Feature Writer: Darkshaman

Feature Title: Her Room

Published: 13.10.2020

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Author’s Notes: I really kinda went off the beaten path and dove deep into my Lovecraftian / Geiger aesthetic which may not mean much to anyone else.

I have sex with her. With… whatever she is. Whatever it is. She is a secret. I hide it in the basement where it lays across the dark room in which it was summoned, stretching out to completely encompass the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Her smell reminds me of feces, wet soil, and dried sperm. When I run my hand over its gross mass she feels slimy to the touch and yet smooth like satin left out in the rain. The real body though, the beautiful girl it had once been, remains laying out over that bed in the basement every night. Was that really her shape or is it a lure like those fish hiding in the unfathomable deep? I am repulsed and disgusted by the Beast’s scent and constantly oozing white secretions. Disgusted by the bugs that crawl over its flesh. I do not know what attracts me … Is it the disgust itself? Perhaps it’s infernal desire for me and the horrible things it whispers in my mind? The danger? I think the Beast is a ‘she’ but I do not know for certain anymore..

I go down there again to pleasure myself inside her. Or is it to give it pleasure. She beckons me to the bed and she pulses under my feet with every step I take over her flesh. We do not talk. We never did. I do not need to ask for permission for anything that I do inside her. She does not bother to ask for what she does to me. When I bury myself inside her asshole tonight I find it gripping me like a clenched fist. Tighter than the most undeveloped of virgins. Tighter than she should be after all that I have done to her. Tight enough that it hurts me, but not enough to stop me from pressing deeper. Her mouth screams. Soulful eyes fill with salty glistening tears. If she is putting on an act for me it is a perfect one. She whispers in my head as I penetrate her. ‘Do it!’ ‘Make her cry!’ ‘Hurt her!’ She is the whimpering victim and the chorus encourages me into its violation. ‘Sodomize her!’ ‘Masturbate into her shit hole!’ ‘Break her!’ Her face is different each time. Her body changes. Is it really always her? Perhaps she is not the body I am molesting, perhaps that person is real. Perhaps she brings it from somewhere. I do not know but her chorus is encouraging me to think that.

Something about her never lets me orgasm until she is done with me. Even as I penetrate her the room enters me. Horrible insects violate my anus, crawling out from where we join and entering me even as I enter her. I want to pull away but I do not. I thrust harder. They fill me, crawling, and I imagine how they have laid in wait inside of her. How she lay on that bed with them swarming within her cunt, her ass, and perhaps even deeper still. She is crying for me with a new face tonight and I know this new body has been tormented, waiting for me, needing me. Each night there are more insects. They lay their eggs inside her as she waits, and I think they are laying them inside me as well.

I want to say I am driven by the small form in front of me. The perfectly perky pale breasts that defy gravity. The bald and plump cunt beneath. She is petite. Small. Beautiful if not for that acrid scent of body fluids. I have added some of them over time. Some of the scent may be the filth of laying in that bed. Some of the scents are from things that have no description in this universe. But her walls though.. I try not to look at the walls. I try not to feel them gripping me. Forms appear and disappear in the flesh. Men and women, beasts, faces. When I enter they are erotic. They reach out to me with too many hands. Orifices open up inviting me to fuck, to fill them with my cum. Cocks stick out invitingly, asking to penetrate me if I would just back up to them. As I hurt her the figures become more intense. The walls close in as her whispers grow louder. I ignore the multitudes of breasts massaging my back and pushing me deeper into her. I close my eyes so I do not see the giant phallus dangling in front of me, precum dripping like a faucet to coat her face, so very close. My arms pressing into the bed are penetrating … something. I do not know what. It is flesh. Wet, and slimy, and its scent is both overpowering and irresistible. I try not to think about it but my cock grows harder by the perversity of it all. By her.

After the first few encounters, where she grew beyond her summoning circle, I grew terrified. For a whole day I stayed out of that basement. The whispers from below came to me in dreams. Erotic images that woke me to sweaty jizz-covered sheets. I went out of the house but I could still see her. She was every pair of wet lips. She was in the ads selling diets, perfumes, sex, flesh. She was the scent of sweat and earth all around me. By the second night I had to return to that basement. I had told myself that I just wanted to know. To know if it had been real. Maybe I had imagined it. I knew it was true. I had always known it would be true.

After I fuck her … It … I feel her on me afterward. Some of the insects bite into me. I cover that with clothes, with scarves. The walls.. Something about their secretions cannot be washed away. There is a scent of sex about me at all times. Old sex. Cunt and cock juices that seem to secrete out of me instead of just coating me each night. Beneath them there are the scents of more depraved fluids as well, if one gets close enough. Perfumes help, a little, but I keep my distance from people when I go out now.

I do not really know what she is. Is she really a different woman each night? Is she luring women off the streets? Are these the souls of hell? Where are these bodies coming from that scream for me? I should ask but she never speaks. I should wear protection if I go down there. Sometimes I try … but when I see her the condoms drop from my hands like falling leaves. I need her raw and real. I need to feel myself driving into her and feel the grit of her body against mine, every muscle twitch against my bare skin. If I could feel even more I would. It is dangerous but it is real. More real than anything. And I need to fill her when I cum, to know that my jizz is part of the things that are leaking out of her when I am done. And part of what is staying inside her.

