Story: An unconventional Love

The following is a true story recanting an encounter with the supernatural by a woman who has decided to remain anonymous.

I am an ordinary twenty-four year old woman living day to day with an equally ordinary office life career. There has never been anything special about me or my life, my rare fling with charming men possibly the only highlight. It is for that reason I find myself lost and confused, confused to why someone like me average and normal in every way could be visited upon by the extraordinary.

It all began a little over a year ago when I happened across a deal of a lifetime, an old Victorian loft at a fire sale price. It was in decent condition, but the years of neglect in the absent of a tenant left natural ware and tear nothing that could not be fixed however. It had always been my dream to own a home with such elegant architecture and from both the square footage and ideal location, I did not hesitate to sign the lease.

It was a dream come true at the time though I would learn soon enough the secret that drove all others away. Perhaps two weeks after settling in I began to notice the strangeness, a feeling of not being alone. I shrugged it off as new home jitter's, but it always remained there at the back of my mind as the hairs on my neck stood on end.

Because of my heightened alertness I began to notice other things, evidence I truly wasn't alone. Items and objects throughout my house, small things like a cup or book would having moved... or a page turned. It was never enough to alarm me, but enough to draw attention and make me ask myself if that was really how I left it. For all the evidence I considered myself a rational woman, ignoring the signs of tampering, refusing to give into what I thought was baseless fear. It was probably a mistake.

It wasn't till two months after moving in that I felt real fear. Something had woken me in the night, breath on my cheek. I awoke stiff, alert, and terrified. I dared not move in fear it was a burglar or a rapist,  not wanting to show wakefulness in case it prompted action from the unknown person who hovered over me in bed.

The breath came and went, warm and scentless, without sound. I could feel whoever it was staring at me, feel their focus on me, their breath tickling all across my upper body and then.... it was gone. It was startling how sudden its absence came and despite my fears I flung myself up in bed darting my eyes about the room to locate the intruder... nothing but the dim walls of my room greeted me.

In a panic I searched my room, the wardrobe, the dresser, under my bed... there was no sign of anyone or anything. It was an impossibility given the absence of my bedroom door's groans, my bedroom door being slightly warped it was not possible to open or close without bringing screeching whimpers from its ancient hinges. With how focused I was, I could have never missed such a distinct sound in the silence.

So sure it had not been a dream I called the police expressing my belief someone had been in my home, but after a thorough search there had been no evidence, just a bad dream they assured me and left. Though at first I found anxiety from their casual dismissal of my claims, it began to sink in that yes it might have been all a dream. So when I returned to bed I reassured myself that it would not happen again... but it did.

A month later I was roused again, the breath had returned. It hovered over me as I lay prone on my back, once again petrified with fear, unable to move. I cursed myself crying internally for not being diligent and improving the security of my home, it was foolish to think the first time had all been a dream.

The breath traveled over me...

As I lay there the breath traveled, over my lips, my jaw, collarbone, and breasts. It was slow, methodical, inquisitive. I could feel their eyes staring at each part of me, searching me and for the first time I could hear it. Their breath was deep, slow, and soft.

It traveled lower then, their breath, down my body and terror of the realization twisted in my gut. The nightshirt I wore hung to midway down my thighs at the best of times, but how I lay twisted now in what was once the comfort of sleep, the shirt covered nothing especially my pantyless feminine mound.

The breath lowered, across my belly, its ticklish touch across bear skin alerting me to how exposed I was. The breath touched me then, between my thighs, licking over my innocence with its tormenting heat and remained. Whoever had trespassed into my bed it was no doubt that what this is what they desired, the part of me which made me a woman.

I cannot say how long they hovered there, their breath like a wave over my most precious pearl, but for each second it lingered my insides twisted tighter with primal fears and the smallest flutter of something that I violently refused to admit... arousal. They worshiped it, not me, but my core and it showed in the sounds of their longing panted breath. No words were needed to express the desire they held, they wished to take it, take me, and a part of me in the very back of my mind whispered shameful fantasies to allow it.

It was with an absent mind that I noticed the breaths disappearance, my eyes finally opening to discover the expected company of an empty room. My breath was weak, shuddered, and my cheeks flush with a mixture of my emotions. I cried then, my hands covering my eyes as I wept at the shame and humiliation I had just been subject to, my arousal an itch between my thighs that I was despite to ignore.

Safety...

I did not call the police that night as once more no evidence presented itself as proof of a night time visitor. Instead in the morning I called a locksmith to change the locks and to add one to my bedroom door in the hopes it would be enough to protect me, it wasn't.

