Disclaimer: This story is not for profit, I do not own Silent Hill or its characters.
She was beautiful and unattainable, like a Greek goddess surrounded by nymphs and beautiful creatures. Cynthia Velasquez always came through the South Ashfield Station at a certain time on certain days of the week.
Between three-fifty and four in the afternoon, she would come through with her buzzing little posse on her way home from school. This was Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday… Wednesdays and Fridays she had extracurricular activities to attend to. Saturdays and Sundays she would come through at about eleven or twelve noon, giggling and eagerly talking about the next club she would attend that night. By six to seven in the evening on Saturdays and Sundays she would come through again, dressed in tight-fitting skirts and flesh-revealing shirts. She and her similarly dressed nymphs were on their way to some club or party.
Cynthia was not only predictable, but she moved like clockwork. Years of watching her every move, her every dress, her every curve and way of walking and moving taught Walter this. It wasn't a bad thing by any means, however. It made her easy to follow whenever he found the time to get away from that god-forsaken Wish House.
But you can't touch her.
As willing as she was to hold the hand of a new, handsome boy every other week, he knew that she would never hold his hand. She would never look up at him with a wide smile on her plush, crimson-painted lips. She would never pull him close to her body and guide his hands to the curve of her waist and hips, and she would never be caught with him in a secluded corridor of the station on her knees with her lips around his member. No, not him—but any other boy, any other normal, perfect boy that the world wanted could be granted this.
You can't touch her. She would only laugh in your face and call you filthy. Just like before.
She was a goddess in his eyes, and for the longest time, a pure goddess. Cynthia always had the hearts of many different boys, but he didn't give that a second thought. It wasn't until she broke his heart that he realized what he had been overlooking all those years.
It had taken months for him to work up the courage to speak to her. He followed her for so very long, overhearing her conversations, learning her name, her favorite food, her favorite colors, her favorite music and favorite movies. She was a Taurus, she was a vegetarian, she was an animal lover, and she was a drinker and a smoker. But none of these things she had told him… she never even noticed him until that day.
Walter could feel violent butterflies in his stomach, and his palms began to sweat. His heart raced and his face felt hot. He approached her as she sat on a bench with her beautiful nymphs, with eyes fixed on her. She went on talking about Kayla. He knew Kayla. Kayla had cheated on Dusten with Will. Kayla had stolen Cynthia's favorite shirt. Kayla had been one of Cynthia's nymphs until two weeks and three days ago. She was the tall blonde one with the birthmark behind her left ear.
Cynthia had looked up at him—a look of recognition.
She had seen me, hadn't she? She knew me, didn't she? I've always watched her.
"E…Excuse me…" He was stammering.
Cynthia crossed her legs and tilted her head to the side in interest. She wanted to hear what he had to say. Her entourage of nymphs, however, turned a cold eye in his direction. The warm smiles on the faces of each young beauty all vanished, replaced within an instant by judgmental glares. They were eying him up and down—worn out clothes, disheveled, shaggy hair, even an unshaven layer of thin stubble growing on his face. They expected little more from "that bum" who hung around the station with the blue sleeping bag.
"Yeah, what is it?" Cynthia asked impatiently as she sensed the discomfort in her friends. She was surprised that the bum actually found the nerve to talk to her. What did he want, some spare change?
"Which… uh…" He cleared his throat and started over, trying not to stutter. Cynthia eyed his fumbling fingertips as he continued, "W-which school… are you going…"
"North Ashfield Junior High. What of it?" Cynthia answered impatiently, somewhat confused. She had been expecting a request for change.
Walter gave a nervous smile and a forced laugh as he repeated quietly, "North Ashfield Junior… High… right. Ah… you know that apartment over there… Room 302…"
"Who the hell is this piece of crap?" A red headed girl—Lori—cut in. Lori looked him over again and cringed, "Smells like garbage. You been dumpster diving?"
He was at a loss, unable to respond and remember all that he had rehearsed for the last three months.
You whore, Lori… you're ruining everything. You're ruining everything. You're ruining everything.
"Leave him alone, let's go. You don't need to be talking to trash like this." Amanda, the shorter girl with curly black hair said. She stood and began to lead the small brigade away. Cynthia began to grab her purse and follow, still eying Walter with a look he could not recognize. Was it positive? Negative?
"Don't let him bother you. He's probably just looking for more booze money or something." Lori spat, still glaring at him.