Before this creature I’d had friends, partners. We delighted in the bar scenes, the concerts, seizing every moment of the night together. Since she came … since I called her … when I am out with others I only think of that room. I think of her. It is for the best. How would I explain the marks she leaves on me, or the scents? They would think me mad for such terrible delights. Perhaps they would not be wrong..

The last time I went down she was not there. The whole room was as it had been before the summoning. Clean pristine walls. A perfectly made bed. No marks or carvings into the floor. I sat  uncertain on the edge of the bed for hours. Had it been a nightmare? Had I dreamed the whole thing? Part of me wanted to fall asleep there but I did not want to wake up next to her, or inside her. I did not want to know what would happen if I ever fell asleep or lost consciousness in that bed. As I climbed to my room I wondered if it was over. If I was free. If I was abandoned. I wondered which I wished for more. Partway through the night I felt her in my dreams somehow I just knew she had returned. There was no time! I ran down the stairs naked and eager and threw myself inside her with all of my strength. She welcomed me even as she screamed in pain, but she never told me where she had gone. Or why. We never really spoke beyond our carnal dances.

When I slept in my room I sometimes saw glimpses of her, of whom she had been before me. I was not the first to penetrate her. I was probably not even the only one to be doing it each night. The visions I saw.. Men, women, copulating in her embrace in a thousand times a thousand rooms across time. Abusing her each night and being abused in turn. Drowning out her face in their piss. Hurting her far more than I ever felt inspired to. Bending over and impaling themselves on her impossible cocks even as the size tore them open. Destroying her or seeking out their own destruction each night. Each night they grew more and more depraved. Sometimes I looked into their eyes, especially in their last moments, and it seemed as if they looked back at me and smiled through their screams. Sometimes I looked into hers as she was destroyed and she saw me, and knew me. Some of the faces looked so intimately familiar..

A few of my lovers from before… before her.. have been reaching out to me lately. I spoke with those I knew to be as prone to damnation as myself. One by one I spoke with the select few whom I had met in dank dungeons and dirty hotel rooms and fucked in alleyways strewn with heroin needles. I hinted at what I had done. Some laughed nervously and I never heard from them again. A few did not laugh. I led them into that room. She was on her best behavior each time I did this. Demure. Normal. Her walls were simple and pristine. We shared my friends and she let them act out their darkest desires on her flesh. They bit into her tits until her tears mixed with her blood. They smothered her in their cunts as she gasped and slapped at their thighs with her strengthless arms. And I encouraged them, kissing them and staring deep into their eyes as they took her, used her, fucked her in the most primal sense of the word. When they finished with her I taught them the ritual.. And they left. Sometimes they came again. Sometimes a few times. But then they too became distracted and… disappeared. Like me I suppose. I wonder just how many others are like me out there?

I should have used protection though there was no real chance of it. I feel things now, under my skin. Sometimes I feel movement in my rectum, like eggs finally giving over to life. Sometimes I feel random pain, like someone is using my body somewhere else. Penetrating me. Impaling themselves on my cock. I wake up unable to breath, like someone is choking me even as I am getting fucked in holes that I do not possess. My skin is secreting more and more of those fluids, too much for perfume to hope to cover. I taste them and… I like the flavors.

There was a break-in tonight. There ‘is’ a break-in. I hear him, downstairs. I feel him walking across my floors. He pockets little treasures, silvers and golds that are little more than trash. The secretion of the earth, condensed into something that looks like jewels and wealth. I move down the stairs and I am curious what he hopes to gain, and I playfully lure him. The trash glistens and shines in the window-light, bit by bit, teasing him toward the basement. He hesitates at the top of the stairs. I freeze. His pulse echoes in my ears. He is so nervous… I move behind him, soundlessly, and give him a little push. I can’t hear him yell over the beating of his heart. He bounces a few times and then he is through the open door at the bottom of the stairs. The door closes. I feel him inside. I feel all of him. His desires. His fears. His depraved little secrets. I taste his juices – sperm, tears, saliva, urine, blood, and worse.

A few hours pass of just feeling him. When he is gone I walk down the stairs and through that open door. She is laying there on the bed. She is licking my feet as I pause over her mouth. She winks at me when I meet her eyes on the ceiling. My fingers reach out and stroke her shaft as I walk closer to the bed. And I feel her dripping all over me, wet, glorious, and real. And I feel Her. We don’t fuck. She moves over, propping her innocent face on a tiny frail hand. Her fingers play lightly with her nipples. She is teasing me and we are laughing. I lay down on her and feel her enfolding around me from beneath, tasting me, giving me the gentlest, most encouraging of kisses. She scooches closer and puts her arms around me, cuddling me, and kissing me ever so gently on the cheek. We smile. We cuddle up closer, impossibly close, and we know one another, as we go to sleep.

THE END