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She was lost.
She was utterly, completely fucking lost.
Why had she even agreed to this? Of course, coming to an allegedly haunted town was a horrible idea. The pay was good, but her life before had been better.
Curled up in a corner of the hospital, perhaps somewhere around the western wing, Orla almost laughed.
Her shirt was in tatters. Her pants were no better, and her once immaculate hair was down and all over the place, sticking to the sweat on the nape of her neck. It wasn’t even hot in the hospital – it was actually kind of chilly – but she was sweating all the same.
Maybe it was blood. Not even her blood. But she didn’t want to check.
The obscenely large flashlight clutched in her hands was warm when she lit it, but she didn’t want to risk attracting anything to her. She wouldn’t die like Travis, with his shitty $3,000 film camera. The footage he took wouldn’t even be good. Film cameras weren’t meant to be jostled around, hoisted over his shoulder as he screamed and ran from certain death, in the shape of a man that wasn’t quite a man. Not anymore .
She could feel his blood on her, on her face, on her arms, some of it even on her chest. She didn’t want to look. She did not want to look. All she wanted to do was to get the fuck out of there.
But, through the thin walls, she could hear them.
Footsteps. Hushed voices. Male voices.
And she was a woman. Alone. In a hospital that was haunted – occupied – by things that had killed her cameraman and her friend. Things that wouldn't come to help if they heard her scream.
So she stayed put. Wedged between the wall and an old cupboard, hoping to God that the nail digging into her side wasn’t rusty.
It seemed like such a silly thing to worry about. Here she was, trapped in a hospital with monsters that shouldn’t exist, and she was worried about tetanus .
Funny.
The door opened.
Orla’s blood ran cold. She realized then that her breathing was shallow and ragged, that her lungs burned for air, and that her shivering was rattling the flashlight and making noise, so much noise , and-
“...and I told her, y’know?” A distinctly male voice tittered. “I told that bitch that- that it was just a bad idea!”
“I hear you,” another one said.
Her eyes were screwed shut. Her feet slipped on the linoleum floors, a faint squeak as she desperately pushed herself as far back as she could go between the wall and the old wood, mouthing any and all prayers she knew.
“And- And if she weren’t such a greedy little bitch,” The first man continued, their footsteps growing heavier the closer they came. “Then we wouldn’t all be in this- this fucking mess!”
“Mhm.”
Her arms ached to still their own shaking, the clunky old flashlight pressed so tight between her thighs and her chest that she could swear she felt the old metal sliding into her skin.
“Say, how'dyou think those tourists are doing?” The second man asked, and the first one cackled – a noise that was quickly muffled with a sharp slap .
“Dunno.” The first one snickered. “Hope those things got them. Less work for us.”
“This whole thing just seems like a waste of time.”
She could see their feet. She could see their feet, she could feel their steps through the floor, they were so close, she-
The steps stopped.
Her heart beat in her throat, a thrashing wild thing clawing at the back of her tongue. Nausea made her vision swirl.
The silence stretched. Her ears buzzed with such an intensity that she could have been screaming and she wouldn’t have noticed, her eyes fixated on where their muddy shoes met the dirty linoleum, more mess being added to the already dirty floors. She wondered – and it was an odd thing to wonder, at a time like this – if those floors had ever been clean. Silent Hill was a tourist attraction once, wasn’t it? She wondered if the hospital was dirty like this before. It was stupid, of course it wasn’t. But-
Something hard latched around her ankle, her vision swirling as it pulled .
She screamed. She screamed so loud her own ears rang, her legs and arms kicking out on instinct. She couldn’t even see what had grabbed her, but she swung all the same, feet and hands connecting with something.
“ Shh! Shut her up! Shut her the fuck up!”
“ Ow! ” One of them whispered. “ The fucking bitch got me!”
The other one laughed. Something hard hit the front of her head, and she heard a distinct crack as her head bounced back off the floor before her vision went all funny for a bit, her arms losing their momentum.
“Look at ‘er.” One of them chuckled. Thei faces swam in front of her, a mess of shaggy beards and large brimmed hats. “D’you think she’ll like her?”
“Dunno.” The other replied. He wore a black hat. “Better for us if she don’t.”
Both men chuckled. Her stomach churned, her scalp burning hot, her arms and legs feeling numb. She felt like she was about to throw up.
She swung again. Kicking her legs and arms with abandon, screaming with all her might, her throat raw.