Cynthia pulled away from Lori, eyes still fixed on Walter. She took steps forward and Walter fought the urge to retreat. Was she going to hit him?
How dare you speak to her?
How dare you speak to the Goddess?
"Well… you look handsome." Cynthia grinned, coming closer, "Where are you from?"
Walter felt her trail her fingertip over his chest playfully. Was she really responding to him? She was so close; he could smell the scent of her melon shampoo. He finally answered, "S-Silent Hill. I came from Silent Hill."
"Come on! Don't talk to him, he's a freakin' bum!" Amanda called.
Lori took Cynthia's hand and began to lead her away.
No… no, she was so close to me. I could feel her, I could smell her, she was smiling at me! She was talking to me! She called me handsome, she…
She turned to him slowly, as did all the other girls. Walter was suddenly the object of their scrutiny. He wanted to retreat desperately, yet he wanted to stay and meet her. He wanted to meet the beautiful goddess he knew so much about.
Cynthia walked up to him, gently placing her right hand on his stubbly cheek. Her voice was gentle as she spoke, "Hey… I think you misunderstood. I said you were handsome, but that doesn't mean I think you're attractive."
Walter wanted to avert his eyes, but he was caught in her amber gaze. He was under her spell. He was like a fly caught in a web, awaiting a final injection of lethal venom. As her tone became less gentle and increasingly bitter, he wanted desperately to escape what was coming.
"Your clothes are filthy and smell bad. Do you honestly think a girl like me is into something like that?" Cynthia asked, her once soft gaze growing colder, almost like stone, "No way. Besides, how do you even know my name?"
"A…ah, well, it's been… t-ten years since I heard your na—"
Cynthia pulled away in horror, quickly distancing herself from him, crying out, "Ten years?"
Walter could feel the eyes of each passerby on him. Cynthia grew louder, making a scene. The goddess was injecting the venom. The goddess was making an example of the abomination.
"You've been eavesdropping on me for ten years? That's… that's just… You're disgusting!" She exclaimed, almost screaming at him.
His heart was broken like that. She turned away, her posse following her as she loudly declared, "Ugh, this is not my day. Just my luck to meet a creep like that."
She's leaving. She hates you. You're disgusting.
"…Cynthia…" Walter murmured, wishing he had never even woken up that morning.
"Hey, I know. Let's go have some fun and forget about this. I'm going to a night club." She said.
Lori grinned, "Not again, Cynthia! Do you know how much trouble you'll get into about your age?"
"Don't worry. They won't notice if it's me." Cynthia winked.
The goddess and her nymphs disappeared down the stairs, leaving Walter standing before an empty bench with a few bored strangers eying him uncomfortably. He turned back to them, anger rising within him. It was growing. Some volcanic rage was growing.
She's not a goddess.
She's a whore.
Why didn't I see it sooner?
It made sense. She was always talking about going to night clubs. She was in the arms of a different boy every other week. Her lips were being kissed by someone different whenever he saw her. He knew well to turn away when the goddess walked past him into some dark hallway in the depths of the station, holding the hand of some grinning young man. Where was she leading those boys? He wouldn't think about it.
He wouldn't think about it when she came back straightening her disheveled hair and wrinkled skirt. He wouldn't think about it when she saw her friends giggling and whispering amongst themselves after she disappeared.
They say such horrible things about their beloved goddess, don't they? But aren't you wonderful at choosing what to hear and what not to hear about the goddess…
After that day he didn't care to keep up the façade that she was this virginal goddess. Cynthia was far from what he envisioned. He continued to listen in when she was near, living in her shadow, slowly breaking away from the goddess that never existed.
It wasn't long before the beautiful goddess he once adored became a common whore of the world, just like Miss Dahlia had warned him of. A temptress… yet it still pained him to see her. Once, she caught him looking at her from across the station's lobby. Her friends continued to talk, but she fell silent, watching him.
Was she thinking about him? What did she think of him? Was he still disgusting?
His answer came in the form of a wicked grin. Cheeks sucked in and lips slightly pursed as she flipped him the middle finger. She stood up with her entourage and they left quickly, giggling at him and making cruel jokes.
Years passed before he returned to the subway. Upon reaching the age of nineteen, Cynthia had filled out into an even more striking beauty than before. Although he knew that beauty was a thin veil to cover the disgusting creature of pallid flesh and withered lips.
