Persephone in Winter - Chapter 9/11 - Sex Stories

Persephone in Winter - Chapter 9/11

... took him by surprise. Gone was the sultry French accent, in a split second replaced by an all too familiar voice, a voice that for years had uttered a soft goodnight from the pillow beside him. He stared in horror as the face beneath him became his wife's, hidden beneath a thick layer of black eyeliner and garish blood-red lipstick. Drained of all color, her complexion faded to a blue-white mask, a grotesque blend of clown and corpse. The warm blanket surrounding them turned cold, shaking him with violent chills. "What's wrong, Steven? Why won't you finish me? Fuck me with your big, hard cock until you make me cum for you, Steven! Empty your balls into your little whore! Don't you know it's what I need? I like it Steven! Oh God, I love it hard and nasty, Steven! I love it - I love it - I love it - I love it..." He panicked, fighting desperately to free himself from her, her legs now tightly grasping him, pulling him roughly into her with frantic, rhythmic spasms. With a sudden lurch, he broke free, rolled away from her, and landed on the floor. When he stood, she was laughing, her wide, painted mouth now almost unrecognizable, the dark eyeliner now running in long streaks over her face. "That's just like you!" she jeered. "Be a man, Steven. For once in your life, be a real man, not a god-damned pussy!" He backed away from her as the other women began to gather around them. She continued to berate him, her eyes full of venom, her legs still spread wide, flaunting the gaping, ...

... red slit that still dripped with her juices. "If you can't do me, Steven, I know someone who can! In fact, I know lots of men who can! Lots of men, Steven! Lots of men!" The echoes of her threats chased him as he turned and fled, made worse by the growing laughter of the other women. Her words formed a cadence that matched the throbbing in his head - 'lots of men, lots of men, lots of men, lots of men'. Running and stumbling in the dim light, he finally found the set of wide double doors leading back into the theater. He grabbed the handle in a panic, afraid of the worst, that it might not open. When it opened easily, he rushed through it, relieved when it silenced the horror that chased him. Now dark and empty, the cavernous theatre's musty smells and deathly silence surrounded him, the refuge mocking him with an ominous foreboding. Heavy curtains hung across the stage, the glowing footlights throwing deep shadows up along the regular folds that ran from stage to ceiling. As he felt his way forward down the incline of the aisle, unintelligible whispers broke the silence behind him, fragments of conversation dissolving so quickly that no more than a single word survived. Each time he turned to look back into the darkness, hoping, or hoping not to find the ghostly presence that spoke to him, row after row of empty seats waited as though their last audience was centuries in the past. A low railing surrounded the orchestra pit, now a deep, wide, empty hollow in the floor ahead. ...