Warm Bodies (Herobrine X Entity303)

chapter 7

I stared at the ceiling as I thought of him again. The ambient humming of the hospital lights was enough to send me insane, but so deep in thought, and so disconnected from my surroundings, retreated deep into the crevices of my mind, I had found a way to escape it. My weak body shook from the cold, the IV in my arm red and irritated from my habitual scratching, my legs numb from lack of use. I thought of his voice, his lectures, his fatherly persona he seemed to take on whenever he sensed pain in me, thinking of him kept me sane. I longed to see him again, I craved his presence. It appeared I'd already gone insane.

He last visited two days ago, but with no strength nor drive to do anything outside of stare out the window, or lay on the bed, or sleep - difficult to do in a place like this - there was nothing more I could occupy my time with. Minutes stretched on, feeling like hours, with no end to this torture in sight. I prayed a hospital staff would go rogue and kill me, just for this to be over. I needed him. I wanted him, more than I'd ever wanted anything before. Herobrine had called my doctor, letting the staff know he'd be here for when I'm moved to the psychiatric ward in an hour or so, just to make sure I don't try anything.

Fuck, I needed him. Being cooped up in a blank room with nothing to do, weak and miserable and in pain, bright lights and harsh smells and the constant itching of fresh stitches beneath bandages and gauze, it all rotted the brain, ripped the soul apart, and without the motivation to fight back, one could only lay and allow oneself to be consumed by it. With no stimulation, it makes one crave things once taken for granted, anything at all, just to make up for the lack of stimulation, and it leaves one frustrated, urging and begging for anything to occupy oneself.

Unfortunately for me, with nothing on my mind except Herobrine, I found myself in a predicament, where my thoughts were filthy and vulgar and constant, but they often left me cold-turkeyed with no privacy to relieve myself. You don't tend to get much private time when you're on suicide watch.

Still, though, the thoughts were piling up, sending blood directly to my crotch, heating my pelvis with a pent-up fire that needed an out. The tension was near unbearable, my dick so hard it hurt, and I needed relief desperately. I figured, the nurses checked on me quite recently, they wouldn't have a reason to return so soon. I'd have some privacy for a short while, I think I deserved it.

Carefully, I slid my left hand under the blanket, reaching between the folds of the hospital gown to my member, hot to the touch and standing on its own. I wrapped my slender fingers around the shaft, slowly beginning to stroke all the while checking the open door to be sure nobody was there to see. My arms were weak, but if I kept a steady pace, I'd be fine. My free hand raised to my face, clenching at my mouth and stifling my breathy sighs.

Herobrine crossed my mind, and I envisioned his body, all on display for me. He'd be bloody and bruised, dripping with sweat, oozing with arousal, pounding me into the mattress of my bed with unbridled vigour. His enormous strength would terrify yet turn me on, his bulging muscles wrapping around a broad overpowering figure, his strong veiny hands pinning my face to the bed by the back of my neck. I'd bite the sheets in pain and pleasure, he'd grip onto my hip with such force it'd leave bruises in the shape of his fingers, and he'd describe to me how much he hated me as he fucked me into the early hours of the morning.

The thought of him was enough to bring me to the edge, closer and closer, my dick pulsing with desperate orgasmic need, my hand moving faster, gripping harder, biting into my knuckles to keep myself quiet, faster, just a little further...

"Ahem."

Shit. Speak of the devil.

"Well, um, it's good to see you're awake and, er... active. How are you feeling?"