Again he was passing through South Ashfield Station, on the way to the business district in North Ashfield where he took up a job and did his best to fit in. While he knew her for what she truly was, he couldn't look away. Again, old feelings were rising—only this time he understood them. What he had once thought was love, he now regarded as simple lust. Any man would look at her with lust—after all, she dressed provocatively, smiled seductively, and had built up quite a reputation among teenage boys that hung around the subway. She was what they called, "Easy".
"Just invite her for a drinking game and she'll have her panties off and legs over your shoulders in no time. Just don't pass out before she does." He had heard one boy say to another.
Images of her body beneath his began to rise up—it had become increasingly difficult to think about other things. For the longest time, he was content to fill his mind with the passages of the Order's Holy Books and plan out the ritual of the 21 Sacraments, but over the last few years he found his mind wandering more than usual. This only brought on more hatred for the temptress; he was to complete his duties as the Conjurer, not be suckered in by some drunken deviant of the subway!
"Hey, sweetie! You brought your friend this time?" She said, stepping into the train.
Walter had taken a seat in the far end of the car. He rested his head against the glass window tiredly, but looked up when he heard her voice. Cynthia stumbled slightly as she boarded the train and walked up to the front where two young men sat—one with short dark hair and another with frosted gold hair. She was drunk again—it wasn't an uncommon sight for those who frequented the subways beneath Ashfield.
No longer was she followed by beautiful nymphs. They saw the downfall of their goddess to booze and drugs and many departed from her side. Those that stayed withered up far before their time, now taking the appearance of trashy corpses with smiling lips painted two shades too red for their skin. Few of the girls he had once called nymphs still followed Cynthia, but normally, she was seen alone or at the side of some handsome young man.
"Cynthia! We didn't expect to see you here, you just get back from a party or something?" The dark haired man said.
"Nah, I'm actually on my way to one. Jeremy's having a birthday party over at the Pump and I was going to drop in. His dad owns the place so drinks are on the house tonight."
"Shit, free drinks, I want in!"
"I could probably get you in, Jeremy's great. He probably wouldn't mind a few new faces."
Cynthia took a seat beside the frosty haired boy and grinned, "So, where were you guys headed anyway?"
"We were just going to pick up some beers and go crash at Kyle's place. Sarah's not around to nag him about staying up all night blasting the speakers."
"Oh yeah, Sarah… how's she doing, Kyle?"
The dark haired man, Kyle, groaned, "Bitchy and nagging me like always… she could use a few drinks herself. Loosen up some."
Cynthia smiled and leaned over the blond man's lap to whisper something in Kyle's ear. Walter watched with growing distaste as Kyle began to grin. Cynthia's tongue flicked out against his earlobe and he sighed. She leaned back over the blond man, eying him with a grin and began to whisper something in his ear.
"Alright… sounds good." He responded.
The three got off together at the next stop, Cynthia in between eying them playfully.
One man's obviously not enough for her.
Getting to work and organizing the sales floor got his mind off of her mostly. But as much as he tried to fight it off, as much as he tried to mask his feelings with hatred, he felt boiling jealousy and envy. He had only begun seeing her around again after forgetting about her for years, and there she was, making his mind short circuit and his heart ache.
You don't still want her do you? It took so long for you to pull yourself together after she told you off in the subway all those years ago. You're not that pathetic, are you?
He had known himself to be pathetic for years. If there was anyone he hated more than the world and all its dirt bags, it was himself. The rebirthing desire for that woman in the subway was only making his self hate worse.
Night fell and he was left to close up the small sports store in North Ashfield. He would walk alone to the subway station like every night since he started returning to Ashfield. A few train stops away, he would get off at the South Ashfield station and await the transit bus to Pleasant River, a neighboring city just a short distance away.
It was just his luck that he would miss the transit bus. It wasn't the first time he was left to close up the store and wound up missing the last ride out to Pleasant River. It was only about fifteen miles away, and mostly down a straight road. It would take a while to get home, but he had walked it in the past.
If he was going to walk home, he might as well grab some bottled water from one of the vending machines down in the station. With that, he made his way back into the subway, digging through his pockets for some loose change.
The first vending machine he came to was conveniently sold out of bottled water, and so he pressed on to the next one, further in. The recent string of hot weather and warm nights must have brought on more thirst for water—normally the sodas and the chilled coffee were sold out long before the water. But tonight only three remained in the mostly ravaged vending machine.
