Hauntingly

Stories of Death

Torment. Sheer torment.

Meerab lay engulfed in a tempest of restlessness in her bed later that night. She was tossing and turning, her body filled to the brim with agitation. The fervent thrumming in between her legs started up again as the memory of Murtasim’s haunting touch, so close to her nether region, clawed its way into her thoughts. Her breaths were heavy and her body was flushed and heated. She quivered with illicit excitement, as she imagined what it would’ve felt like if Murtasim had actually dipped his fingers lower.

This time he’d been gentler with his touch. Meerab had never had a second thought about his grip on her neck the very first time he touched her. But this time was different. He’d been tantalising on purpose, playing with her stomach only, and leaving much to her imagination. Meerab couldn’t ignore the callousness of Murtasim’s finger pads this time. Her mind’s eye kept replaying the scene of the gazebo.

Closing her eyes tight, she tried to force herself to sleep. Meerab clutched onto her pillow, playing with its fibres in the hopes of distracting her mind, but even the slightest, softest caress of the sheets against her body made Meerab wonder what it would feel like if it was Murtasim’s hand caressing her body instead. Her thighs clenched involuntarily at the shameful thought.

Huffing in frustration, Meerab pushed her quilt cover down to her waist. She placed a hand on her left breast and pressed down, trying to emulate the same squeezing action Murtasim had done on it when he first brought her to his house. It didn’t work. Meerab slipped her hand inside the silken top portion of her night dress and pulled her breast out, causing a strap of her dress to fall off her shoulder. She squeezed the mass of her breast again. She rolled her nipple between her fingers. Nothing.

Meerab squeezed her legs together, then she whimpered in frustration and gave up. She went back to clutching the fibres of her pillow case, rolling the frilly edges between her fingers, hoping to stop her traitorous fingers from touching herself down there. But when she secured control of her fingers, her legs started acting out of control, pushing her quilt in between her thighs to provide friction. Meerab clenched her swollen, needy self around the quilt. Yet again, it didn’t work.

She started crying. Silent tears of sheer frustration and self loathing slipped down her face. After many tumultuous, failed attempts to try to ebb her agony, exhaustion took over Meerab and she fell into slumber. Her rustled quilt lay partially folded between her legs and partially hanging off, her breast was still uncovered and her limbs lay twisted up in the yearning of something wrong.

Hours passed. Meerab’s room was shrouded in deep darkness. She was in the midst of snoring softly, lost in tranquil sleep, when a creak sounded throughout it, disrupting the silence of the night. It came from the bedroom door.

Murtasim loomed out of the darkness of the room. He took a silent step forward, moving towards Meerab with a fluidity that was reminiscent of smooth, rippling water. He slowly crept closer, his feet barely making noise on the floor.

He watched as the moonlight flitted across Meerab’s face from a slit in the curtains beautifully. As he moved even closer, slowly and tentatively, his eyes caught sight of Meerab’s exposed, naked breast. A low groan rumbled in his chest. He smirked at the image in front of him and licked his lips. Then he dragged his tongue over his upper teeth. Blood rushed to his groin, igniting his cock and bringing it to life.

“Well, well, well,” Murtasim whispered.

A soft breath escaped him. He’d been desperate to see the effect of his gentler, more seductive touch on her. Hence why he came to check in on her. He’d planted his feather-like caress on her stomach for a reason. But the sight that met him was beyond his own expectations. Watching her now, with the evidence clear of her trying to play with herself before she fell asleep, proved how much his touch affected her.