>You're enjoying the heat of the sun and cool sea winds near the beach when you see this girl sitting on the shore.
"The water's too fine to spend the day on the sand! Come swimming with me!" She calls out to you with a smile and a wave of her totally human hand
How do you respond?
Response: Immersion ruined. I hate the sun and the heat
Your sudden loss of immersion wakes you from your dream and you find a nightmare slowly backing away from your bedise, stammering about how perfect her illusion was. What do now?
Response: Tell her that I admit to it being perfect, but you must remember your hosts preferences or you'll have to deal with this
Then go back to sleep. Too tired to deal with a Nightmare in my house. I'll deal with it in the morning
You tell her you're too tired for this shit and go back to sleep. Thankfully your dreams are unmolested by both centaurs with a penchant for breaking and entering and that blazing orb in the sky this time. Why would anyone worship something that bakes the earth and gives you skin cancer, anyway?
Unfortunately you don't get as much sleep as you planned; you're awoken at 8 AM on a Saturday by your smoke detector. Caught completely unawares you run through the house looking for the source of the smoke, praying you can put out the fire before anything gets damaged.
Smoke is wafting from the kitchen, and you round the corner to see the nightmare apparently trying (and failing) to cook eggs in your favorite pan. The pan is burnt something fierce, though maybe not irrecoverably so. Upon seeing you the centaur again freezes.
"I-I can explain!" She stammers.
General response: mutter and go back to bed.
Know what it's entirely too early for? This shit. Bleary-eyed and unshaved you shuffle over, take the pan from her with a bit more force than needed and set it in the sink to soak. Barely sparing the horse a glance as you exit you mutter "don't burn the fuckin' house down" and pass out in bed.
Right at the crack of noon when DECENT people wake up you roll out of bed and let your stomach lead you to the kitchen. Walking past your living room you notice that the window is open and there’s a shape blocking most of the light streaming in. She’s here. Still. Whatever, you’re long past the point of panicking, you decide to ignore her for now and sate your appetite before sating your curiosity.
Sitting on your table is a saran-wrapped bowl with a sticky note atop reading “for the interesting boy.” There’s a salad inside. A salad with all sorts of fruit and stuff mixed in with bacon crumbled on top. Rabbit food this early in the morning wasn’t what you’d planned on, but it is already made…
As you contemplate what to do with this meal prepared for you by the woman that broke into your house the horse in question clops into your kitchen.
“Good morning?” she says, seeming to ask a question while greeting you.
“Morning.” Your tone is gruff, and not for no reason. The nightmare flashes you an awkward smile and sets about making a pot of coffee, then sets a steaming mug in front of you.
What do? Will you eat the food? You’ve got some Lucky Charms in the cabinet if you decide to pass and a fairly well-stocked fridge to boot so you won’t starve if you pass this up.
General response: Eat the food
You spear a forkful of salad and bring the utensil to your mouth. The salad’s like nothing you’ve ever had before: citrusy and sweet but slightly salty and savory because of the bacon. There’s no dressing, but with the fruit cocktail juice mixed with the juices from the fresh fruit there’s no need. Your next bite is far more enthusiastic and you catch the mare’s perky ears twitching as you crunch into your meal.
“So,” you begin after a few bites, “How about that explanation?”
“Ah! Well, I only eat vegetables and fish sticks normally, so eggs were a little-“
“Not the food. Who are you and why are you in my house?”
“Oh, my name’s Laura. I came to rape you in your sleep.” Wat? “Well, more like rape you in your dreams, but I guess you have to be asleep for that…” Okay, well, at least she was straight forward. That’s pretty much what you thought anyway.
“So Laury—“
“Laura.”
“So Laury, you normally sneak into people’s houses at night, try to rape them and then make them breakfast?”
“Normally I break into people’s houses at night, suck their semen and leave. You woke up though.”
“So why not skip to the leaving?”
“The sun was up by the time I thought of that.”
“And?” You ask with a cocked eyebrow. The centaur poured herself a cup of coffee and you finally take a sip of your own. Whoa. You didn’t know your cheap shit could taste like that.