He waited as the machine pushed the bottle of cold water out and grabbed it after it clunked against the bottom. Before he could make his way back to the lobby, he saw her.
Her makeup was smeared. Red lipstick was scattered across her upper lip and long trails of dark mascara ran wet with tears. The normally well-kept bun in her hair was undone, letting it all spread out in chestnut waves. A part of him scoffed and imagined she had gotten what was coming to her—someone who took advantage of the woman that played men so easily. Yet another part of him wanted to go out to her and help her.
…and what would you get if you helped her? A dive into a sea that countless men have already sailed? It seems even you are only after one thing.
He was already cursing himself internally for speaking her name.
Cynthia looked over at him, the only man in the hallway. He was tall, handsome, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail and a familiar face. Where had she seen him before? She knew that if she hadn't drank so much she would probably remember his name. Was he someone from a week ago? A month ago?
"What do you want?" She asked.
Walter swallowed nervously and searched for the words to say, "…I… ah, w-what happened? Are you alright?"
"Do I know you?" He sensed impatience in her voice.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, 'I don't know'? You fucking with me or something?"
"I'm sorry. N-Nevermind, I just…"
"You just what? Wanted to point out that my mascara's running? That my lip's bleeding? That I look like shit, is that it?" She slurred slightly as she spoke, before suddenly breaking into a sob and falling to her knees.
Walter made his way toward her carefully, and knelt beside her, "I was worried about you. What happened?"
"What the fuck do you think happened? I got played. I lost the game. I… I left my fucking purse at that pig's house, son of a fucking…" Cynthia choked, beginning to cry harder when she realized the absence of her handbag.
Walter was silent, unsure of what to say or do next. This wasn't exactly a situation he had ever been in before—socializing was never a strong point.
"Did someone hurt you?"
"…No. I walked right into it. Two guys. Chris and Kyle? I… It was just going to be a three-way, but… Th… they wanted to…" Cynthia paused for a moment. She began to gather herself and looked up at him with a grin, "They just owe me a little money is all. Bastards thought they could get off for free, but… they'll be hearing from Jamie."
"Jamie's such a sweet guy, y'know. He'll fix everything."
Walter nodded affirmatively and offered a hand to help her up. She took it. Her palms were so soft, and fingers slender. She only came up to his collar, and looked up at him with a smile he never would have expected to receive from a woman he once saw as a goddess.
"I'm just so scared right now. That's all. Sorry I barked at ya." She hesitated to go on, looking at his face with a sudden spark of recognition, "…You… you're that bum from before, aren't you?"
Walter looked away and stifled a laugh. Cynthia didn't hold back, did she?
"I was. I… I'm… I'm not homeless anymore. I-I go to the university…"
"Well shit, you were just a kid. How many years has it been?"
Cynthia moved closer, and Walter reflexively stepped further. The cold, tile wall behind him proved to be a barrier, allowing the temptress to trap him. She moved up against him as if they were long-time lovers, her soft breasts pressing wonderfully against his body. It was something he had desired and imagined for years, but was suddenly becoming fearful of. He had never felt someone get this close to him before. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't undesired either.
"You've really grown up, haven't you? Y'know, I never got your name. It kinda creeped me out that you knew mine. Now tell me, you weren't really watching me for ten years, were ya? I mean, I don't know if I even lived in this town back then." Cynthia was so near, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. It was sweet and intoxicating. It smelled like coke and rum.
"No. I… was just… very nervous. I said stuff, that…" Walter began to lie, but inhaled sharply as he felt her put her arms around his waist and draw herself closer, "…t-that I shouldn't have."
"You're so shy, don't be shy, sweetie. I'm not gonna bite. Unless you want me to."
"I…I really don't… want you to b-bite me…" Walter felt her hips pressing gently against his and could only imagine how red his face was growing.
"So what is it?"
"Your name, sweetie. What is it?"
"Nice. Cynthia. But you already know that, don't you?"
He knew her name was Cynthia Josephine Velasquez, he knew her birthday to be the third of May, her favorite colors to be red and purple ("Valentine's Day colors, I love Valentine's Day, sweetie."), her favorite drink was pina colada, her favorite…
"I… do you need to be somewhere? Or something…?"
"No, not really. I do need one thing, though." She brought her right hand up, tracing a fingertip over his stubbly jaw line, "Think you can do something for me, Walter?"