A hand slapped onto her mouth, whispered threats above her, wide wild eyes occupying her vision – but she didn’t stop. She kept screaming, hands pushing at the hard chest above her, legs kicking and kicking and-
She heard the door open.
She felt the men freeze.
She heard clicking , like a thousand heels shuffling across the linoleum. The thought made her want to laugh, really.
But she screamed – again. She didn’t worry about what the fuck it was that was behind her, all she cared about was that the men would be first .
And they would.
With the way they screamed, scrambling to their feet, all wide eyes and stuttering limbs, they would.
She took the time – precious, precious time – to tilt her head back and see .
Her breath caught in her throat.
The pair of doors that were behind her, the kind that swung in and out, were entirely occupied with women in nurses outfits. But they were clearly not nurses, the things faces covered in gauzes and vinyl, some with carved smiles on. Their steps were irregular and jagged, jolting forward as if puppets on a string.
And they moved. They moved with certainty and as one towards the screaming men. At every scream, the nurses moved. At every step, they jittered and jolted, heads, backs, arms snapping this way and that.
A disturbing sight, but a morbidly interesting one.
She lay there, perfectly still on the ground. Watching.
Now, she wasn’t a particularly smart person, but she was very good with puzzles. Which, she supposed, made her quite smart. Not the kind that counted out in the real world, but was sure as hell helpful in the goddamn nightmare hospital .
Sound . They were moving to the sound .
Like a good study, she sat perfectly still. Not moving a muscle, not making a sound , even as sharp heels trampled over her arms and head, as surprisingly sturdy and strong bodies toppled over her shoulders, crashing into her front.
They all wielded weapons . Scalpels, metal bars, machetes…
Orla had nothing to fight them with, only her apparent wits. She kept quiet. Even as she heard one of the men scream, accompanied by a sick crunching and squelching and yet more screaming and yet more squelching until at last the screaming stopped.
She even remained silent as the sound stopped and the nurse – the thing dressed as a nurse – currently in the process of getting off of her, came to a halt right above her.
She wanted nothing but to scream. She wanted nothing more than to open her mouth and yell in terror, at the feeling of oddly clammy and hot skin pressing into hers.
But she didn’t. She stayed perfectly silent, doing her best to control her shaky breathing, doing her best not to shake , doing her best not to give away to the thing hovering mere inches above her – touching her – that she was very much alive .
There were so many. So many . A single noise and she was fucked .
The linoleum was cold. So cold. She could feel goosebumps spreading across her skin, her arms and up to-
The nurse twitched. She bit back a whine or a whimper – a noise that threatened to slip out as the nurse’s head snapped to the side.
She was cold. Her goosebumps felt like waves across her skin. Her every breath shook her body – and the nurse above her.
Its hand was almost uncomfortably hot around her arm, gripping her tight – she was sure that, if she lived, there would be a bruise there. It made no sense for these things to run as hot as they did. It meant that, as disturbing as it was, they were alive . They had to have a pulse in order to stay hot, right? That’s what Orla had learned in Biology, at least. Blood pumping is what keeps humans hot.
But these weren’t humans. Not anymore. Maybe once they had been – given how… endowed …
What? No. Don’t think about that.
Orla was fucking terrified. The nurse’s head twitched this way and that, the hand that wielded the deadly sharp scalpel thumping against the floor – dangerously close to Orla’s side.
Orla could only pray, really. She knew her breathing was loud, and that it was why the nurse above her moved every few moments, coming closer and moving away. But she prayed – prayed to a God that never answered her call, prayed to a God she was almost sure didn’t exist, she prayed-
Silence.
There was… Silence.
The nurse no longer moved, not even when Orla breathed.
None of them did.
It was like sitting in a hall of marble statues.
Except they all wielded weapons, and one of them was mere inches away, holding onto her arm with stone-like strength.
Orla took a deep breath. The nurse didn’t move. She raised her head as much as she could without touching the nurse – or peering up her skirt, not that Orla was looking.
The nurse was completely on top of her, limbs on either side of Orla’s body in such a way where there was absolutely no hope of escaping. Not if she wanted to remain alive. She could shuffle backwards – through the nurse’s legs – but that would entail moving the arm that the nurse was hanging onto, and would certainly lead to her death.
Every option seemed like it would lead to her death.
