by Jamie Knight
I put the pillow over my face and tried to go back to sleep, only to somehow find myself back in the another nightmare. It started off very realistic and almost serene. I was sitting on the edge of the cliff, admiring the beautiful view. I was remembering a time my dad had brought me up into these same mountains when I was really young.
The calm was short-lived. As I looked down into the valley, I realized that there was a car down there. A wrecked car, my dad stuck inside, yelling for someone to help him.
I pushed off with my hands. I was trying to jump down so I could help him, but I had misjudged the distanced and started to fall. Not off the edge of the cliff, which would have been bad enough, but into a deep, black abyss, something with no bottom. Just endless falling.
Suddenly, I was grabbed from above. I had no idea how it was possible but there it was. The same pair of strong arms that had pulled me back from the actual cliff in real life earlier in the day now were saving me from the cliff in my dreams.
I could feel the sweat against my skin. My eyes were wide open, and I was screaming and thrashing against Sawyer’s chest.
“It's okay,” he said.
I felt him laying me down on something soft that I eventually recognized as being a couch. I began to come to, the full reality of the situation dawning on me. Suddenly, I was really embarrassed. I could feel myself blushing all over.
“I'm sorry,” I said, fighting tears, “I was having a bad dream.”
“It was a night terror. It is a different thing. A nightmare is a natural aspect of REM sleep. A night terror can be mind and body response to a traumatic situation. Especially one that is being repressed.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked.
He just shrugged but I could guess. I had seen his leg soon after the accident. It was definitely a traumatic experience. He remained as silent as a Miranda Right and honestly seemed to be more concerned about me.
“Are you having a mental break down? Please be honest with me. I need to know. And if you are feeling suicidal, I need to know that too, so I can get you proper help or at the very least protect you while you are here.”
“You've had training, haven't you?”
“Yeah, my friend Pat gave me the whole PTSD thing after my accident. Taught me a lot about how to help someone in distress. Including myself.”
“I wasn't on the cliff to kill myself. I know that was how it looked, but honestly that's not why. I’ve just been having a hard time. Grieving. My dad just died.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said, taking me in even closer, wrapping me in a big hug in his strong arms.
“That spot reminded me of where my dad used to bring me when I was little. I had just been sitting there and thinking about that time in my life and admiring the view. I wish my dad had been there to see it again. I feel kind of bad I didn't really appreciate the beauty at the time. I never told him how much I liked coming up here to the mountains,” I confessed.
I was mumbling by that point. I could hardly make out the words I was saying and doubted that Sawyer could, either. Still, he sat and listened to me ramble.
“What happened?” he asked eventually.
I shut up again, trying to close myself off. I couldn't believe how vulnerable I was being. I hadn’t talked to anyone about any of what I had just told Sawyer. Or at least not to this extent. Not even to my mom or to my roommate and best friend. There was something about him that made me want to open up. I really didn't know why he was being so nice to me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“It’s okay. You helped take care of me in physical therapy. Now I can help take care of you. I think I might also know a way to help you feel better.
“I'm not really hungry. I nearly ate you out of house and home before. I swear I'm not usually such a pig.”
“It's fine,” Sawyer said chuckling, making me smile a bit too, “and that's not what I meant?”
“What did you mean?”
“A bath,” Sawyer said, looking me up and down.
I had never put on his clothes and was still wearing my clothes from before, except for my sneakers and shirt. I self-consciously covered my tits with my arms, clothed as they were only in my bra.
“Come on,” Sawyer said gently, holding out a hand.
He didn't seem to notice my near nudity at all.
Or if he did, he didn't show it.
What a contrast to how we had flirted before and he had looked me up and down. But I appreciated his kindness. I knew he was being gentlemanly.
Still, even though I knew the situation was a strange one for this to be happening, I really desired him. I just wanted to fuck away my pain, and he seemed like the perfect person to do it with, since I had been fantasizing about him for so long and I had clearly come here for a reason, even though I didn’t really know what it was, at the time.
I had just bolted away from life as I knew it and to Sawyer in the woods, out of grief and desperation. And probably also out of horniness.
He led the way into the bathroom. I admired the cabin as I followed him. It was pretty rustic but also really nice and surprisingly roomy. I was still trying to figure out my surroundings and how exactly I had gotten here.
I sat down on the toilet as Sawyer ran the bath. It was a good thing he was there, considering the production required to get the water running. The tub filled and then he graciously exited, leaving me to take off my dirty clothes.
Peeling them off of me in a hurry, I climbed into the deep bathtub, quickly becoming surrounded by warm, soapy water. He had put some bubbles in the water for me as he drew my bath. What a sweetie.
I leaned back and tried my best to relax. My thoughts turning quickly to Sawyer. Not just any thoughts, either. The images running through my mind were of a distinctly sexual nature. I was still rather shocked that I could be having such thoughts right now. But then again, he had said himself that trauma could make you react in unusual ways.
I thought about how handsome he was and how kind he was being. He really did seem to genuinely want to help me. At first, I was not just suspicious but also scared. I didn't think he would hurt me, but I really wasn't thinking right.