Cynthia stood up on her toes to be closer to his face and said quietly, "I want someone to make me feel better, Walter. Those boys really did a number on me… I feel so… so worthless… but you're so sweet. You make me feel so… so special."
She stumbled a little, still dizzy from the alcohol in her system. She giggled and continued, "I'm a little wobbly…"
Cynthia took one of his hands and placed it on her hip, "There, I feel a little better."
Her hip had the most amazing curve up into her soft waist. The midriff-revealing top she wore not only flattered her supple breasts, but exposed the smooth flesh of her waist. If that skirt were just a little lower, he could…
"Do you want to make me feel all better, Walter?"
"I…" Walter's mind was in a haze.
He was normally a man who paid little attention to sex wherever he could. It wasn't his place. He had duties as a Conjurer, not luxuries as another man of the world. But that didn't stop his mind from roaming at an irritating rate. Too often had he been thinking about the desires he fought to stifle. It was only then that he realized why he was suddenly pushing away the object of his desires—he knew that if she baited him, he would bite. He knew that if he bit, he would bite hard. All the willpower he had worked so hard on, all he did to fight off her advances were futile, and he knew it.
He was realizing that all of his efforts to suppress his needs was quickly turning him into someone that a provocatively dressed woman should be left alone with… and there they were, alone together in a secluded hallway, bodies far too close, quickly reaching a point where his will to deny the temptation would break.
"Walter…" Cynthia whispered, "…make me feel all better…"
"I-I…" Walter sighed, "I can't."
Even with smeared makeup and messy hair, she was beautiful.
He inhaled sharply again when she ground her hips against his and moaned against his chest, "Walter… I want you to make me feel good… I know you can, handsome. I know you want to. Don't be shy. …I can make you feel good."
"We're…" Walter began to mention that they were in no place to do such a thing before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. Walter's world seemed to come crashing down around him. All of his desires were surfacing at once in the first kiss he never thought he would experience with the girl he never thought would ever look at him with a smile.
Unable to continue fighting himself, he pulled her close to him and deepened the kiss. Cynthia almost recoiled at his sudden force and strength, but she was getting what she wanted from… Will? William? Wallace?
Walter turned them around and pressed Cynthia against the wall with his body. She gasped at the cold tile beneath her exposed back. Her kiss became fierce and she began to unbutton the white, collared shirt.
Letting his instincts take over, Walter let his hands roam over her waist and thighs, sliding under her skirt and rising up toward her rear.
Cynthia gave a slight yelp when he picked her up with her thighs around his waist, kissing her roughly. His kiss was rough, sloppy, and almost awful. But she'd had worse. He was a handsome guy and perfect for getting her mind off of those assholes who tried to violate her before. This one would be easy, she thought, he could hardly talk back to her, much less force some awful position or nasty request on her.
She managed to push him away for a moment to gasp for air and say, "I know someplace better. They never lock it, some office no one ever uses."
Walter nodded, taking her up in his arms and letting her instruct him through the winding passageways. Sure enough, they came to an empty office with sealed boxes and a barren desk. It looked like years had passed since it was last used. He locked the door behind him and set her down on the heavy, wooden desk. Before she could instruct him any further, his mouth was on hers, drowning her in a forceful kiss. Cynthia tried to adjust her position into something more comfortable but every movement was forced roughly down onto the surface of the desk. Confusion began to fall over her—what happened to the gentle and timid man from before, who hardly wanted sex?
She could feel his hands on her thighs again, pushing up her skirt and guiding her legs around him. Before she could stop it, she felt a small, plastic bag drop out of her pocket. A small amount of white powder spilled out as it hit the floor. Walter stopped and looked down at it, then at her.
"Oh, good, it wasn't in my purse. Let me grab that. You want some?"
"What is it?"
"White Claudia. It's great." Cynthia grinned, picking it up and setting it someplace safe, "It's a cheap, good high. The guy who sells it to me says he gets it in—"
"Silent Hill." Walter said, knowing far more about White Claudia than he would have liked. It was often used in the rituals back at the Wish House… rituals that he had been a part of with Jimmy Stone, Toby Archbolt, and George Rosten. Rituals that he knew took place but still had no recollection of. A small amount like what he saw in her bag was enough to warrant her behavior that he had not wanted to question.
