A fierce thunderstorm has been raging outside a small town for hours, its intense fury showing no signs of letting up as the late night wears on. But just beneath its stormy clouds, inside my warm little home, everything is quiet and calm. Soft golden light bathes my cozy couch, where I'm wrapped in a cocoon of comfort with a good book and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. I adore Earl Grey; when I make it scorching hot with a few sugars, it feels like a warm hug from within.
It's the kind of setting I consider idyllic for reading, the scene all around me so much more capable of transporting me to another world through the pages of my book. But no matter how engrossed I am in the story before me or the perfect hot tea, searing as it slides slowly down my throat in the most sensual way, the chaos outside keeps stealing my attention.
There's a small candle in front of me on my coffee table and its flame flickers, trembling in sync with the booming thunderclap that shakes the walls around me. Big, fat raindrops pelt against my windows, and the wind howls and roars with such ferocity, it's as if a dangerous beast is lurking just beyond my door, waiting for someone--anyone--to step outside and fall victim to its hunt.
For many, wild storms instill fear. But, for me, it's hunger, hunger for pleasure, passion. The raw energy that crackles through the air awakens my senses and stirs a deep, visceral response within me. My heart is pounding in time with the thunder, and my skin thrums with electricity at each strike of lightning - making my entire being vibrate with an untamed sensual power that threatens to overwhelm me.
I feel my nipples stiffen against the fabric of my velvet nightie. A thrumming pulse builds deep in my core, soaking my mesh panties, and I can no longer ignore what my body is begging so loudly for. So, I give in, letting my fingertips dance across my flesh until gasps and groans escape my lips. Writhing into the corner of my couch, with my legs coming up on either side of me as I climb towards a sharp cliff to fall off of.
As I climb, I notice the storm seems to be keeping time with my every breath. Its fury intensifies with each wave of pleasure that washes over me. The lightning flashes brighter, the thunder - booming louder, as if the beastly storm itself is feeding off my ecstasy. Like we're in a building rhythm together. The storm demanding my surrender to its power, wanting my release - and I'm more than willing to oblige.
Soon after my climax washes over me a feeling of calm warmth fills my body. And once my breathing tempers, I blow out the candle and put away my book, then head to bed. But as I try to drift off to sleep, my mind reawakens with new fantasies of submission and desire running rampant. That building thrum the storm has been teasing into me - its dominating force and the seduction that stirs within me - is too strong to ease so quickly. Images of all the filthy things I want someone to do to me, all the dirty things I want to do to him, fill my mind... but I try to steel myself against these desires, urging myself to sleep instead of thinking about what I do not have. Nothing good comes from allowing myself to fall into that void of overthinking my being single and craving touch. The right kind of touch...
Eventually, I was able to lull myself closer to sleep thinking about regular mundane things instead; like how hard I'd worked all week to move into this new home and set it up in a way that made me happy, all on my own. I finished just this morning, in plenty of time to be enjoying this evening's storm as I get to relax. There are still boxes waiting to be donated, cluttering up my little kitchen, but for the most part, things are fully unpacked and set up the way I like best. I've always been the kind to make things function and appear 'normal', but this time I made it my own and I'm proud of myself for it.
I love my new home--it's the perfect size and feel for me, my cat, and my dog. I even got a great deal on the first month's rent. The previous tenant bailed without much notice, and they had to clear out her stuff quickly and rent as is to recoup some of their losses. That left me with a golden opportunity to take over the place--and, to my luck, the changes she had made over her time here were kept as is, to my benefit. Because apparently, we have similar tastes. In her few years living here, she painted all the walls and accents in this rental the same shades of matte black and dusty gothic pastels, with patterned wallpaper accents I would have chosen. The now-trending witchy, renaissance, cottage-core vibe--one I wish was still unique and not the cliché it's become thanks to social media.
This home is perfect for me regardless of the cliché. It has that sex-me-up-but-let-me-still-be-a-cute-and-herbal-Suzie-homemaker vibe. Once I had my oversized and super plushy furniture where I liked it, as well as erotic art pieces on the walls--some of them my own photography, the proud displays of various erotic decor and toys I like to have out, as well as other decor accents, I've collected over the years, the house took on a new energy. It wasn't just a place to live; it became a reflection of me--full of life; happy, passionate, and full of so much personality.
There were a few repairs needed, though. The dishwasher wasn't working and had to be replaced. The pantry had a weak shelf that needed reinforcing. And the back door in the mudroom? It was compromised. If you twisted the doorknob just right, it would open with no issue. But only if you knew the trick. I doubted anyone but the landlord and I knew it, so since he couldn't schedule a repair until Tuesday, I decided not to worry about it.
And with that release of stress, I wiggle deep into my pillows and finally let sleep take me.
...
Sometime later, I feel my mattress dip but barely react to it. I figured it had to be either my dog or cat wanting to snuggle, so I ignored it initially, but the moment I felt my covers being lifted higher than a German Shephard could logically hold them... and then hands, human hands sliding along my flesh, I knew someone figured that damn doorknob out.
My grogginess is heavy, and I have to fight to open my eyes and regain my senses enough to understand my situation. But the moment I gain some focus and look at the person currently kneeling over me, I freeze. Instead of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, I find a Ghostface mask. I look down and see a powerful, thick male body... and he's wearing gloves. Part of me is terrified, but part of me is something else, and I feel shame for it immediately.
Still holding my covers up and staring down at me, I realize I'm nearly naked, as I don't wear my nightie to bed, just my panties. He tilts his head one way, then another as he takes me in. And I just stare back. Then he rests a palm over one of my breasts and begins to softly fondle it, while raising his other hand to place his index to his mask's lips as he returns his gaze to my face, instilling in me the importance of submitting and not screaming.
Isn't that what criminals are implying when they do that? I think so. And because of that, and the scary gloves on his hands and power over me in this moment, I nod to him. Silently agreeing. Not because I do, but because my submission affords me time to stall while I figure out what my next move will be. Fight... or other.
Damn, that storm for weakening my resolve, because if he offers, I don't know that I'd care enough about the dangers I'm in, in order to say 'No'' to him...
The lights in my bedroom are off, but there's a set of string lights on in the distance, so we can see each other well enough still, and he verifies this by saying,
"So, she's gone for good, huh? She told me about her dream to start over down south in some small apartment near New Orleans, but she didn't say when she was leaving, and I've been out of town for a bit. Sara's the nomad type, gets off on dropping her life suddenly and relocating somewhere new, the fear and challenge of new places and strange people just set her aflame, I guess... I hope she found a good spot to set anchor for a bit. So, you just moved in this week?" I nod and watch in amazement at the fact that he talks to me like we're having a polite conversation between two people just introduced, instead of him kneeling over my sleeping and nearly naked body, after breaking into my place in a mask and gloves and playing with my tits, even now... But fuck do his hands feel so God damned good on my flesh.
"We had an arrangement: Every month, the full moon triggers her sexual urges beyond control, and our agreement gives her with the necessary release. So, I wear masks and pretend to be an intruder who fucks her silly, and then sneak back out before daybreak, and she happily surrenders to me. I apologize for the mistake."
"Do you also apologize for still touching me even after recognizing your mistake here?" I snark at him.
