It's not real, she said to herself. I'm going to wake up in a moment to find myself snuggled under the covers. This is just my mind playing tricks on me. And when the snake appears and crawls up my body, that won't be real either, Joan logically thought in an attempt to keep herself calm. She nervously waited for the phantom snake to make its appearance.
However, no snake emerged from the end of her bed. Instead, a head full of thick dark wavy hair began to rise up, followed by the grinning face and body of a man. A naked man. Joan fixed her gaze on the man's smirking face. The pale moonlight illuminated his dark features. Joan's heartbeat quickened as she realized who it was. It was Father Ben. Or at least the image of Father Ben, created by her unconscious mind. He could not possibly be there in reality, she reasoned. This was all just part of her hallucination.
The specter of Father Ben made his way toward the head of the bed. However, he did not really seem to walk as his legs did not appear to move. He silently glided above the floor as if he was being carried by some invisible force. Joan inwardly recoiled as she witnessed the unnatural action. He loomed over Joan and stared down at her with narrowed black eyes. Joan shivered as she noticed his member between his legs, taut and turgid.
Joan was not sure what was going to happen next. But even though she was terrified, there was also a small part of her that was unexpectedly excited. She looked up at him in anticipation of what might happen next. Was he going to kiss her? Seduce her? Fuck her? Of course it was just a hallucination. None of it was real. Father Ben was not actually standing there in her room, she thought with a mix of relief and mild disappointment.
But then Joan thought back to what had occurred at the hospital. How Lil had aggressively rode Father O'Connor, who was unable to move. How Father Ben had stood by and watched and chanted in some ancient cryptic language. She remembered, with horror, how Father O'Connor had been pronounced dead. And how Lil and Father Bed had mysteriously vanished.
And now here she was, paralyzed, just as Father O'Connor had been paralyzed. And Father Ben was naked by her side, seemingly ready to fuck her. Fuck her to death? The same way Lil had fucked Father O'Connor to death?
Joan could feel a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she broke out into a cold sweat. Panic soon overwhelmed her. She tried to open her mouth to scream. But her jaw stayed firmly locked shut. And the only sound that emerged from her throat was a feeble whimper.
Father Ben smiled slyly as he watched Joan struggle to achieve any sort of movement or sound. But it was futile. Joan remained immobile and inert as her muscles refused to cooperate with her mind.
As Joan mentally battled against her paralysis, she felt an unsettling sensation. The fabric of her blue nightgown was brushing against the tops of her thighs. Her eyes locked onto Father Ben. But he had not moved from his position at the head of her bed. But someone or something was pulling her nightgown up her body. However, as Joan searched the room with her eyes, she could see no one else.
The cotton shift continued to slip up over her hips, leaving Joan nude from the waist down. She could feel an unseasonably cool breeze wafting in through the window. She was startled by a sudden chilly gust, as it tickled her naked skin, giving her goosebumps. The soft downy hair between her legs was tousled by the steady current of air. Joan shivered as she felt a tingling sensation emanating from the sensitive nub situated between the folds of her lower lips. As the early summer breeze blew stronger, so did the tingling feeling between Joan's legs. As the wind stimulated her naked flesh, the feeling between her legs intensified until it grew into a pulsing throb.
Joan could not help but moan. It was the only sound she was capable of making. The sensation of the breeze on her skin continued to excite her until she could feel herself growing moist between her legs. She did not care if the naked image of Father Ben standing in front of her was just part of her sleep paralysis hallucination. She was so aroused, she just wanted him to fuck her already. She looked up at him with a lusty gaze. The expression of need on her face was obvious. Why did he not move? Why was Father Ben just standing there grinning down at her?
Joan gasped as she felt her left hand begin to move. Maybe she was no longer paralyzed, she thought with cautious optimism. However, she had not intended to move her left hand. And she soon realized, with dismay, that she could not move any other part of her body at will. She was not in control of the action she was performing. Some unseen force was moving her left hand. Joan attempted to protest. She tried to cry out. But only the faintest squeak emerged past her lips. This appeared to make Father Ben snicker silently as stared down at her.
The tips of her fingers on her left hand stroked the skin of her abdomen, just above her pubic mound. Joan shuddered. The feeling should not have surprised her. But, nonetheless, the touch felt unfamiliar. It was as though someone else's fingers were caressing her. However, Joan also noticed that the strange sensation heightened her arousal. Her nether lips began to feel full and engorged. Her pulsing nub grew in size as it filled with blood. Her clitoral hood retracted, leaving her ultra sensitive glands vulnerable and exposed to the cool night breeze. As the wind continued to blow over her body, the throbbing between Joan's legs became so intense, it was almost unbearable. She desperately longed for release.
Joan's left hand, directed by some sort of invisible force, made its way downward. Her fingers gently combed through the dark hair on her pubic mound. Moving even lower, her middle finger and forefinger stroked her large puffy outer lips. Occasionally a fingertip would brush against her clit, making Joan whine. But the minimal contact was not enough to bring her to climax.
With her left index finger, she began lightly rubbing her hairless inflamed inner folds of flesh. They were slippery and wet from the moisture coming out of her feminine entrance. As her finger massaged her slick inner lips, Joan struggled to regain control of her movements so she could move her finger upward to her clitoris. She needed more direct stimulation. She needed to cum.
She brought her gaze back up to Father Ben. She pleaded at him with her eyes. Whether he was real or a phantasm, Joan surmised that he was the one controlling her movements. She tried desperately to open her mouth. She struggled to move her lips. "Please ..." It came out as a weak whisper from the back of her throat. "I need ... I need to ..."
The steady stream of air coming in through the window was disturbed by a sudden erratic movement. A loud flapping sound filled the silent bedroom, accompanied by a deep raspy croak. Joan looked over to the window and saw a black bird perched on the windowsill. At first Joan thought it was a crow. She had encountered so many of them recently.
However, the black bird in her window was too big to be a crow. Its beak was too thick and curved. The feathers around its neck were long and shaggy. And when it opened its beak, it croaked rather than cawed. It was not a crow. The bird in the window was a raven.
Joan thought back to the nightmare she had had the previous evening. She dreamed that the owl and crow had visited her. And Joan had inhabited the body of a raven. She had followed the owl and crow to a meadow in the middle of a forest where a herd of sheep had been grazing. Perched in a tree with the two other birds, she had witnessed horrible and disturbing things.
The goats, from her previous nightmare, had gored and slaughtered an ox. Then there was the silver snake with the white stripe running down its back from one of her hallucinations. It had bit and killed a lion. The owl and crow had both taken flight and attacked an eagle, which had attempted to capture a lamb.