She didn't want him out of a change of heart. She was just looking for her next fix. White Claudia was a drug that made very carnal desires arise, and confused joy coat any evil.
Cynthia licked some of the white powder from her fingertip, savoring its sweet taste and the numb sensation on the tip of her tongue. He was being reminded more and more of why he hated her. He watched her take a small hit and lie back on the table with a moan. Leaning over her, his sense reason was returning, riding on the back of disgust with the woman beneath him.
Punish her, then. Make her sorry for ever drawing you near.
You were so pathetic to trust her. To even think she was going to open up to you.
"What's wrong? Ya sure ya don't want some?" Cynthia smirked, dangling the small bag between them, "Feels… feels good, really…"
Her words were becoming slower as the White Claudia started taking effect. The man above her seemed to take on a dull, grey aura.
You're so disgusting, Cynthia.
She smiled and giggled, "I want you so bad…"
You make me sick.
Cynthia reached up to pull him close and pressed her lips against his. Her tongue moved over his, and the soft moan she gave made his legs feel weak. He steadied himself over her as she unbuttoned his shirt and let it slip off his shoulders.
"Tell me you want me…" She cooed into his ear.
"…I…" Walter breathed as she began working on his belt. The butterflies in his stomach swirled wildly. His zipper was coming down and his pants soon followed. He wanted it so bad, it didn't matter if it was from her or not. She had been driving him crazy with lust after moving far too close to him, speaking sweetly and kissing him like they were lovers. His throbbing member twitched slightly as she moved her palms over it gently.
"Tell me…" Cynthia had forgotten his name and stopped herself from calling him Will… was his name Will or Wal… Wallace? She grinned and continued, "Tell me you want me."
Cynthia gave it a playful squeeze and Walter closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, "I want you."
He wanted to say far worse things, but was using the last of his will power not to lose what little control he had left.
"You sound like you want to say more." She spoke slowly, moving over to the edge of the desk, her legs spread and skirt hiked up around her waist. All that stood between them was her silk panties and his dark boxer shorts. She realized that his wrists were shaking slightly as he leaned over her.
"Come on… tell me you want to fuck me."
That's wrong. It's wrong. You're not allowed to speak so crudely. The sisters will hurt you if you say that. They'll punish you.
Walter stammered again for a moment before continuing, "…want to fuck you."
"That's more like it. Tell me everything, sweetie. I like talking dirty."
"I… T-Talking dirty?" Cynthia began to wonder if he was some kind of prudish church boy. The concept sounded foreign to him. It wasn't of course—he'd seen more than his fair share of porn and dirty magazines after he was free of the Wish House's watchful eye.
"Tell me what you want to do to me."
It would scare you, the things I want to do to you.
"Do it, please! I need to hear you tell me…" She pleaded in the most tantalizing voice.
Walter pushed her back down against the table and took a more menacing tone, as if the last threads of his patience were being cut, "What do you want me to tell you? That I want to feel your pussy? That I want to make you scream? You don't know how badly I want to make you scream."
Cynthia gave a pleasurable sigh and smiled, "Yes, make me scream…"
He would make her scream, alright. Another day, he would make her scream the way he really wanted to hear. All of the hatred he felt for her wouldn't be blinded by lust, then. A different kind of lust would lace his desire when that day came.
"Number sixteen…" He whispered aloud, "You're it."
He reached up and grabbed her panties, tearing them down her legs roughly, "Be quiet."
"I know what you are, now. You're perfect for it."
Cynthia smiled, not quite understanding what he meant, "Perfect…? That's… so sweet of you, I—"
She arched her back and cried out when he drove two fingers into her and curled them upward. She gave a deep moan when he began to rub at her most sensitive spot. Her womanhood was moist around his fingers, and it was easy to begin slipping in and out fast and gentle at first, then hard and almost as if he were trying to hurt her. Her breasts bounced beneath her tight shirt as her body recoiled under his force.
"Mm… yes, do it hard!" She parted her legs more, to give him better access. Her body was hot with need and a desire that would be insatiable for the rest of the night thanks to the White Claudia. It didn't matter—she wanted it, and she was getting it; something inside of her, pounding her mercilessly.
Cynthia wanted more, however. She wanted to feel him.
"Ahh! D-don't stop, I… Ah… Ahh!"
