Chapter 08: Dreams of a Spit (F-solo dream cann)

January was a cold and bitter month, but thankfully didn’t consist of actual snow. Instead, it was icy wind that cut through fabric without even slowing. She shivered violently as she stepped out of her car. The gravel of the drive looked like shards of glass, the first hints of frost that refused to come in months. Reaching in, she grabbed her pack and hefted it, feeling the weight and smelling the various perfumes from the locker room.

Winching from a slightly strained shoulder, she walked down the drive, to the path, and up the stairs of the porch. Her shoes rapped against the wooden planks. Fishing out her key, she threw her bag in and looked around the desolate front yard. It was still green, but it has a ghost-like quality of green bones instead of thriving blades. The disconnect still hurt her, when she expected to see snow instead of bare trees and pale grass.

An icy wind slammed into her and she retreated into the house, locking the door behind her. The house was dark and quiet, but warm. The hiss of the radiators filled the living room as she felt the boiler pumping heat through ancient pipes. Her fingers fumbled for the switch, finally throwing the resisting plastic and flooding the entry hall with a sickly yellow glow.

Her eyes dropped to the table, where a pile of bills were ready to go out. Even after months, she was still surprised to see them ready to go out, each one stamped and carefully written in her mother’s handwriting. Usually her mother paid her bills online, but ever since they moved, they had gone out through the mail. Maybe California didn't allow direct deposits.

She grumbled as she paged through them.

“Gas... water... electricity... oh!”

The bottom one, as normal, was an envelope to her with her allowance. It started the month she got the car, actually the car was the first thing she bought. Her fingers tore open it open and pulled out a thick pile of hundred dollar bills. The colored version of the hundreds still looked like toy money, compared to the pure green ones she grew up with, but at least they were real. Her bank account, not her mother’s, was testament that that. She dropped the envelope, then picked it back up when something slid inside it. Peering inside, she saw a brightly-colored credit card.

Excitement rising, she pulled it out and the note attached to it. Scanning the note, she was smiling by the time she read to the bottom.

“Don’t go overboard and I’ll pay for it.”

She stared at it for a moment, “Cool.”

She put the credit card and the note into her purse and set it down on the table. Grabbing the bills, she unlocked the front door, shoved them into the mailbox, and closed the front door. Not bothering to lock it, she grabbed her pack from the ground and headed to her bedroom. The basement was cooler than the rest of the house, but much warmer than the outside. An oil-based heater hummed quietly in her bathroom, keeping her private quarters toasty warm.

She reached her bedroom door and paused, a slow feeling of nagging growing inside her. Setting the bag down at the door, she turned and padded into the workshop, which was dominated her nights until about a week ago. Her eyes were already focusing on her project, even as she pulled the light on.

It was a guillotine, or at least a short one. Even seeing it sent a shiver of fear down her spine. It towered above her, almost brushing against the twelve-foot ceiling of the basement. The wood was sanded and polished into a warm glow, the frame built out from individual parts that she had made with skills she never possessed before. Her shivering continued as she stared at it, her eyes looking up at space for the missing piece, the blade itself.

She didn’t realize what she was building until she was finally pieced it together. It came together in a single night, assembling it in a night of pressure, where her excitement prevented her from sleeping until the last screw was twisted into place. When she stood back, she started to shake as she realized what she built.

Sonja ran from the room and didn’t return, until today. Trembling, she stepped forward, reaching out for the wood. It was warm, a mellow warmth, to her touch. Her fingers remembered sanding it and staining it until it had a glass-like shine. Sliding her hand along the wood, she felt a delicious shiver fill her as she caressed the release lever for the murderous device.

“What...”

Her words trailed off as she sat down slowly on it, the solid wood didn’t even shift from her weight. Even the bench in the front was smooth and warm and looked very comfortable. That thought made her shiver again, but she made no effort to stand up.

“Why was I building this?”

No answer came in the quiet basement, except for the vibration of the boiler shutting off. The silence flooded into the basement, leaving her alone with the massive execution device in one corner of her workshop. She looked around at the neat workshop, where every single item was nestled into its proper place.

“How did I build this?”

Still no answer.

