I Know What You Did

she forced your thighs open easily and you can't help but gasp, looking down at her toned shoulder and back muscles. she brings one hand down to continue sloppily fingering you and assaulting your g spot, while still ravenously lapping at your poor cunt.

the whole thing is just so messy, your thighs, ass and bed all covered in a mix of her saliva and your slick. not to mention the total mess you had made of her face, so flushed with sweat sticking her hair to her face.

"come on, the least you can do it give my one more. i know your getting close." she drew the last word out while smirking at you from the space between your thighs, gently resting her head against your thigh granting you momentary relief. her iron grip still keeping your thighs firmly open while she spoke.

"i-i uhm yeah-.. yeah" you could barely even speak at this point, thighs gently shaking and hands petting and running through her hair lovingly.

when she continues it's an even more brutal pace then before, having you desperately crying out, tears welling in your eyes. two fingers returning inside of you while she licks and sucks at your clit.

disgustingly lewd sounds echoing off the walls, your cries of pleasure and the squelching of your cunt, so impossibly wet.

finally you feel it, that familiar feeling that you've already felt so many times tonight. this time you can't help your thighs from trapping her face in your cunt, your whole body tingles and the euphoric warmth floods your body.

you cry out almost sounding like your in pain as you cum all over her face again, thighs shaking and hands desperately looking for anything to grab onto.

when she finally pulls away seemingly satisfied for tonight, then placing loving kisses all over your inner thighs, sucking gentle hickeys. she rises and sits next to you on the bed, petting you hair and leaning down to plant soft kisses on your lips and neck. "i'm proud of you baby, you did so well for me tonight." she can't help but stare at you in adoration through lidded eyes.

you softly slip into sleep totally exhausted soon after, being held by your once again sweet and caring girlfriend.

You were getting bad again. A few hours ago, you had laid down on the floor of your dorm room and didn't get up. You could hardly move from the place you lay on the rough carpet, and even though it was uncomfortable, with the cheap fibers scratching against your cheek, you found yourself drifting in and out of consciousness. Your eyes were weighed heavily with metaphorical bags of sand. Your whole body felt so weak you felt light and airy, but at the same time, an unrelenting weight pressed you into the floor. Your bones, flesh melted into the carpet. You had been awake for days, you weren't sure how long this time. But you didn't want to fall asleep, asleep meant venerable. You didn't want to be vulnerable. 

But as your fatigued body lay still on the carpet, sleep was unfortunately catching up to you. Nodding off for a few seconds only to be jolted back awake by an electric shock of fear.

Your eyes strain to stay open as you stare off into nothingness, an empty, choked gurgle sounds from your stomach. You don't remember the last time you ate. You didn't really feel hungry, you didn't want to eat anything, nothing sounded good. It wasn't that food and drink tasted bad- no, you loved food! But every time you ate, it felt less like eating and more like forcing it down your throat. It felt like eating mud. The food turned to unappetizing mush as soon as it hit your tongue, and it made your stomach churn. 

You didn't like sleeping either, anything was preferable to sleeping. to wean off the sleep that plagued your body you often would paint, or write. Often working late into the night on assignments and projects. You could expel your thoughts from your mind and escape them for a while by trapping them in a prison of canvas and ink. Soon the paintings began to fill themselves with looming dark figures lurking behind trees, and your stories became jumbled messes of the whispered you heard from just behind your ear.

But recently you felt so... low. You didn't even have the will to do the things you loved. So you spent most of your days wallowing. You didn't go to work or class, didn't call or text anyone. Even if you wanted to, it was so hard to even look at your phone as texts, calls, and even letters piled up. You were worried about what they would say, worried that they would send you away. You didn't want to leave your room, it was safe here. You didn't want them to see your face, your pupils blown wide, and the bags under them dark and ghastly. Your veins had become a bit darker, not too noticeable, but they were darker, you could tell. And you were always so, so tired. But never able to sleep. 

And so you sat on the couch and cough your lungs out, and pace in your bathroom looking up at your ceiling, honing a bloody tissue to your nose, and lay in your bed when you were too sick to even move. You didn't go outside anymore because there were too many people and places for it to hide. When you did go outside, it was always there. Hiding just behind trees, lamp posts, and under cars and park benches. You could feel its unrelenting gaze, and the gnarled roots it would try to trip you with, and its whispering static that made you so sick. 

And so you locked yourself in your dorm, where you wouldn't blow up on people or on yourself. It was safe for a while, but then you started to see it inside your room, behind your dresser, under the bed, in the closet, in the mirror pressed up against the wall just out of sight of the reflection.

You tore everything out of your closet and shoved it under the bed. You threw the mirror out the window, and tore the bookcase off the wall, and left it upside down on the floor. 

But then it came in the shadows at night when you turned the lights off, and even when the lights were on it stretched and contorted its body to squeeze in between the folds and crevices of the clothes and boxes packed tight under the bed, and it looked through the slits between the shades on the window, and it whispered things through the air con. And you realized that it had never actually left you alone and that it had always been there. Waiting for the right moment to finally break you.

And now you were on the floor of your disheveled room, with the scratchy synthetic fibers of the rug making your cheek raw and the smell of dust and sweat and fear thick in the air. And you felt the soft hands of sleep cradle you in her lap. And you didn't think about waking up, because waking up made you scared. You were scared to wake up and see what had happened when you were asleep. And you didn't think about the knocking on your door, because the knocking wasn't real. And you ignored the voices calling your name through the heavy door and telling you to open up, because you knew that they weren't real. You let the static lull you to sleep, and you let the eyes watch over you, and you let the shadows caress you. And you slept.