He never thought that he would ever feel something like this—her folds wet against his fingers, her voice crying out for him to penetrate her. There was more though, and his loins ached with need—he was going to take what he wanted. With his free hand, he pushed his boxers off, letting his member stand freely. He stroked it, savoring the minor currents of pleasure he gave himself. It would be nothing compared to what was coming.
It's so wet… I want to feel it…
He withdrew his fingers and eagerly pressed the tip of his member against her moist entrance. Cynthia fell quiet for a moment, anticipating his length dipping inside of her. With a slow thrust, he was engulfed in warm euphoria. He savored the pulsing heat for a moment before withdrawing and then sliding in again. The sensations were amazing enough for him to forget everything, even his self-control.
Walter grabbed a fistful of her blouse and tore it open. The tension was growing steadily and wonderfully, a kind of need that he had only dreamed of. She clutched at his shoulders and mewled beneath him as he took up a steady and rough rhythm.
In Cynthia's mind, the world around her was a white haze. There was cold fog all around and a shadowy figure above her with disheveled, long hair sighing with quiet moans. She looked away, her body moving against him in desire, but her mind suddenly wanting desperate escape. The only thing on her mind was reaching a pinnacle of need, but she couldn't help but imagine that the man thrusting inside of her was some kind of shadowy incubus. She felt like she was dreaming about some demon having rough sex with her.
Panic began to rise in her when she felt his teeth against her neck. He was kissing and sucking at first, all while squeezing her breasts painfully. Then she felt his teeth biting down on her flesh. Cynthia tried to jerk away, but he took a fistful of her hair and held her steady, neck-exposed.
She couldn't understand what the incubus above her was saying. Everything was becoming a blur. Bad trip… she was starting to have a bad trip…
"Don't!" She groaned, feeling him penetrating her core almost painfully, "Stop!"
The figure above her was laughing against her ear, hot air and low vibrations tickling her lobe. She felt him tugging her hair even harder. His hand moved up from her breast to her soft, slender neck. Suddenly, his grip was on her, tight, choking her. She couldn't tell how much time was passing. One moment she would open her eyes and see him just inches away from her face. Then she would squeeze her eyes shut and open them again to see him standing over her, thrusting hard and gripping her waist.
"Don't tell me to stop…" He said, his quiet voice an echoing song to her, "I've wanted this for so long."
Cynthia tried to fight back, but her body was moving against his, driven purely by lust.
"You wanted this… you wanted me…" That voice came from the shadow above her.
"Ge… get off… b… bad trip… I…"
"It's almost over…" She heard him moan, "Ah… almost… so good…"
Walter was moving harder, and her pleasure was rising to a climax that was so close she could almost feel it—a climax that she wouldn't ever reach. Why couldn't she be released from the torture? Her legs held him tightly against her body, and she heard herself moaning loudly in some kind of feverish frenzy. That incubus was crying out louder, closer to spilling his lust within her.
Before she could plead for him to stop, she heard him moan loudly and give a few final thrusts. Hot liquid was spurting inside of her. It felt amazing, just pushing her closer to the edge. He couldn't stop there, she was so close.
But he stopped. He pulled out of her slowly, still breathing heavily.
"…don't… don't stop…"
Walter looked down at the disarrayed woman without pity. The White Claudia made her crazed with lust, but it was the drug itself that made her unable to climax. What fun it was to see her pleading for him to continue, to bring her over the edge with him.
For a moment he considered staying at her side. She was having a bad trip.
She deserves it.
"Yes. She does, doesn't she?"
Walter ignored her tired and confused voice. He cleaned himself off and began to dress. It wouldn't be long before she passed out and crashed.
"What was my name?" He asked, leaning over her one last time.
"Your name…" Cynthia tiredly smiled, "Why, of course I know… ahh… your name…"
Walter had once loved the smell of her hair. A sweet blend of some melon shampoo and fruity perfume. But now she smelled like sweat, sex, and alcohol. The goddess really had crumbled. He let his lips gently press against hers—he had always wondered what it would have been like to kiss someone with love. A gentle kiss, not laced with sexual need—just a single, soft contact from he to someone he wanted to hold and need… someone who wanted him and needed him.
There was nothing.
"What was my name?" He asked again.
Cynthia tried to deepen the kiss before he pulled away. She groaned and replied, "Will. Now get back here and fuck me, damn it!"
Walter chuckled and shook his head, "…you're such a whore, Cynthia."
With that, he finished up the last buttons of his shirt and left.