I had expected the next visit not to come for awhile as the first and second had been so far between, but it came the very next night. I was caught on my stomach this time, curled under my blanket, and having learning from my mistake I now wore a proper set of pajamas, a top and bottom. This time however, the breath was not interested in my body or my innocence, but my hair.

Another first came, their touch. The visitor toyed with my hair, cherishing it, stroking it, breathing in its recently shampooed scent. Each stroke of their fingers through it tugging at my scalp speaking of gentleness and care worshiping my hair just like they had my womanhood the night before. Again a part of me knew their fixation was not for me, not the person that lay vulnerable in bed, but only my hair and its dark silken locks.

It was a surreal moment when I realized that though I was terrified, I did not feel threatened, that their interest in me felt almost innocent and not the product of a perverse deviant pleasure. It was enough to let me relax, if only enough to loosen my lungs from their stiff resistance and allow me to breath naturally. That was probably why it had been so easy for my lips to part and let a question slip out.

"Who are you?" I whispered spontaneously without the consent of my conscious mind, my blood running cold in anticipating of a response, a response that never came. The fingers had paused, the breath stilled, and all at once they had vanished. I flung myself up once more, a second since the loss of touch desperate to identify my visitor... nothing. How were they escaping my sight, it frustrated me to tears, how could they have gotten past my locked door... no answers came.

I began to wonder over the next weeks if I was going mad, was it all just nightmares or daydreams? Figments of my imagination? I did not know what was truth or a lie, nothing made sense to me. They visited again and again, nightly, addicted to my body as if it were a drug and explored every inch of it. Each time I tried to see, to steal a glimpse my visitor would retreat and vanish. At first it was for the night, but as I grew more bold so did they. They would wait till I drifted off again, till I was defenseless once more and then their breath or touch would return.

It was an insufferable madness of stimulation. It drove my body into a sweat, my breath into ragged fits, and my core into a roaring heat. They worshiped my parts, worshiped what I had, but would not take them... would not taint the purity of them with the carnal hunger I knew my visitor to possess. It was only a hunger like that which could steal my visitors caution and force them into such demanding actions.

My pajamas had long since been a nuisance to my visitor by now after so many visits, a nuisance they were no longer willing to tolerate. When the visits came again, it was not breath that woke me, but the jerkfull tugging of my cloths as they were pulled away from intimate flesh. Never removed completely, my visitor simply did what was required to expose me... so that they could relish in what was revealed.

Pajamas? I had no need...

The first time had be startlingly arousing, wakening feeling my leggings so demandingly worked down my thighs in small needy tugs. I had thought 'finally, finally I will be taken...' and lay back with baited breath anticipating the climactic moment to come. It never came as my leggings remained bunches just above my knees, waist, hips, and thighs fully and nakedly exposed. No, my visitor merely wished stare, to breath upon my womanhood once again ignoring the flush of my skin and the gleam of my shamed arousal.

The nights to follow were the same, my cloths jerked aside exposing my breasts, my legs, my arms, or back. My visitor knowing what they wanted and took it, but nothing more. It was never the all of me, only a part, only a single piece world satisfy them. I could not stand it, just one, Just one part of me? It was not fair because I had so many, so many wonderful pieces. I knew because my visitor had taught me them, taught me each and every one in exquisite detail with the countless nights they came to me.

I was frustrated, famished for attention, why my fingernails this night and not my breasts, my nipples? Why the hollow at the back of my knees instead of the hollow between my thighs? My shoulder blades and not the small of my back. Why why why!? My mind was a fever each night with desperation and longing, it was no longer my visitor that lusted, but myself.

It happened then, that night, a night when the sweet agony of my suffering ended. My visitor had chosen my womanhood once again, how many weeks had it been since the last time? To many. I lay naked my pajama's long since abandoned as I had no wish to impede my visitors explorations... no I sought only to encourage them.

Their breath burned searing my delicate flesh causing me to shudder, my thighs spread wide in offering, my womanhood belonged to them, to their worship and I had no right to refuse them it's sight. In and out their breath came, each impact upon my innocence as powerful as the merciless battering of a man's hips against mine. It was ecstasy and without thought, I touched her.

My hands, they had risen on their own guided by my passion and grasped the warm cheeks of a woman's face. We both stilled with shock, with realization that an invisible line had been crossed. Proof irrefutable proof was held in my hands, a truth that could wash away all my thoughts to insanity, but that is not what had entered my mind. No, my only thought as I felt her attempt to pull away, was to deny her the opportunity and refuse her retreat. Instead of simply holding her still I plunged her down between my thighs a sharp strangled cry of famished desire bursting from my lips as I ground my slickness against my visitors lips.