A heavy, sinking feeling settled in her chest, her ribs seemingly dipping under their own weight. Was it stuffy in the room all of the sudden? Maybe-
There was a loud, sharp scrape , echoing into the room from somewhere in the hospital.
All the nurses jostled . Orla held her breath, urging her muscles not to shake . She was thankful, suddenly, that it wasn’t the nurse’s head that hovered above her.
The scrape came again. The nurses shifted, groans and cracked moans reverberating in the room, making other nurses move, their heels clicking on the floor, their limbs jolting and their heads snapping from side to side until there was no more noise.
Silence. Stillness.
The nurse above her had pushed herself off Orla’s arm, her skin throbbing in pain. She hovered over Orla still, crouched like a rabid animal, ready to pounce.
Orla could move. She could shuffle out from under the nurse that she refused to look up at – she wore a skirt for fucks sake – but Orla didn’t know what that noise was. Where or what it came from. So she held still, her head pinned to the side, cheek against cold tiles, eyes focused on the dirty, bloody cream coloured heels the nurse wore.
Crash.
The nurses jolted again. The one above her stood, her heel coming down dangerously close to Orla’s face.
Scream .
The nurses moved , clambering and jolting, bumping into each other, tripping over their own feet.
The horde and its clicking and groaning moved further and further, past the doors the men had come in from, until their faint clambering was barely audible.
Orla let out a shuddering breath. She felt her vision swim as her body relaxed, limp against the dirty linoleum.
She wanted to laugh .
She would have, if she weren’t sure that those things would come back.
Now, to get out of the hospital.
Orla sat up, pushing shaky legs under her suddenly very heavy body, pushing herself up to a stand with a soft grunt .
Click. Click.
Orla felt her blood run cold. Her knees felt weak, but she dared not reach for the rickety cupboard. She swallowed hard. Closed her eyes, prayed for whatever God that was listening as she slowly – as quietly as she possibly could – turned around.
She almost screamed, biting her tongue hard enough to vaguely taste iron, her eyes prickling with unshed tears.
A nurse stood there, head tilting and twitching and limbs jerking. Just one or two feet away.
A straggler.
Orla couldn’t see any others, but any chance of running was absolutely out of the question, given how her knees threatened to buckle under her.
Her eyes darted down to the nurse’s hands. One was splayed open, fingers curled like claws. The other was curled into a fist, holding-
Nothing. Holding nothing. It clearly had once held something, and the nurse seemed convinced that it still was – fingers shifting in that way that they do when someone rolls a pen or something in their hand – but there was nothing there.
Given how her arm still throbbed, Orla had a sneaking suspicion that the nurse didn’t need a weapon to hurt her.
And, God, it was so fucking cold in that room. The nurses were so warm , and-
No. She had to get out of there. Even if it killed her, which she knew it probably would.
Orla took a step back. Her sneakers squeaked.
The nurse lumbered forward, suddenly much too close, leaning forward enough that Orla had to lean back with a gasp .
The nurse’s arms twitched, moving forward, towards-
Orla jumped to the side, with a small yelp .
The nurse moved , closed fist swinging inches away from Orla’s chest.
Orla, who slammed back against the cupboards – rickety things that rattled loud – and hissed as a hand came down against her stomach, gripping and digging into flesh, a bulbous gauze covered head leaning in close.
Orla held still – so still, so quiet – as the nurse jolted and jerked.
A distinct hiss filled Orla’s senses. Like someone trying to breathe through clenched teeth.
It was alive. It was alive and breathing and warm , clammy and sweaty.
Orla breathed shallow, as quietly as she could, looking from side to side for anything that she could use as a weapon in the barren room, arms raised awkwardly to avoid touching the thing in front of her.
The nurse’s head jerked to the side. Orla let out the smallest of whimpers, less than a moment of noise . But it was enough.
The fisted hand unfurled, gripping the side of Orla’s ribs, digging into the space between each rib ever so slightly. Orla bit her tongue, doing her best to keep in any noise, to hold her breath as the other hand…
The other hand patted her front. No, patting was too… human.
The hand pawed at her front, hooking into the holes and gashes of Orla’s shirt and pulling . It jostled all of Orla, sharp breaths sneaking past her sealed shut throat. The fabric gave way easily, tearing with a sharp rip , and with every noise the nurse only pulled more.