To her surprise, the warm bench underneath her was very comfortable. She lifted herself up to turn around, pressing the spine of her back against the vertical column of wood. Looking at her feet along the edge, she could almost imagine herself on it, tied down to the thick dowel rods she so carefully assembled a week before. That thought sent another shiver down her spine again, but still couldn’t find the energy to stand up.

Realizing she was getting drowsy, she pulled herself off the guillotine and stood up. Away from the smooth warm wood, her thoughts gained some clarity. The warmth of the wood, mixed with the coolness of the basement made her flexing anxious. Almost fleeing, she ran back up the stairs out of the basement.

A few hours later, she made herself dinner and ate it in silence. Homework was finally finished, but she left it stretched out across the dining room table. Yawning, she finally braved the basement again, staggering down the stairs with slow, measured movement. Her hands clutched to the splintered handrail.

Finally reaching the bottom, she ignored the light still on in the workshop and closed herself tightly in her own room. Stripping off her clothes, she crawled into bed. Yawning again, she flipped off the light and hoped for sleep to come quickly.

Sadly, it didn’t. She just stretched out in bed, her naked body rubbing against the sheets and blankets, her mind spinning almost violently. She tried to force herself to sleep, but her mind refused to release the images that spun in her head. The guillotine was the primary one, her thoughts kept drifting back to it, remembering how the wood felt against her skin. In her bed, wrapped in the warmth of her blankets, she could almost feel it against her body, an inanimate lover against her body.

When she realized there was a warmth growing inside her, she bore her mind away from it, desperately trying to avoid the thoughts of sex. It worked, for a little bit. She tried to think about homework, but that was like thinking about torture when she was trying to sleep. Shivering, she found something else to think about.

Her mind pictured Meris, the frail girl from class. She was seeing more of her, mainly for tutoring. Despite her bashful appearance, she really blossomed the longer she talked with Sonja. The bright eyes would shine, but never as much when she talked about the butcher shop and her father’s work.

Sonja smiled to herself, snuggling into her sheets, with the thoughts of that girl. Despite her not wanting it, a friendship was growing between them. Betty didn’t seem to like that.

Thoughts of the blond turned her thoughts sour. She was too obsessed with appearance and parties. Sonja enjoyed both, but it wasn't the purpose of enjoyment. She didn't want to party for the sake of throwing a party, but to have fun. When she dressed, it wasn't just to turn heads and turn on teachers, but to make herself feel good.

Sonja glanced over to where Rick's jersey hung from the back of her chair. She had never let the boy into her house, but Betty had been pushing him on her ever since the first day. He had a beef stake for a brain, but he looked good and that was Betty's reason for putting them together.

He was pleasant to the eyes and acted as a human shield away from Marisha's stalking. Sonja shivered at the thought of the red-haired girl, eyes still burning with more than a little lust. For a moment, she wondered what the red-head would look like on the guillotine. Her thoughts grew more detailed and precise as she imagined it: Marisha's naked body stretched out on the warm wood, hands and ankles tied down. A tingling grew between her legs as she thought about Marisha’s expression, wide eyes and frightened, staring up at a sparkling golden blade high above her. Sonja could even imagine the tiny whimpers coming from Marisha, almost squeaking, as the girl experienced conflicting sensations of helplessness and excitement.

A moan filled her room as she spread her legs, her fingers slipping down to try quelling the heated fires that filled her. Her mind was out of her control, flashing through images as her fingers slipped into her body, masturbating as she imagined the whimpers and the cries. In her mind’s eyes, Marisha was arching her back, legs spread obscenely open by her bounds. She could almost imagine what it would be like to stroke against the shaking skin, feeling the sweat and excitement even as her dream fingers wrapped around the release lever.

Her real fingers were plunging in and out with wet slurping noises as her imagination started to finger Marisha, matching her physical movements with her dream. But, the difference was her dream-self was pulling the lever to the guillotine. She could almost feel the blade slicing down, Marisha’s scream that echoed in her head, and the final explosion as her orgasm blanked out her imagination, leaving her feeling weak and comfortable and very warm.

