Nocturnes & Nightmares (The Sandman Duet Book 1)

by Keri Lake

  Once inside the shower, I let the punishing torrent of water beat against my muscles, and rest my head against the cool tiles as it hammers away the tension. My stomach flexes with the sudden rush of blood that reminds me how much I’ve come to enjoy my showers. Historically, it’s where I’ve let a number of subs suck me off after work, before indulging in some of our more illicit pastimes. Tonight, it’s the sounds of a stranger and the visuals of Nola.

  I stroke my hand up and down my shaft, taking a moment to squeeze at each exchange. The scene inside my head opens to Nola, chained to the wall in my dungeon, wearing that tight little waitress uniform hiked to mid-thigh. No panties, or bra, beneath.

  She struggles to get free, while the woman’s grunts in the video add some dimension to this wicked fantasy. As I approach, the clanging of the chains grows louder, the panic in her voice more audible.

  She knows what I want.

  Releasing my cock, I take a moment to revel in the torment of wrangling her against me, the need to be inside of her more than I can bear. As she squirms in my arms, her bare ass beneath the skirt brushes across my tip, and my stomach tightens at how soft, how warm she feels.

  “Please,” the woman’s voice echoes in the bathroom. “You don’t want to do this.”

  But I do.

  Fist tight around the base of my dick, I imagine pushing inside of her, feeling her body stiffen against mine, her soft cries dying to long-drawn moans. My hips drive forward, and with the heat of the water, I picture burying my dick inside her tight cunt, the chains over her head lifting her tits through the unbuttoned opening of her shirt, enough for me to suck one of her pert pink nipples into my mouth.

  She tries to fight it, of course, for the sake of her pride, but the moment her head tips back and those pretty lips part, the moment she relents and owns her pleasure, is the moment my whole body shudders with victory. I pump my cock in time to each thrust, fucking her rough and recklessly, as the chains rattle and her tits bounce in my face. I drive my hips into my palm the same way I drive into her pussy. Hoisting her up, I pin her to the wall, bracing my hand against the cold tiles as the visual plays in tandem with the woman in the video, the sounds of slapping flesh and her outcries.

  Tension winds inside my muscles, and I don’t take my eyes off Nola because I need to watch her come, even if it’s just in fantasy.

  The woman’s moans heighten. The slapping sounds hasten in time to the wet jerking of my cock.

  “Oh, no, please,” the woman in the video mewls to her fake captor. “I can’t.” The beauty of it is how real she sounds, though. The distress in her voice bleeds through every sweet little imploration, until her moans become quick pants and hiccups of panic.

  She can’t help the inevitable collapse of her resistance, as every muscle trembles with the need to hold on to her tightly-guarded morals, and the moment her pussy contracts along my shaft, I’m done. Warm jets of cum hit the tiles, quickly washed away by the dribbles of water spilling from my skin. I groan and squeeze every drop, imagining my seed up inside of her, filling her body. How badly I wish I could touch her right now, to see the flush of her skin and watch her body convulse in pleasure. Harsh breaths beat back against my face as I rest my head against the shower wall and bang out the last of my load.

  It’s not enough. It never is.

  For now, though, it keeps the cravings under control.

  For now, it keeps Nola safe from my messed-up appetite, a bastard family curse that ensures I’ll never have a woman the same way most men do.

  13

  The Sandman

  One week ago …

  The blonde twitched with the first signs the tranquilizer had begun to wear off. The slight flare of her nostrils through the small breathing holes of the latex mask told him she could smell the gasoline in the bucket beside her. The only visible part of her face was her lips, which parted on a gasp. Her eyes remained concealed by black latex that also masked her long blonde hair and covered her body.

  Aside from her thick, pouty lips, she no longer had any distinguishable features. She could be anyone he wanted her to be. A faceless doll, like the mannequins he’d once slept with at night. Only, the doll before him was warm and came with a hole in which he could bury his swelling manhood, many times throughout the night.