“I’m afraid of heights. Only the window on the second floor is big enough for me so I snuck in that way, but I freak out when I can actually see the ground so I couldn’t get back out.”
“I have a door.” You weren’t even going to think about how she got in through that window.
“If I used that I couldn’t lock it! Anyone that wanted could walk in and do what they pleased with you!” So said the woman who broke into your house. “That, and… I wanted to talk to you.”
“About buying a security system?”
“Why’d you wake up? I mean,” the horse interrupted herself with a long yawn, then continued. “Even when people realize they’re dreaming they usually go with it. The woman I looked like wasn’t unattractive, right?”
“I was sunbathing at the beach and I hate the sun.”
“But—“
“Hate. Haaaaaaaate. Hate.”
“Why?”
“Look at me.”
“You’re pretty cute.”
“No, LOOK at me. What color am I?”
“White?”
“Like snow. Doctors say I’m practically albino; I go outside with the sun up and I come back crispier than that bacon. “
“But it’s fun to go outside. Sometimes.”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone else says too. I don’t get it.”
“That’s really—“ The horse yawns again, this time wobbling a bit too. You realize that she must not have gone to sleep at all last night and she’s practically dead on her feet—hooves, whatever. You should probably kick her out or put her to bed before she keels over. What do?
General Response: stable the horse and deal with this shit later.
You push your empty bowl away and stand up. The nightmare flinches back slightly, seemingly afraid that you’re going to hit her or something after all this time you’ve been irrationally calm. You ignore the gesture and walk past Laura, motioning for her to follow. There’s a nice thick rug in your living room, sometimes you like to lay on it and read so you’re sure it’d be okay to sleep on. You pull a few blankets out and the centaur seems to get the drift as you position them next to the couch.
“I can stay?”
“Only until the sun goes down. I mean, you’re all black you’d roast out there.”
“You really are nice~”
“Don’t rub it in. Anyway, night.”
You make to leave, but the horse catches your sleeve as you walk past.
“Hey. Want to finish?”
“Finish what?”
“Uh, the dream rape? As a favor?”
It’s hardly rape if you consent. This horse has really been a bother in the short time you’ve known her, but it’s not like it was the sexy not-kraken you’d objected to earlier.
“Fine. I don’t know how you expect me to get back to sleep when I just woke up and had a cup of coffee though.”
“I think I can handle that. Just make yourself nice and comfy, okay?”
You do, wiggling into a good position on the couch. The nightmare sits facing you, a few blankets slung over her back. She raises her hand and it glows with the light of magic.
“Hey,” you interrupt before she can do anything, “no beaches this time, okay?”
“What did you have in mind?”
Well?
General response: we want a circus and lots of "waaaaaarm."
“A circus,” you respond.
“Okay.”
“With zombies.”
“A zombie circus? How does that even—”
“You’re the dream eater thing, right? Figure it out.”
“I-I’ll do my best!” With that the centaur touches a finger to her head and you fall asleep so fast you never even feel your head hit the pillow.
There’s something inherently creepy about carnival music. The clowns were bad enough, but that music took the cake. It felt so… happy in the worst possible way, like the whole world just had a bottle of anti-depressants shoved down its throat. At least it’s quieter where you are.
Looking to the plaque at your side reveals that you’re in the entrance of the haunted house. You have no idea how you got there, but you really don’t care. You walk through the entrance and follow the path through. It’s a pathetic display really: a bunch of things on springs and some spooky music. Nothing but jump scares, really. You’re just about to give up on the place and power walk for the exit when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Nothing is supposed to touch you in these fun houses.
Oh so slowly you turn to look at the hand’s owner. It’s a human figure, but it’s hard to make out too much more than that due to the bandages and lighting. She was a woman to be sure, curvy with black hair and tanned skin.
“Ugh…” she moaned. Well, that was convincing. Thoroughly impressed, you were. Moving right along now getting out sounded like a damn good idea. Only the hand wouldn’t let go. You try to jerk away once, twice before the woman yanks you backward in a mass of flailing limbs. You hit the ground, and before you have your bearings back she’s on top of you, pinning you down with her body weight on your chest. You can feel her hands awkwardly groping for your cock, but she can’t seem to figure out pants so all she can do is rub you over your jeans.