Now, though, I was doing better and knew he was the same old Sawyer. I knew he wouldn't hurt me and would do anything he could to help and protect me. And that was something that made me even more hot for him.
I really wanted to be touched by him, despite the way I had resisted him. I decided that touching myself would have to do. I reach down between my legs and started stroking my hard, wet clit, the warm water making me even more sensitive than usual.
I thought about Sawyer as I fingered myself. I still didn't have much of a sexual imagination. I tried to imagine his cock but couldn't quite get a handle on that thought. Instead, I focused on what I did more, touching myself a little harder until I fingered myself to a massive orgasm while thinking about Sawyer kissing me.
I covered my mouth, hoping he hadn't heard. Even if he didn't think I was in trouble, it would be embarrassing if Sawyer knew what I had been doing. Though another part of me felt thrilled at the idea. That he might know and be thinking about me masturbating to the thought of him while I was in his bathtub.
It was really late when I got out. I figured that Sawyer would have gone to bed by then. I threw a towel haphazardly around me and headed to the bedroom.
Sawyer was laying on the couch. I couldn't help but think he might be awake and had seen a glimpse of my half naked form. I wanted him to be thinking about me the same way about me that I thought about him.
But then I told myself to knock it off. He was being so sweet to me, and it was no time to be acting like some sort of seductress, wanting him to take my virginity so badly.
I really needed to get a grip!
Chapter Six - Sawyer
I knew I shouldn't be doing it. Thinking in a sexual way about my disturbed former physical therapist whom I was trying to help. Especially when I had cut myself off
from people on purpose.
Not that I regretted taking her in. She clearly needed help and I was happy to do what I could. I had meant what I had said about her helping me. I really did just see it mostly as returning the favor.
She had given me months and months of her life. Yes, it had been her job, but that didn't mean she had to be as caring and patient as she had been. I had developing caring feelings for her as a physical therapist and as a friend, long before I entertained any sort of sexual thoughts about her.
But it would be a lie to say I didn’t have sexual thoughts about her.
I was a red-blooded male, after all, and she was a hot, curvy woman.
Plenty of times while she was showing me how to do exercises, I snuck peeks at her plump ass. And there were probably more times than that that I had looked at her cleavage admiringly, wishing I could squeeze that big breasts of hers.
But obviously I stopped at thinking about it, until she was no longer my physical therapist. Only then did I ask her out. Kind of. Asked her to come see me up here. Ha.
I had planned to be asleep when she came out of the tub. Planned and hoped. My thoughts were already dirty enough, thinking about her getting clean. The last thing I needed was to see her lovely, glistening, wet form wrapped in a towel that barely covered anything.
Yet that was exactly what had happened. The sandman hadn't arrived at the appointed time and I was still mostly awake when the bathroom door opened and Anne tip toed out, barely covered by a very small towel. It left very little to the imagination and my imagination was quite good, as it so happened.
I knew it was wrong on a moral level, but I just didn't seem to be able to stop. I had a pretty serious boner and wasn't really able to sleep. Which was partly how I had seen Anne in all her glistening glory in the first place.
I couldn't help but wonder if she might feel the same way about me and was accidentally on purpose showing herself to me. She really was beautiful. It was hard to keep my eyes off her even when I knew I should.
My hormones were having very different ideas form my conscious mind. I got thinking about her big, firm tits and nice round ass. I could imagine how luscious her pussy would be.
She was still pretty young, so I guessed she would still be tight, if not a virgin, the latter seeming somewhat unlikely for someone her age, particularly someone as good looking as her. She probably had guys lined up at her door. I had known enough beautiful women to know that it happened. And how bloody tiring it could be.
But still, a man could hope.
What if no other guy had penetrated her and I could be the first one to enter that tight pussy? I would claim her, and she would be mine, forever.
I really had to stop thinking like this, but I couldn’t seem to stop it.
The course I took with Pat had mentioned, to the point of strong emphasis, the paramount importance of having a lot of time for peaceful and undistracted healing. That was, of course, something distinctly difficult to do in the middle of a modern hellscape of urban living like New York City was, at least in my opinion. I had decided to move to the mountains when I had the opportunity to, partly to escape and partly to try to really get my head together.
I had loved the serenity and even the solitude. I had missed sex but that had been more of a matter of a primal need. A release I could give myself when push came to shove.
There were people I would have liked to see now that I was getting a lot better, but I never really wanted full time human contact. Except suddenly I did. And the human I was intent on contacting was the young woman who was in my care.
I tried to sleep but it was a losing battle, my eyes always opening up again as though they were on springs. I had yet to get to the point where I was disciplined enough to sleep with my eyes open, so it looked like I might be up all night.
The hard ache of my cock, which wanted to fuck Anne so badly, no matter what my brain tried to tell it, was not helping matters. Still though, maybe it was for the best. I may have ended up a bit sleep deprived but I knew I should be awake in case Anne had another night terror and needed me.
