You run away

Terror tearing your guts, you run. You don’t really know why you run but you do. Is it the **** making you flee? Is it something else?

Actually you can feel it, something old, rooted in all of us, something predating the first pyramids. A primitive fear has taken over you. Your lizard brain is telling you that you must run and hide and disappear and that whatever you do all is lost; there’s no hope for you.

Picturing it you cannot pinpoint the problem: it’s just a bunch of college kids, playing around with ****, playing around with each other, playing grownups.

But there was something so wrong about what you just witnessed; something dreadful, the smell of ****, the smell of perversion, a smell that we, civilized men, have forgotten about: the smell of the unnatural.

You run through the hallways of the large cruise ship. Eventually, exhausted, you trip on something, your head hits the floor. Everything fades to black.

When you come to your senses everything is dark around you. You’re lying on a bed in a cabin only lit by the star light coming through the porthole. You can feel the soft fabric of the sheets against you skin. You legs are sore and your head feels like it’s going to explode. You can feel three presences in the room.

Are they your friends?

Trying to reach for the light on the bedside your skull seems to be pierced by a thousand tiny pins. You grunt.

“She’s awake,” Debra says.

“You got us so worried,” Caroline says.

Someone sits by your side on the bed. A hand presses on your forehead. It’s cold, terribly cold. Suddenly the fear is back. How can she be so cold? How can anyone be so cold?

“Cold…” you whisper through your lips.

“Yes, cold…” Debra says “but not for long”.

The freezing hand moves from your forehead, down your cheek, along your neck line, your shoulder, under your shirt pushing the suspenders down your arm, releasing your bra. Another freezing hand, coming from the other side of the bed, starts playing with the straps of your bra, pulling, forcing the lace against your nipples. You shiver.

“Don’t be afraid,” Debra says.

The second hand leaves your bra alone, brushing her nails against your belly. When it reaches the top of your shorts, it pulls down. You try to stand up, to protest, but Debra’s free hand grabs your wrists holding your arms over your head. She’s so strong.

“There, there, don’t fight it, sister, embrace it” she whispers.

The third presence climbs on the bed, between your spread legs. Rough and cold hands tear the skirt and your panties apart. You try to kick, to make it go away but the hand falls on your belly pinning you to the bed. The other hand’s fingers start probing your dry intimacy.

“Your sister’s as dry as a bucket of sand, I can’t fuck that…” the new presence complains.

The voice is familiar but you can’t really place it.

“Yes master,” Debra answers, “let me take care of it”.

Caroline replaces your sister holding your wrists, and Debra positions herself between your legs. The cold tip of her tongue against you clit makes you cry. Disgusted by this **** you try to resist but soon a strange and powerful sensation fills you with pleasure.

Your sister’s tongue all over your intimacy, you’re unable to hide your pleasure. Satisfied, she lets you go leaving a dripping and pulsating tunnel for her master to defile. The large cold dick penetrates you drenched labia with ease.

Abandoning yourself to the lust, you start grinding your hips following the movement of the man. He leans on you covering your body with his. You moan.

“Welcome sister,” he whispers burying his face in your neck.

You remember now, the voice belongs to Dylan.
He strikes.