  Long, slender legs jerked beneath the smooth black latex sheet vacuum-sealed to her body, where she lay trapped on a bed, knees bent, her thighs held frog-legged apart by the form-fitting plastic. Her hands had been placed flat to the bed at either side of her, completely immobile.

  Every curve visible, teasing him.

  The sheets came in a variety of colors—white, clear, red. Black was his favorite, though, and the hole for the head fit snug at the throat, to keep the air locked inside, so he could play with different masks. Some covering the mouth, some the entire face. In this case, he enjoyed the element of fear in having her eyes shielded.

  He wore a full body latex suit, himself, but unlike the mask she wore, his offered cutouts not only for the mouth, but the eyes, too. Even his penis fit into a black latex sheath attached to the suit, which he’d buffed with lube—the mere preparation making him fully erect. He couldn’t stand the thought of touching her dirty skin, riddled with hair and dry bits that flecked off. The visual of fluids seeping out of her cunt made him want to gag.

  The leather braids of his whip slipped between his fingers as he toyed with it, waiting for her to wake.

  With a drowsy groan, she shook inside the sheet of latex in a poor effort to move about.

  The first weak scream that passed her lips soured to a tearless sob. Latex squeaked and rubbed as she fought inside her bindings.

  “Hello, Marnee.”

  At the sound of his voice, she froze, lips trembling as her head, the only movable part of her body, blindly shifted back and forth, as though she searched the air for him.

  Dipping his latex-clad finger into the gasoline, he dabbed a small drop beneath her nose, and she reared back, gasping through her mouth. “Regarding my proposition earlier …” He reached down to where the base of a red dildo stuck out of an attached condom he’d jammed into her pussy—a long latex balloon pocket he’d sewn into the sheet to keep the air from leaking out. With a gentle tug, he removed the plug for the small hole between her pried thighs, one he could scarcely look at, even when covered in the shiny black material, without shivering. “Which would you prefer? To be ravaged for hours, or burned alive?”

  “Please.” Her voice carried a slur, broken by sniffles. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I want to go home.”

  Whip in hand, he brought the leather braids down against her thighs with a resounding whack that echoed through the cold pole barn.

  She cried out, while the latex concealed the marks of her abuse.

  Bent forward, he ran his hands over the smooth black sheet and kissed her. Oh, the remorse on her lips. They all felt remorse at that point.

  Her face scrunched with another sob. “Please … just let me go. I can’t … I can’t feel my arms. Or my legs.”

  “No, you can’t. And you won’t. You’ll be paralyzed, either burning alive, or letting me fuck you. Your choice.”

  “Why? Why can’t I—”

  He silenced her question with a sharp slap to her face, kicking her head to the side. “Tell me which you’d prefer. The longer you procrastinate, the worse it will be for you. Can you even imagine how it would feel, having your skin burn inside latex without being able to move a muscle? How terrifying that would be, as it sticks to your skin.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her body convulsed with a sob. “If I … did something. If I hurt you, somehow.” They all played that game—trying to appeal to some empathy that just didn’t exist.

  “You’re really not. But that’s okay. Tonight, you will be made virtuous again. Now, tell me what you want. Fire? Or me?”

  Only the whimpers and the
downward curve of her lips served as evidence of her crying.

  “I understand. I’ll grab a match.”

  “No! Wait! I choose you!”

  “Really? You’re not just telling me that? You’d really rather have me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew … I knew you were special.” He trailed a finger over her latex-covered face, catching the subtle flinch of her muscles. “Oh, Marnee, when I’m finished with you, your soul will be cleansed, and the world will be right again.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  “No, are you saying you want to go? Were you lying moments before?”

  “No, I wasn’t lying. I promise.”

  “Good.” Cupping her cheek, he planted another kiss to her lips, taking in the feel of her latex against his. He’d lubed the mask beforehand to keep it from squealing during contact, as the sound often distracted him.