Then the guilt started to seep into her thoughts. Guilt and fear strumming in her mind, of imagining her friend being decapitated helplessly, using her as she was using herself. The guilt faded away as she finally felt herself falling into dreams.

Her dreams came hard and fast, locking her into a world with no chance of escape. She could feel her body being stretched out. For a brief moment, she was terrified that she was being put on the guillotine, in penance for her enjoying Marisa’s death.

But, it was cold metal she was being stretched out over and for a brief moment, she was relieved. Then, she felt hands across her body, stroking her breasts, her sides, even her legs. Slick fingers probed up against her as she felt oil being lathered on her skin. More hands were holding her ankles and wrists, pulling her out taunt over a metal counter, stretching her out like nothing but a piece of meat.

Her whimpers turned into moans as the hands continued to stroke against her, rubbing in scents and seasonings that smelled like the time she helped with the pig roast. She started to wiggle again, but someone’s hands, soft and delicate, pushed up between her legs, rubbing against her clitoris even as she strained against her captors.

The sound of metal filled her senses as she felt something being picked up next to to her. It hovered over her vision, one of the shiny metal spits from the shed. She could almost feel the warm metal as it was drawn down, the point just teasing her oiled-slicked skin.

Her whimpers and struggles quieted as she felt the point being lowered further down, the point slipping through slicked fingers still slipping in and out of her body, spreading her legs further. A long moan filled her as she felt it being lowered even further, against some delicate point of her body.

Mouthing words, she tried to call out “why?” and other things, but nothing came out. Something soft pressed against her lips, a finger. Then another as she felt them starting to slide in and out of her lips, like other fingers were slipping in and out of her sex in long, sensual movements that left her gasping for breath.

It felt like thousands of hands against her body, stroking and rubbing and plunging in and out. Her pleasures were being stoked like a fire, burning hotter and hotter.

And then... the spit was eased inside her pussy. Her body was awash with sensations, of pleasures and a growing feeling of being stuffed. She tried to figure out where that point was coming it, pushing into her body like some endless cock or dildo, but her mind refused to focus on it. Instead, she was whimpering and moaning from the feeling of being penetrated, the ultimate penetration.

Sonja continued to writhe in pleasure, rocking her body as she felt the hot metal plunging into her, never pulling back but driving deeper. It was hard and unyielding as it pushed into her stomach, filling her. She tried to twist away from it, to pull her pussy from the invading metal, but oil-slicked hands held her down against the cold metal counter.

A long moan filled the room as the hands continued to hold her down, pushing the thick metal even further into her, guiding it around the sensitive parts of her body. She could feel it pierce her stomach, and soon she tasted it in the back of her mouth. The hard, inflexible length slid out of her throat, stretching her neck as it continued toward her lips. For a moment, she wondered if she would suffocate, but in her dream it was just hard to breath. The point of the spit continued to push further and she let the hands caressing her face bend her head back and let the shiny metal slide out past her lips.

Sonja tried to moan, tried to whimper, but her body was spasming along the metal. The feeling of being held in place, by the hardness impaling her from end to end, was too much. She felt explosions of pleasure and ecstasy run along her entire body, every breath sending her higher into the clouds of unimaginable pleasure.

The hands touching her, pulled her wrists and ankles to the spit. She felt herself being tied down, twine twisting and knotting, holding her tightly against a spit. Another finger slipped down the crevice of her sex, teasing her and slipping into her soaked opening, fingering her. Sonja realized the spit impaled her ass, stuffing her to the limits of her body, holding her like nothing but a pig.

The hands lifted her off the counter, suspending her with rope and the spit. She felt the pressure on her inner organs, her weight pulling them down, but the twine dug into her skin and kept her safe as she was carried somewhere else. Her eyes tried to see, but all she could see was the ground moving below, then the red-hot embers of a fire dancing below her vision.

Then the heat.

The fires that burned against her skin. She felt them as clearly as her orgasms. Coupled with the sensation of being filled and pinned, she was almost consumed by a spectral orgasm that needed no fingers or cock to trigger. It was just an intense wave of heat searing through her skin, coupling with the volcano that exploded between her legs.

As her consciousness died under the assaulted of infinite pleasures, she finally slept.

End of chapter 8