Orla held onto her own tongue as best she could, her whole body jostling forward, chest bumping into the nurse’s, who didn’t seem to mind, much too interested in the noise the shirt made at every pull. Orla’s eyes were wide in panic, her heart thundering so loud in her chest she was surprised it wasn’t what was making the nurse move.
The shirt ripped off her body with a loud tear, the nurse’s other hand quickly coming up to tear it further. Every rip only seemed to spur her on more, the thing so enraptured in the fabric that it didn’t notice Orla’s panicked breathing as she tried to slip past the nurse.
Tried.
At the door – Orla realized, perhaps a little too late – that another nurse was walking in, stumbling and jerking and jostling, headed towards the sounds that resonated from her kin.
Perhaps they were sisters. Created by the same twisted and evil thing.
The nurse approached the first one. This one held a metal pipe that swung at the source of the noise.
The fabric tore, but caught against the pipe, tearing it out of her grasp and sending it clattering across the floor, rolling towards Orla’s feet.
Both nurses turned to face her. For a moment – just a moment – Orla thought they would stop, until they heard their next prey.
But no. They knew she was there. They could hear the panicked, shallow breathing, the quiet chattering of her teeth in the God awful cold room.
They moved. The first nurse was quickly distracted by the fabric still caught between her hands, but the second one wasn’t.
Hands shot out, low towards where the pipe had stopped. Fingers caught on the much more purposeful rips on her pants, and Orla yelped as she was pulled forward, knocked off center violently. The nurse surged forward, pinning Orl between it and the cupboard behind her, legs awkwardly bent between the pair.
The hands kept pulling. The fabric kept tearing, the nurse retreating a step or two at every jerky pull at the fabric. It tore – what wouldn’t, under the inhuman strength the thing had – but it dragged Orla’s body along.
Orla didn’t want to think about what kind of mud and dirt and blood her panic-slicked back was gathering off the floor, but it was the only thing she could think about to keep herself sane as the nurse kept pulling, her legs now off the floor. Her weight rested entirely on her back and her neck, her hands too busy scrambling for purchase on the smooth tiles, too busy keeping herself quiet .
The fabric tore off with a loud rip, and Orla's body hit the floor with a loud smack , an accompanying grunt tearing out her throat.
The nurses paid her no mind. Orla could see that her shirt was in tatters, barely flimsy pieces of fabric hanging off the hands that pulled and clawed at it. The other nurse, however, was seemingly having the time of her life, bulbous head twitching this way and that as her hands eagerly grasped and pulled, tearing, shuddering at every noise.
Orla skittered back. Her shoes squeaked .
She reached down, ripping the offending garment off her, and gently setting them aside. No use in using a shoe against two things that tore through jeans with more ease than she could open a water bottle.
Orla stood on shaky legs, shuddering from the cold, hands wrapped around her torso as she turned towards the-
Oh. God had to be playing a cruel joke on her now .
In tottered yet another nurse, and Orla wanted to scream and cry in frustration. She only just managed to grit her teeth and shudder out a breath.
Her head turned to look at the other means of escape. Swinging doors, that made a sound loud enough to alert the nurses of her exit. Then, there was the door that the nurse was coming in from – the door that the horde of nurses had left from.
Her options were to sit there and freeze her tits off in hopes that the nurses left eventually, risk going through the loud doors, or try her chances against the horde.
She didn’t like her odds.
Slowly, painstakingly, she shuffled her way to the door, avoiding the metal bar on the floor, watching the nurses carefully as they fought over the scraps of Orla’s pants, watching the door to check for any new nurses, watching the nurses currently in the room, watching the metal bar on the floor as she finished stepping over it, watching the-
An elbow rammed into Orla’s chest. She wheezed and coughed out a breath, clutching her chest.
The nurses turned.
Orla could feel her eyes go wide, the tears once poorly contained there now freely streaming down her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed she had been crying.
The nurse – the first one, with tatters of her shirt still clinging onto her hands – was closest. Her hand reached Orla first, a harsh grip on her arm.
Orla was going to die, she realized, as her body was yanked forward with force.
She was going to die, and the only thing she could think of was how funny it was. How the nurse jostled her, pawing at her skin, hot and clammy skin against her cold one, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh and-
Catching under her bra. The nurse pulled. It snapped back against Orla’s skin.
She yelped .
The other two nurses turned completely towards them, bodies jerking as the bra snapped against her skin once more.