  Round pert breasts stuck out through the plastic, so skintight to her body he could grab her hard nipple through it. He took a moment to grope them, studying her face for any sign of disgust. “Don’t be ashamed. It’s not your fault you’re turned on right now.”

  The sheet shook with her sob, as he fondled her. The bed’s steel frame had been bolted to the floor, so as not to shift around with even the most vigorous movement.

  “Do you like how that feels, Marnee?” One of the things he most enjoyed about the latex, particularly against his cock, was that it enhanced the sensation of touch. With the added lube and scent of rubber on the air, he could hardly contain the pre-cum warming the inside of his sheath.

  A whine escaped the woman, the only reaction she could muster with her body still paralyzed, but she nodded. “It … feels nice.”

  The shaky quality of her voice betrayed her, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in making her feel good. Touching her was his own delight, not hers. She was one of the chosen, and she should feel grateful for what he intended to do.

  “Well, since you’ve been so honest with me, it’s only right that I’m honest with you. Not everything I do to you is going to feel nice. In fact, you may experience excruciating pain at some point. But nothing like being burned alive. I promise.”

  She broke into sobbing again, and he stroked her shiny, black skull.

  “Shhhh. You made the right choice, Marnee. Tonight, you will accept my seed. I will fill your body with it, and you will be mine. My beautiful possession.” Of course, none of his ejaculate would truly end up inside of her, as it would remain trapped inside the sheath, but the act itself represented his possession of her.

  He pushed to his feet and made his way to the foot of the bed. Legs spread apart, her clitoris sat somewhere beneath the sheet, and thankfully, he couldn’t see it. Nausea churned in his gut at the thought of his dick rubbing against the ugly, discolored flesh. The idea of such a thing sickened him, and he looked away as he pushed his hips forward. In a blind attempt to find her hole, he jabbed his tip into her, cringing at the realization he’d hit her clit.

  Warm walls sucked him inside, the balloon like a hot glove gripping tight to his cock.

  Lying perfectly still, she cried out, while he rocked into her, and with a few easy thrusts, his mind was lost to the softness and the overpowering scent of latex that put him at ease.

  “You can’t fight me, anymore. You can no longer reject me, Marnee. I can do whatever I want to you. And I promise you, I will.”

  Hours passed. He’d already had his way with her twice, her body still frozen in the latex, accepting his swollen cock as she milked his precious nectar.

  As he entered to have his way with her again, he pushed against her throat, squeezing it. She gasped and moaned, while his body heightened toward climax, and when he orgasmed a third time, she didn’t make a sound.

  Curious, he released her, head tipped as he studied her for any movement.

  Blue gaping lips and her motionless chest confirmed he’d strangled her to death already. As connected as he could possibly be. The ultimate possession of another human being. Almost God-like.

  He bent forward to listen for breath and heard nothing. Still, he didn’t pull out of her. He quite liked staying there a bit longer, and settled down on top of her body, resting his head on her cold, stiff breasts.

  So beautiful.

  Fine grains of sand slipped through his hand as he stared down at her empty sockets, from where blue eyes once stared back at him.

  He hadn’t meant to kill her so quickly. He’d merely gotten caught up in the moment, excited at watching her struggle to breathe while he fucked her. But he’d hoped to keep her until dawn, and two hours remained until then.

  The ruffling of leaves whispered around him as he poured the sand into her eyes, while she lay on a bed of frost-coated foliage he’d piled beneath her. The sand made it easier to look at her, made her less terrifying.

  From the ground beside her, he picked up a half-bloomed Queen of the Night he’d clipped from his greenhouse and set it carefully in her crossed arms. Always the same way, because consistency was everything.

  He’d scrubbed her vagina clean, douching her insides with oxidizing bleach so as to destroy any evidence he may have left there. Afterward, he dipped her whole body in a tub of pure bleach and a small bit of lye he often used when tanning animal hides.

  With the FBI’s involvement, he couldn’t be too careful.