Think! This is a mummy! How did you deal with mummies?! You only see two gaps in her bandages aside from her eyes and, making a snap decision you shove your hands into them. All you needed was a bit of skin, but the two slits are low on her chest and pushing your hands through them yields the soft but cold flesh of her breasts. She’s dead, there’s no way her skin should feel so smooth and inviting under your fingertips, but it does. You squeeze, barely managing to disregard how much you enjoy feeling her heavy handfuls push back against your fingers, but her pleasured moans can’t be ignored.
Harder. You wanted to get out of there, right? Hard nipples present themselves against your palm and you begin to tease those as you continue your assault on the undead’s beautiful tits. Just like you’d read in the books a little simple stimulation sends her over the edge, her oddly supple body clinching up and then going limp atop you as your touch on her hypersensitive skin becomes too much and she cums hard. There’s your chance! You’re halfway out from under the mummy when you hear one of the coffins on the wall creak open to reveal what you immediately recognize to be a ghoul. The noise must have excited her; her mouth hangs open and her tongue hangs down past her chin, dripping syrupy looking saliva. She looks right at you and smiles. Shit.
The ghoul is a creature of frightening beauty. Her long brown hair, pale skin, medium-sized breasts and hips to die for that would normally be enough to stop you in your tracks. As if that weren’t enough she’s naked, too; her breasts, crotch and thighs are covered in mud or some kind of body paint providing some illusion of decency, but you can still clearly see her hard nipples if you look. Even in her undead lurch there’s still a trace of seductive hip swaying, but her teeth come to sharp looking points and there’s no sign of intelligence in her eyes, only lust. All of it is directed your way.
One more shove finally gets the post-orgasmically limp mummy off of you and you’re half way to your feet again when another weight crashes into you and you go back down. The ghoul is way faster than the mummy and more coordinated to boot. Even as you struggle to crawl away she pulls you back with monstrous strength. Cold hands claw at your pants, but like the mummy the ghoul doesn’t seem to understand zippers. She claws at your denim for several seconds before getting frustrated, opening her mouth wide and tearing a chunk out of your jeans.
The entire scene seemed to unfold in slow motion as razor sharp teeth dig into the tough material of your pants scant millimeters from your twitching penis, shred the fabric and come away with a good chunk of your pants between them. You thought your dick retreated somewhere near your bladder out of survival instinct, but the ghoul fishes inside what’s left of your boxers and pulls it out.
The girl’s grimace contorts into a smile as soon as your flesh is in her hands and she gleefully pushed aside your thrashing legs to take your length between her lips. Unlike the rest of the girl her mouth is burning hot. The heat hits you like a wave, an almost unbearable warmth transmitted through impossibly viscous and slippery saliva. It’s all you can do to feebly attempt to push her head away as the pleasure of her tongue coiling around your most sensitive part makes you weak.
You don’t even notice the mummy recovering until she forces you onto your back, sits on your chest and wraps her arms around one of yours.
“Waaaaaarm,” she groans, pulling your right arm closer into her bountiful chest and beginning to grind against you. You have two dead girls assaulting you, it’s hard to move or think with the dark energy and pleasure tickling your senses, but you know you need to do something. What, though?
General response: facefuck the ghoul
That’s it. The ghoul may have your dick in its mouth caught between a set of serrated teeth and in a vacuum hard enough to make an astronaut blush, but at the same time that means you’re in the mouth of a ghoul. Deciding to ignore the mummy entirely, you reach down with your free hand and grab a fistful of silky hair. The girl below continues noisily trying to drain your balls completely heedless of your grip on her hair. Heedless, that is, until you thrust up with your hips and pound the back of her throat with your throbbing erection. You’d expected her to pull back or something when you started fucking her throat, but doing so only seems to turn her own. The undead girl moans and redoubles her efforts, somehow still managing to tease your head despite the frenzied pace your hips fall into.
You’re slamming your hips into her maw as fast as you can so you really shouldn’t be able to feel any detail, yet you still feel every bump on her tongue and every ridge on her throat. You race towards orgasm and can sense the glee in your attacker’s voice as you prepare to blow your load into the depths of her throat. Too bad that’s not in the cards.
