it’s been happening for days now. it’s always the same. you wake up dizzy and whining and slick between your legs, either coming down from the high of an orgasm you don’t really remember, or building up to one you end up giving yourself with desperate, clumsy fingers before you’re even fully awake.
and every time, you make the same realization. the big comfy tshirt you wore to bed is pushed up to bare your tits to the cold air, and the panties you were wearing when you fell asleep are crumpled on the floor at the foot of your bed.
every day for nearly a week. and every day when you finally wake to full consciousness, you climb out of bed, toss the (shockingly dry, but you must have kicked them off before the good stuff) undies in your hamper, and hurry to get dressed for the day. you try not to think about it because you can’t really remember the details of your dreams.
there are flashes, of course. mostly words, hushed whispers or deep guttural groans. “christ, baby girl, do you know how fucking greedy this cunt gets when you’re asleep? do you know how slick and tight it is, clenching down on my fingers like you think i’m gonna leave you wanting. maybe i will. i love when your eyes get teary for me even in your sleep. all closed eyes and glittering cheeks and desperate, sleepy little whines. fuck, sweetheart, you look so goddamn good like this.”
even remembering it has your cheeks flushing as you busy yourself with brushing your teeth, your hair, getting ready for work as usual. there’s still sticky heat between your legs, a new wave of slickness conjured by your memory of his words, but there’s nothing you can do about that right now.
you put it out of your head as you make your way through the day, but that doesn’t stop the thoughts from nagging at you. your body is still desperate for more even while your mind is able to get you to focus on mundane task after mundane task. you’re filing papers as you’re trying to remember more of what he said to you. you’re eating your desk salad when the flash of dark hair and dangerous eyes hits you. you’re driving home when you remember the awful, mortifying sounds of his slick fingers inside you, the way those noises continued, somehow louder than your whines, louder than his words.
it’s when you’re home again, snuggled up in your bed, ready to open your laptop to play your comfort show when you finally notice that there’s something wrong. the screen doesn’t wake up to show you where you left off watching last night.
the screen wakes up to a frame of you, sleeping in your bed, surrounded by the soft grays and blues of a winter sunrise peeking through your window. and when you start to play the video, everything makes both more and less sense. the blankets aren’t tangled at the bottom of your bed like they were when you woke up. no, they’ve been folded down neatly, baring your feet, your thighs, your— your panties are already missing in the video.
he doesn’t face the camera directly, but it wouldn’t help even if he did, since he’s masked. you can see that same dark hair from the flash of memory earlier, but other than that, he’s dressed in black. black pants, black tshirt, black surgical mask, covering his mouth and nose but leaving those eyes bare.
and you settle in to watch, horror and arousal twisting into this vicious, needy thing in you chest, the pit of your stomach.
he does exactly what you remember him doing in the dream. flattening his hands on your inner thighs to get you to push them apart, trailing his fingers over your messy, wet cunt, laughing softly as he pulls his fingers away and holds them up to the camera. “so fucking wet, sweetheart, like you’ve been waiting for me to come back.” it’s the only time he’s acknowledged the camera, a direct statement to you, the you that’s watching now, not the you that’s shifting groggily on the bed.
and then he turns back to your sleeping body, slipping his fingers inside you and letting out a harsh little moan when it makes you whimper. you should be worrying about much more important things, like who this man is and how he got into your house, but instead, the only thing you can think of is the abject humiliation of watching your body surrender to him so easily. it’s only moments before you’re watching yourself start to moan, start to try to grind your hips in uncoordinated, sleepy little motions, start to try to ride his hand in earnest. it’s only another handful of moments before his voice starts again, soft and cajoling. “that’s it, sleepy girl, are you gonna come? gonna come on my fingers when you don’t even know who i am? gonna show me how badly this sweet little cunt misses me when i’m not here to do this to you? go on, baby, show me.”
and like your hazy unconscious mind actually hears and understands him, you can see the moment your body starts the tremble, the sharp little yell you let out when it hits, and his voice again, all encouraging, like he’s doing nothing wrong. “there we go, honey, that’s it. that’s it, baby, keep going. let it all out for me. i know, i know, i know.”
and as your body starts to settle, your sleepy little whines hushing down to nothing, he briskly makes his way around your room, putting your laptop back where it goes but leaving the camera recording, twisting the blankets around your feet. he stops for a moment and pulls two nearly identical scraps of fabric from his pocket. the panties you went to sleep wearing, but one pair still has the tags on them. he rips the tag off, slides it and the other pair back into his pocket, then scrunches up the new pair in his hand before tossing it on the floor, right where you found them this morning.
he gives an infuriatingly casual wave to the camera before he walks out the door. you look at the time on the recording and see that it’s about five minutes before your alarm goes off. then the video ends.
and you’re absolutely horrified. you’re not safe. your home is unsafe, your room is unsafe, your own body is unsafe. you jump out of bed, hurriedly checking all your doors and windows, double checking that they’re all locked and secured.
you lay in bed for several minutes, trembling with fear and dread and something you don’t want to name.
before you fall asleep, you take your panties off and throw them across the room into the laundry hamper. you leave the laptop on.