  Staring down at her pale, dead face, he felt the compulsion to kiss her, to stroke an ungloved finger down her now-clean face, but he knew better. She’d be scoured for evidence, and the small clues he’d already made a point to place were to be the focus of her murder investigation. He didn’t need any small trace fibers getting in the way of his signatures.

  Besides, he could rest easy, knowing she would always be his. From that night on, and forever, her body, her entire being, belonged to him alone.

  She was pure. Clean. No longer tainted by her paltry principals that made her a snobby bitch.

  No. She’d become virtuous and delicate as porcelain. No one else would ever lay claim to her. Every piece of her belonged to him.

  He lifted the pickle jar filled with formaldehyde solution and Marnee’s beautiful blue eyes. His only wish was that he could always remember how breathtaking they looked with her tears.

  His little flower had blossomed that night. Had chosen him over everything else, and had taken him with her into eternal sleep. A piece of him would forever live within her.

  14

  Nola

  A loud incessant sound cracks through the void, jarring me out of dreams. As my eyes flip open to the surrounding darkness, I snap my head toward the alarm clock, and army crawl toward it. After slamming my hand against the snooze button, I bury my face in the pillows.

  Bits of my dream still linger, keeping me in a semi-lucid state as I turn my head to the side, the events from the night before creeping into my slowly-dawning consciousness.

  The last thing I remember is telling Voss about my job. And Harv.

  And that my parents conceived me in New Orleans.

  Burying my face again, I groan. Why the hell would I tell him that?

  I perform a quick pat down, mentally noting my pants and shirt still in place.

  So, did I stumble to bed and pass out, or pass out first? Did Voss put me to bed?

  Lifting my head, I slam my face into the pillow over and over, stirring the beginnings of a headache. Guy could’ve done a million and one things to me in my sleep, but there’s no evidence to suggest he did any more than help a tipsy idiot not fall down the stairs to her death.

  Christ.

  Of course, I have a deeply-rooted desire to believe Voss is a decent person, because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being wrong about someone. Even so, I’ll never be able to face this guy again, and if he doesn’t already think I’m a freak, well, that’s a problem in itself.

  It comes as a surprise that my head isn’t throbbing like yesterday, when I swore there were r
hinos bouncing on pogo-sticks inside my skull. “Must’ve been good wine,” I mutter, stumbling out of the bed toward the bathroom.

  I brush my teeth and relieve myself quickly, before nabbing my phone off the nightstand on my way out of the bedroom.

  Oliver’s bedroom door is cracked, and I peek inside to find him sleeping. Moving to beside his bed, I’m taken back to the days when he was just a baby, asleep in his crib, and I could watch him for hours, dreaming of so many things for him in life.

  I curse the world for being so cruel to him at such a young age, for proving how shitty some human beings can be. So many days, I wish I could go back to those moments, when he fit in my arms, and I could keep him safe just by holding him.

  The moment his form blurs, I quickly shuffle out of his room. I can’t get caught up in those thoughts. Not today.

  Hustling to downstairs, I enter the kitchen and find an entire pot of coffee already made. Either Voss programmed it, or I was walking around in a drunken, zombie state while performing all my usual bedtime routines.

  I make Oliver a quick lunch, then drink a cup of coffee while reading the news on my CNN app. Locally, another girl has gone missing—a young blonde socialite last seen by friends in The Loop. Authorities suspect it’s the same guy who swiped up a couple girls before her, whose bodies were found without eyeballs.

  Ugh. This is exactly why I hate watching, or reading, the news. Stories like these play on my paranoia, and suddenly every man I know is a suspect.

  I click out of the app, then head up the stairs to wake Oliver. My phone buzzes in my back pocket on the way, and I slip it out to see Jonah calling.

  “Hey,” I say on answering.

  “Hey, Diane wanted me to let you know she’s going to be about fifteen minutes late grabbing Oli after school. Is he okay to be home for a few?”