Struggling to bring your thrashing hips back under control, at the last possible second you slip your cock from her lips and explode onto the ghoul’s face. You blast rope after rope of steaming cum onto her face. One particularly nice shot even hits her in the eye. She tries to take you back into her mouth, but between the hand gripping her hair and your wiggling hips she fails utterly.
Frustrated by the bounty on her face yet seemingly forgetting that she has hands the ghoul sits up and struggles to lick your seed off of her face, fingers clawing at empty air. That’s one down, but now what to do with the mummy?
General response: tickle fight!
The ghoul is distracted, and if your cum was as sticky as you think it was will be for a while. You shift your attention to the mummy still hugging your arm. Her elbows are raised in a way that leaves her armpits dangerously exposed from below. No way you’re passing that up. In some kind of lewd and playful pincer attack you grope the breast your right hand is being pulled into while reaching up with your left to tickle her exposed armpit. The result is a mix between the raspy moan you’d elicited before and a drunken giggle. The girl curls in around herself as you keep up your onslaught and you manage to free your right arm.
You keep tickling and manage to maneuver yourself behind her as she kneels, bowed under your skilled hands. If she’d needed to breathe there was no way she’d be able to, but she didn’t so you decide to keep going until she’s completely out of it. Again.
There’s something erotic about the mummy quivering against you, and between the feel of her skin and whatever was in the ghoul’s spit you’re at full mast again soon. Deciding to take a slight risk you slide down the bandages on her legs and slip yourself between her thighs. The mummy immediately stiffens, and though you still tickle her all of her laughs turn to moans as you thrust between her legs. Your earlier bout left her so drenched even with the bandage there to absorb her fluids her thighs are still plenty slick.
The ghoul’s spit is making you quick, but the curse on the mummy makes her even quicker. Your orgasm approaches faster than it should under the mild stimulation of her skin, but before you can think of busting a nut the woman under you has moaned out her pleasure repeatedly and gone senseless under your cock. As the freight train that is your peak approaches you indulge yourself by slipping your hands under the mummy’s bandages and kneading her fat tits as you paint her bandages a new shade of white.
God, that was something. You’re sticky, sweaty and there’s a hole in your pants, but you find yourself oddly content as you wobble to your feet and head to the door, leaving two undead girls in your wake. There’s a smile on your face as you open the door and—
Wake up.
You blink in the darkness of your living room. The soft weight atop your chest and gentle breathing tell you that Laura has fallen asleep leaning on you. That warm spot probably means she’s drooling some, too. It’s night again. The heat of the day is past so going outside should be fairly comfortable. You really need to decide what to do with this girl now; she’s nice enough, but a little weird and you still aren’t really sure what your relationship is going to be. What do?
General response: get some grub, tell the horse she doesn’t have to GTFO.
You’re hungry again. Did you really just sleep from meal to meal? It was already seven and I really didn’t feel like cooking, so eating out was the only option. Worming your way from under Laura was more difficult than you thought, but she slept like the dead so no matter how much you bumped her around she just grumbled, found another comfortable spot and started snoring again.
There was a pretty decent burger place down the street, so you walk down and order two burgers and fries. Then you remember what the horse said about only eating vegetables and fish sticks and have them change one of those burgers to a fish sandwich.
The lights are on when you make it home with the steaming bag in your hands. You expect to find Laura rooting around in the kitchen or watching TV or something, but she meets you at the door instead, wringing her hands and looking woefully uncomfortable.
“U-um,” she stutters, “I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for being a bother! Thanks a lot and I’m going to go now!” The centaur makes to walk past you, but you plant yourself in the doorway and give her your patented blank stare.
“Can I get past?”
“Nope. I just bought food, come on.” Laura looks surprised, but edges backwards as you move forward anyway. You dig into your burger while Laura nibbles at hers, peeking at you over the bun frequently.
