns. "Something's really going on, huh?"

I furrow my brow.

"It's nothing. Just...try to make it through the weekend, alright? Come back to us, Lana."

"...Yeah."

Come back to us.

Her words linger in my mind until long after she speaks them. Why wouldn't I come back? Why is that something she has to warn me about? I have little time to think before a soft knock sounds on the door. It is followed by three heads turning to face me. This must be the headmistress.

I slowly stand and make my way to the door. My feet fight through vines, slowly approaching my fate. Hesitantly, I open it, afraid of what, of who I might find on the other side.

A woman is there, dressed in a silk button-down and an A-line skirt. Her blond hair is draped over her shoulders neatly, her eyes grey and vacant.

Though sharp, her features are attractive. Her cool grey gaze drags up and down my body under my school uniform, eyebrows furrowed in appreciation. Then, she smiles at me lasciviously, almost predatorily. Her teeth reveal themselves slowly in a way I can only describe as primal. I would call her pretty, if she weren't so unnerving.

"Hi," she husks in a suiting deep voice. The sound sends chills down my spine. The word is breathy, heady with a dark...something. I can see her chest rise and fall with every breath.

"Hello, ladies." The woman bares her teeth at the rest of the inhabitants of the room. They all wave their hellos. Silent. Maybe this woman is just as unnerving to them as she is to me.

Again, she looks to me. Her hand reaches up to graze my arm. I want to move but I am glued in place. "Are you ready, my toy?" she asks.

"Yes, ma'am," I respond. The name seems appropriate, somehow, and her smile affirms my sentiment.

Resting a hand on the small of my back, the woman leads me out, down the hall and down the stairs.

Fortunately, there is no one here to witness the way she's touching me so unabashedly. I wonder if they'd notice me with this woman's hand on my back.

I wonder if they'd notice me at all.

A black sports car is waiting in front of my building. She opens my door and settles me in before striding to the driver's side.

In the car, I am immediately overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume. It's dark, almost like cologne. Otherwise, the space is neat, much unlike my car at home. My Honda...No, Hyundai. I catch her looking at me from the corner of her eye. She is careful with the wheel, but every chance she gets, her eyes find some part of me. When she speaks, I am so focused on her that it surprises me.

"I don't know if I can wait to get you home," she sighs, her excitement barely concealed. I don't know how to respond. Clearly, this woman has one or more activities planned for us once we arrive at our destination. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I glance over at her, to look at her silhouette while she drives. Her nose is perfectly straight, nails perfectly trimmed, clothes perfectly tailored. It won't be so bad.

She clears her throat, looking at me over her crisp shoulder. "You're awfully quiet today, Puppet," she chuckles. "You've missed me."

I don't have the heart to tell her that I don't know who she is. Instead, I think about what she called me...Puppet. Somehow, the peculiar name is in alignment with everything that has happened so far. And somehow, it is comforting. I don't know where I am, who I am with, but to this woman, I am Puppet. She, at least, knows me.

At the next light, her cold hand is on my thigh. I flinch, almost imperceptibly, but I feel her hand tighten around my skin. Her index finger taps twice on my leg before her deep voice fills the silence, "And how was your week?"

Despite the new feeling of her hand on my bare skin, I quickly formulate a response. I don't know why, but I don't want to blow my cover.

"It could be better." It's not a lie.

Her laugh startles me. It's a deep, slow chuckle that sends a cold shiver creeping up my neck. Suddenly, I am not so happy that she knows me. Her next words are not any better.

"Oh dear," she gasps. "Well, don't fret, Puppet. Mistress will make it better."

I do not know how to respond to this at all. I settle for looking out of the passenger side window, trying to ignore the fingers massaging my thigh. Pressing the flesh harder than it needs to be pressed, claiming the thigh as her own. Her fingers move higher, just under the hem of the dark fabric of my skirt, but I sense they won't move any farther. Not now. I savor this moment while it lasts. Something is telling me I won't have the luxury of her restraint for long.

We arrive at a beautiful, old house. It's three stories high and perched on a green hill. Grey bricks make its face, with sweeping black roofs for hair. It looks familiar, like something I'd seen on TV...I can't remember when. I can almost imagine smoke billowing from the chimney, a fire roaring in the living room. But that would make this a home. And I know this isn't a home, so much as a residence. A residence for just her...Somehow, I know it's just her.

"Come, doll," she speaks, extending a hand to help me out of the car. At some point, she has left the car to walk to my door. I accept her hand, allowing her to help me. She is chivalrous, closing my door once I've exited. Then, she leads me by the hand to the door of the house.

With a smooth motion, her key is in the lock, and soon after, she has me inside. She stands three feet away from me, watching, waiting. Her presence is suffocating. When my silence becomes too loud, she interrupts.

"Are you hungry?" she smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. They're dark with arousal...with need. I don't think it matters if I am hungry or not. She is hungrier.

"No, ma'am."

"Good. Come here." She's looking at me intently, her gaze strong. Her eyes are blown black, terrifying, and she wants me to approach her. Her expression is almost playful, and like everything else, it unsettles me.

Hesitantly, I inch toward her, my footsteps slow and uncertain.

Her smile widens. "Naughty toy," she chides. "I know when you're being flirty."

Two strong hands grasp my waist, then. Touch me with a familiarity, a comfort that I don't share. Almost as if she knows my body better than I do. One hand is at the hem of my skirt, teasing and pulling, and despite myself, I feel my heart rate quicken.

