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I don’t think that’s normal, actually, I suddenly realized as I strained to move my left arm out from beneath the leaden dark. When I couldn’t, I tried my right arm instead. Nothing. Fear rising, I felt the weight settle onto my chest. I was going to suffocate. I was going to die, right here in my bed, unable to move—

Oh. The pieces clicked into place and the panicky haze of sleep began to clear. This is sleep paralysis. Okay. I’m okay.

I found my breath, counting a slow inhale, holding it, letting it out. The weight on my chest felt almost pleasant, I decided. Like some sort of pressure therapy. Or… well, if I really focused on it, I could almost feel it pulsing, kneading into my breasts in a firm massage. I imagined it the same way across the rest of my body—a massage. I allowed myself to enjoy the pressure, following it over my bare stomach and across the slopes of my thighs.

It ran its way to the insides of my thighs, increasing there until I felt a cry rise in my throat from the pain. Then I felt my legs move.

I hadn’t read about this in the case studies.

The pressure between my legs now felt so strong that it seemed impossible it could be an invention of my imagination. I stared into the darkness, straining to make out a shape, to find a physical body to connect with the force now rubbing its way up and down my body.

The shadows seemed to coalesce, thickening into a presence above me—a horned figure somehow blacker than the black. And it seemed to know I had just spotted it, because the moment that I did, it flashed me a sadistic grin that sent shivers across my body.

Now there was pressure at my wrists, too. I squinted, and I could see spirals of darkness stretching out, tentacle-like, from the center of the mass to grab me. As they tightened around me, biting into my skin, I wanted to scream with indignation. I couldn’t move anyway! Why bother? Just to make me feel helpless? The tentacles thickened, spreading further down my forearms into tight cuffs. At the same time, I could feel another one forcing its way between my lips, heavy on my tongue. Then it began to swell.

It pried my mouth open, lodging itself firmly in place. It was almost a ball gag, I realized, but large enough that my jaw would go sore around it soon. I struggled to close my mouth. This, I reminded myself, was nothing but a product of my own mind. I am in control. There is nothing there. There is nothing holding me down.

But my body lay still as the darkness between my legs finally slipped inside of me.

It was everywhere. I was overwhelmingly aware of all of it: the heaviness on my chest, the sharp grip on my arms, the ache beginning in my jaw, the fullness of the shadow tentacle inside of me. I would have cried out, if I could have. I didn’t know how I could stand the cacophony of sensations—and then it pulled out, just a little, readjusted, and—

Slammed back into me, hitting a spot inside of me that should have made me scream. It thrust in and out, again and again, and any remaining thoughts dissolved into the pleasure and pain. Was it getting thicker with every stroke? I felt it forcing me open wider, still keeping a hard, steady rhythm.

The orgasm struck me hard like a punch. I felt dizzy, gasping, every inch of skin tingling and every muscle straining to react as I dissolved into a fire that roared in silence. It didn’t stop. It was relentless: pounding, pressing, squeezing, the dark monster keeping me suspended in a haze of overstimulation.

It's such a little thing but it's helped so much.