“So I was thinking,” you begin to break the awkward silence between you, “You don’t have to leave. It… gets quiet around here.” The centaur stares at you wordlessly and you feel yourself babbling to fill the quiet. “I mean, my schedule is weird and I don’t get to talk to many people so having someone around might be nice, you know? And, uh, you’re cute too even though you did break into my house and all.”
“You’re really weird.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe that’s why you don’t hate me.”
This is a completely different girl from the one you talked to last night. She feels so much more vulnerable and withdrawn. She also seems a lot more together; did a night of sleep make that much difference to her?
More importantly than the personality shift, what was with that “you don’t hate me” thing, anyway? It’s like, sure she breaks into people’s houses and “rapes” people in their sleep, but that’s not too huge a deal. Well okay, maybe you are pretty weird; no one should react the way you did to a complete stranger in their house even if she is cute. Laura isn’t the only one that acts funny when she doesn’t get enough sleep, it seems. You decide some more probing needs to be done here.
“Why would anyone hate you?”
Laura plays with her fingers a bit, then mumbles something at the ground.
“Gonna have to run that past me again.”
“Why would anyone like a centaur? I’m too big, I smell funny, people say I’m gloomy, I don’t have any friends, my hooves scratch up the floor and even having sex with me is like doing a horse! No one even wants to be near me so it’s better if I just stay away!”
You blink at the sudden outburst, seems like it’s been a long time coming and you’ve got the feeling it’s been a long time coming.
“Uh…”
“You know,” Laura continues without prompting, her voice beginning to shake, “I can be anything any man wants in his dreams, but no one’s ever chosen a centaur. Not even once.”
Hell. You’re really not good at this sort of thing. The horse has tears in her eyes, you’ve gotta do something before she starts bawling and you REALLY don’t know what to do.
[ ]Drag her out to a date
[ ]Make an inspirational speech
[X]Hug the horse
Yeah, you’d give a terrible speech and dragging someone that weighs five times as much as you seems like a bit of a stretch so you do the next thing that comes to mind: wrap your arms around the centaur. Everyone likes hugs, right? God you hope so, if she freaks out and kicks you or something that hospital bill would have to come straight out of your fun money.
“W-what are you doing?!” Laura tries to back away, but you’re locked on tight and she’s so strong backing away just makes you slide towards her. No one but your mom has hugged you like this in ages, you kinda forgot how nice it was. So warm and soft… Really soft. Laura’s height put your head just past her chest normally, so the slight drop caused by her backstepping now lands you squarely in the center of her cleavage. Say what you want about centaurs, you could always count on them for a nice pair of tits.
Even if you ignored the all encompassing softness of the nightmare’s chest pillows she was a pretty good hug. She’d said she smelled funny earlier, but all you pick up on at the moment is the smell of salt and a hint of grass; it’s like standing on a bluff by the sea on a warm summer night. It’d be pretty much perfect if she would actually return the hug and you weren’t awkwardly dangling off her body. Of course, you like your spot so that last bit ain’t changing.
When the horse finally does decide to stop making you feel like a heel her touch is tentative. She starts with her hands behind your neck, then, seeming to decide that’s not quite right, slides them down your back to gently pull you into her. You bask in the sensation until her breathing slows, then look up at her blushing face.
“Mmf mmhr mmt?”
“Stop, that tickles!” She giggles.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, sliding up so your mouth is clear of Laura’s mounds.
“A yes to what?”
“A yes to me asking if you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah, but… why?” ‘why are you doing this’ is probably what she’s getting at.
“I dunno, it seemed like you needed it, I guess. Hugs are free, and… I wanted to. I think. Maybe.”
You’re not sure what to make of the look your guest gives you. Something between admiration and comfort you’d guess, but it could as easily be her trying to hide disgust at you being so willing to accept a burglar. At the very least she doesn’t say anything disparaging.
“I really do need to go. I have work to do.”
“On sunday? Well, whatever. Let me walk you to the door.”
The centaur clops along behind you and out of the door. You exchange goodbyes, but as she goes down the steps you feel the need to call out to Laura one last time.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
[ ] “You actually smell pretty good.”
[X] “If you wanna come back sometime my window’s open.”
[ ] “I can show you how to cook those eggs next time if you want.”