I lay there for an hour listening for any signs of distress. Going up to the bedroom door, I heard her breathing evenly, snoring just a little bit. She was fast asleep. Peacefully, it sounded like.
I smiled to myself, happy that she was doing well, at least for the moment, and limped back to bed. My boner was still as painful as ever.
Getting back on the couch, I unzipped my pants, giving the poor thing some relief. I hadn’t planned on jerking off, but who ever does really? I was mostly just trying to ease my suffering, but in the relief, my mind drifted back to Anne.
I wanted her so much even if everything in me was screaming no. I wasn't about to go into the bedroom and ravage her while she slept. Though that didn't stop me from thinking about her, mentally editing out her towel and drinking in her beautiful, curvy form.
Gently wrapping my hand around my throbbing shaft, getting it almost all the way around, I started to stroke myself, thinking about Anne in the abstract. I had planned to stay there but my imagination had other ideas.
Before I knew it, I was stroking myself, working my hand up and down my long, thick shaft, imagining Anne on her knees, naked as could be, sucking me greedily. Taking my big cock all the way to the back of her mouth.
In my mind, she gagged softly but seemed undeterred, and kept on sucking me hard. I put my hand on the back of her head, both to encourage her as well as well as to reign her in a little so she didn't hurt herself by accident, my cock more than large enough to easily choke her if she went down it too far and without any experience.
Picking up my stroking speed, I imagined coming into her warm little mouth, Anne looking up to me as she swallowed it all down. I imagined gently stroking her cheek and guiding her up to her feet, gently cupping her pussy while making her gasp with pleasure.
Bending her over the back of the couch, I imagined getting on my knees behind her and borrowing my face in her tender, young pussy, making her gasp and moan with pleasure, trembling with joy which I could feel against my mouth as I licked and kissed her sweet little cunt.
Bringing her to a screaming orgasm in my fantasy, I stroked her back while she came, as I stood up behind her and simultaneously stroked the head of my cock against her wet pussy.
Quickening my stroking speed in real life, I jerked myself off even faster as I imagined sliding inside her tender pussy, which would be hugging me in welcome. Giving her a moment to get used to me inside her, I took her firmly by the hips and fucked her hard until she screamed.
I came on the couch at the same time I imagined coming inside Anne's tight pussy, her orgasm arriving at the same time as mine did.
How I wished I could do that in real life. But it was forbidden for now, while she was going through dealing with everything surrounding her father’s death. I would just have to fantasize about it – a lot – apparently – and that was all I could do.
Chapter Seven - Anne
The lights buzzed, faulting in their guard against the dark. I was putting on makeup, getting ready to go out later. My friends had something planned; I could feel it in my bones. I was dressed for in the occasion.
I had bought a very pretty dress, my first birthday gift to myself, and had my hair done nice, as my second gift to myself. I had boundless respect for the hairdresser who had actually managed to tame my unruly curls into elegant and intricate Egyptian braids, a theme I was trying to underscore with Cleopatra style make-up, which was at least my closest approximation based on Elizabeth Taylor.
I wasn't really experienced with make-up, more preferring the natural look usually, but it was coming out really well. The vivid blue was definitely making my eyes pop.
There came a knock at our door. Putting away my make-up stuff, I went out into the living room where Sophia had just gotten up off the couch to get the door.
“I'll get it!” I said.
“Okay,�
� she said, sitting back down and continuing to read.
I thought it was a bit weird that she would be reading American Psycho. She was usually so squeamish. She would cream and look away at Edgar Wright movies and they were actually meant to be funny.
“It's probably flowers,” I said, “my daddy always sends flowers on my birthday.”
“Okay,” Sophia said, robotically.
I thought that the way she had said it was weird, too, but ignored it, my excitement trumping any other thoughts or considerations.
I got to the door and threw it open, just knowing it was going to be the flowers my dad sent. He had them delivered to me every single year. It was a tradition, since my nickname growing up as a child had been Daddy’s Little Sunshine. They must have arrived.
It wasn't anything so wonderful. Instead of a delivery person, I found two grim, uniformed policemen waiting on the other side of the door. I thought I saw the lights from the sirens of a police car flashing behind them, though that should have been impossible. I live on the third floor of my apartment building.
“Ms. Evans?” one of the cops asked.
“Yes, what's going on?”
“I'm afraid we have some bad news.”'
“Bad news? What news?”
“Well, bad news and then some good news. Which would you like first?”
“Um, the bad news?” I said, really not sure.
“Well, the bad news is that your daddy is dead. D-E-A-D. Dead as can be.”
“Oh, my God! Why the fuck are you telling me like this?” I screamed.
“Now, just hold your horses there. You haven't heard the good news yet.”
“W-what's the good news?” I asked, the tears already streaming down my cheeks.
“You are about to join him!”
The cops opened their mouths as though to speak some more. Though instead of words, thick leafy branches, like those in the forest on the mountain, snaked out of their mouths and started to tangle themselves around me in ways that should have been impossible. But there they were, still coming, going from my ankles and then further upwards, squeezing hard.