After all, an attractive woman has her hands on me. I am only human.

She pulls me closer to her, nuzzling her nose into the soft curls next to my ear. Her arms wrap around me, tight, so I can hardly move. Teeth nip at the skin next to my ear and I can hear her heavy breaths deepen each second.

"Won't you kiss me, Puppet?"

I pause. She's taken over my space entirely. I can't move an inch without her following. I realize, I couldn't kiss her if I tried.

"Can't--can't reach--"

"Oh," she gasps, pulling back with the same blank expression. Her teeth expose themselves in a smile. She's smiling.

"Now, Puppet. I'm sorry. Now, you can kiss me."

I look at her lips. They're incredibly pink, stretched over her teeth. Just as perfect as the rest of her. She could be an actress...and I hope she is. That would make this easier. If she's an actress, she'll understand that I forgot my lines. My focus returns to her waiting lips, upturned and patient. This close, I can see her age clearer. She has the features of a woman twenty years older than me. There are dimples on the sides of her mouth, lines on her forehead, but no crow's feet to dance at the sides of her eyes. I can't fathom why she wouldn't have any...unless she never smiled.

Hesitantly, I lean in to kiss her. Her eyes are closed before I can even make it halfway to her lips. As soon as our lips touch, her hands wrap around me. They are possessive, needy. They grope me of their own accord. Her lips are just as soft as they look, but exponentially more intense. She's kissing me hard. The way I'd expect a wife to greet her soldier when he comes back from deployment. Desperate.

Over and over again, her lips press into mine until she's had enough. She hums, sighs contentedly, licking her lips. Now, her tongue is at mine. I open them without thinking, and she makes her entrance. Her breath is sharp with mint, just as I would expect it to be. Her tongue plunges deep into my mouth, claiming every inch as her own. Her grunts vibrate into my lips, her hands pawing at my flesh. Her grip is so tight it almost hurts. Teeth sink into me, nipping my tongue until I all but pull away. I whimper and she moans, deep.

She knows my limits.

Her lips pull away from mine, and before I can react, she is snatching me to herself. Her teeth are biting at my neck. Her nails, digging into the sensitive skin of my back. My jawbone is between her teeth, and she's moaning, louder than before. With her teeth, she kisses up to my ear, tracing the contours of my jaw with her tongue. My ear fills with her hot breaths, her cheek grinding into the side of my face.

"Did you miss me?" she heaves. "Because I missed you."

I'm thrust from my trance as my heart catches in my throat. I've never heard these words spoken like this...so desperate...so sinister. It doesn't matter that I don't know where I'll go, I have to get out of here. Her hands are shaky, her breaths almost gusts in my ear. I wonder why she told me she missed me. It's as clear as day.

Like a spider with her prey, now, she is delicate. Her hands trail under my school skirt and up to my plain cotton panties. With one finger at a time, she displaces my skirt, probes my flesh until I forget my worry. She has me already, deep in her web. I'm enamored by the careful way she moves, her eight legs twisting like branches. They are so beautiful that I want to watch them forever. So distracted am I that I start to think her web is comfortable.

She speaks then, her words still directly in my ear, "And, how is our pussy? Are we wet tonight, my toy?" Her voice is sultry, harrowing in its timbre. Deep like wine.

One of her hands trails over my ass. It slithers up my middle, taking my skirt with it. Slowly, it makes its way into the hair at the nape of my neck. Heaving a deep sigh, she tightens her grip in my hair and on my ass. She leans in, placing deep, open-mouthed kisses on the skin behind my ear. Her lips trail lower, then, becoming rougher as they continue down to my shoulder. If she is any more intense, her lips will bruise me.

Whatever version of me this is, whoever she is, this woman practically owns her. That's the only thing that can explain this, how violently she is clasping my skin. She swaddles me, spins me into her trap. And she is so beautiful that I'm almost blind to her intentions, that is until her pincers open to devour me. She bites me. Hard. I jump, shudder, whimper. I don't know if it's from fear or from pleasure.

I tune in to her. Her breathing is heavier than mine and she moans deeply every time her lips touch my body. Her breaths are ragged. They are unnerving. I step back. I need some distance from her...I don't want to let her possess me.

"I'm sorry," I gasp. She's watching me, her chest heaving.

"Sorry," she repeats slowly, her gaze still fixed on my lips. She looks as if she wants to bite them as well. I shift uncomfortably.

"Sorry, Puppet," she almost sounds out the word, like it's foreign.

What does that even mean?

"Yes, I'm sorry," I reiterate. I take another step back. "I'm thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?"

"Water. Yes." Her eyes regard me curiously, as if she would've never considered that I would need water. She gestures to what I assume is the direction of the kitchen. "You know where it is. Then come meet me upstairs."

I smile as best I can, before hurrying to the direction she pointed. I find the kitchen almost immediately. It's just as immaculate as the rest of the house. Just as silent and dark. I find a light switch that controls the light over the stove. It is a beacon in the darkness of my fear. I find the glasses in the second cabinet I try. I take one and fill it from the tap. As the cool liquid reaches my tongue, I sigh. My mouth was incredibly dry. I am halfway through my second glass when I feel that I've had enough. I don't want to go upstairs, but I feel I have to. Who knows what will happen if I run?