My everything...

She did not struggle against me even as I selfishly ground against her in what could only be described as a mindless rut. My hips were violent, lurching up and down painting her with my arousal, my essence, her face so painfully clutched against me that she could have suffocated. I came quickly, almost instantly, my fluids gushing from me with all the strength of my climax, my shrill scream held mute in my chest from seized lungs, back arched to the point of breaking. The very moment my breath could return I screamed my pleasure into silence of night like a vengeful demon rising from hell.

It had nearly killed me, the intensity, and when the wave of pleasure began to subsided I collapsed broken, like a marinate with cut strings. Breathing was all I could do, I could not move, could not lift even a finger as my hands and arms were like lead beside me. No longer able to grasp and imprison my visitor between my thighs. As I learned though, she had no intention of leaving them.

She tasted me, the warm soft texture of her tongue dragging over the numbness of my flushed and swollen mound. It was almost missed... but the second lick could not be. Slow and gentle she began to lick, reserved and weary as if familiarizing herself with the taste of a woman. Her hesitation did not last long before her tongue ground over my slickness, devouring it. Stimulation now so soon after such a mind shattering climax was too much, but I was powerless to stop her.

She lapped at me, my core, my thighs and I suspect her own lips as she used her palms to gather the me that I had smeared over her cheeks. As famished as I had been for pleasure, she was for my essence. When all that was readily available was expended she went to the source and my voice rose in a cry of soft protest, a cry that was ignored. Her fingers met my petals, and teased them open, her lips meeting mine, and her tongue the sweet source of nectar which she sought.

She was cruel to me then, merciless, or perhaps it was my state of sensitivity and my mind playing tricks. Regardless I could find a single hint of her past gentleness or her sweet worshiped compassion as she claimed my womanhood as hers. There was no need to restrain me, to hold me down, I was to powerless and weak to resist as her tongue sunk into depths that had not experienced real penetration since my last fling.. nearly a year before. Had I the strength I would have shoved her from me, covered by delicate over sensitive core and cowered from the prospect of future pleasures, but alas I had none.

She drank of me, my body helpless to deny her as i shuddered laying tearfully panting, my nethers trickling my sweetness into her steadily suckling lips. At this moment in time i was nothing but a meal, a feast to be greedily devoured, and it showed in the sharp purposeful darting of her terribly nimble tongue. She gave me no rest, perhaps punishment for my crime of touching her, for using her. If such was the reason then I deserved it, I deserved to have her punish me.

I do not know when she vanished in the night, but when I woke to the warm morning rays of sun I could see feel the phantom haunting of her lips as if they had just left me. Only now did I curse myself, I had held her in my hands and yet, I had never opened my eyes far too fearful that doing so would chase her away... to make her vanish from my bed... from between my thighs. It was an unthinkable thought.

The next night found me laying in bed, stripped naked and uncovered, waiting for sleep that refused to come. I longed for her visit, I lusted for it. How cruel it was that I could not meet her, not till my eyes had closed, not till my mind went blank. My emotions, my frustrations, they kept me awake laying upon my back head hanging off my bed staring at the reversed world that was my upside-down bedroom. It was then she came to me.

She appeared before me.

She appeared before me, my visitor, my lover. Like a mirage she shimmered into existence right before my eyes, crouched and naked. Her movements were distorted her leaving behind a lingering after image blurring her existence, but when she stilled she came into perfect focus... all except her eyes. It was an oddity to admit, her eyes remained masked formless and inexact, but it and did not trouble me... not even the writings upon her body could stir a shred of fear within me.

Trembling with anticipation my breath growing deep, I held out an arm reaching for my lovers touch and as her hand met mine, I was whole. There was no pause in her movements as her fingers threaded with mine, as her body crawled forth reaching the edge of my bed. I drew her head down to mine, a kiss, a soft admittance to a contact of love, to marriage, this I gave to her and this she accepted. I closed my eyes then as she crawled over me, her flesh brushing mine as she fell atop me, preyed my thighs wide, and fed upon me and this time I did the same of her.

Till this day she comes to me nightly, I know not what or who she is, but I do not care. She is my lover, my visitor, and I am her object, her fixation. She still insists on worshiping my parts, each and every one, a tireless frustration. In the end though I find my revenge, she is not the only one that can worship a person's parts, and when I worship hers my choice in parts is never innocent... much to her frustration.