Orla hissed , slapping and pushing the hands away, but to no avail. They pulled again, the fabric stretching enough that Orla knew it would hurt – and she would scream, and then she was fucked.
She held the material stretched out – it snapped against her arm, but she only gritted her teeth – and her other hand moved behind her back, making quick work of the clasp.
It if was her clothing that they fucking wanted, they could have it.
The others joined, hands reaching and pawing and – oh God, the third one was still armed , and Orla suddenly found herself dodging the swinging machete.
The nurses didn’t like that.
Orla was cornered between the loud doors , and the loud cupboards .
She tore off her own bra, pulling it off with such haste that it might be confused for eagerness, letting the reaching hands pull it off her.
The nurse with the knife snatched it away from the other – the second? First? – and her machete clattered to the floor loudly.
The other two made a noise , something between a groan and a scream , lunging after the other nurse.
All Orla was focused on, however, was the large, sharp knife. On the floor. Discarded.
A knife… That could kill them. Probably. Right?
Orla didn’t have time to think it out.
She moved forward, fast and uncaring about how loud she was being, she just needed to get to the knife and there was a gap between the three that she could fit through, and she crouched and she reached forward and-
A hand slapped down against her skull, pulling her back and up.
Orla screamed .
Hands grabbed at her skin, pulling and kneading. Orla was hardly aware of her own grunts , arms flailing and batting away at hands, elbows thumping against chests and arms and-
Another nurse came in, body jerking forward slowly.
Hands squeezed her arms, lined her muscles, dragged down her shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh of her stomach.
Orla was panting .
She was going to die. She stared at the machete on the floor, its edge catching the light that came harsh from above. The handle was worn, stained deep with blood. The blade was also red, but in the way that something was when blood was wiped away, an old stain that-
The nurse that had come in stepped in front of it. Her eyes traced up a long leg, a dirty nurse outfit, deep cleavage and up to the gauzes covering her face.
This one didn’t carry anything, either.
Funny.
The hands pulled at her flesh – six pairs, now – digging into her every curve, pulling to the point of pain. Hands were on her ribs and her arms and her hips, pulling her this way and that like a ragdoll.
One pulled on her panties. They snapped against her skin.
Orla hissed .
The nurse in front of her – was it the one that had just come in? – lurched forward, her hands grasping at Orla’s neck and collarbone, at-
The hand squeezed her breast – rough, pushing in against her chest.
Orla groaned , twisting her hips and her torso this way and that, doing her best to get away from the hands that surrounded her, the hands that just wouldn’t let go.
There was a distinct tearing sound, and one pair of hands moved away, the fabric pulling tight against the inside of her thigh before snapping away entirely.
Orla kicked out a leg, screaming , striking a nurse hard, square on the hip. She stumbled back, but they all just shuffled in closer, loomed over her further. Heels clicked almost endlessly at their every move, echoing in the small room.
Hands took her thigh before she managed to pull it down, sharp and painful, pushing it up .
Orla stuttered, a half formed ‘no ’ on her lips – but these things didn’t speak. They simply grunted and groaned, drawing out hisses and shuddered breaths from the human between them, despite her best efforts to remain silent.
Hands groped her breasts, hard and unyielding, and Orla whined .
All heads jerked towards her, closer still. The nurse whose hands were still on her chest – or was it two of them? – continued, kneading her skin. Orla bit her tongue, her nostrils flared, short breaths huffing in and out of her. The nurse’s heads-
She could count… Six. No, seven. She could have sworn there were only three before.
She couldn’t move – her legs and arms were being held, and the bodies that surrounded her were a wall of hot, slick flesh that she couldn’t shove away.
A hand pawed at her cunt, and Orla gasped – not because of the unexpected touch, or the shudder that forced its way through her body – but at how wet she suddenly felt, the cold air a stark contrast against her hot core. Her leg was pushed further up, the hands on her breasts replaced every few moments, arms pushing against arms and hands, desperate for a touch of whatever forced a sound out of her. The hands wrapped around her from behind, reached in from the sides – had more nurses walked in? She couldn’t see over the heads of the ones around her – and her tits ached in the sweet pain of their desperate touches.
Orla tottered on the tip of her toe, hands latching onto a shoulder and an upper arm, hanging on for dear life as hands roamed down their length.
Another hand joined the one between her legs, dragging up her inner thigh, and Orla felt herself clench against the hand touching her, pressed so tight that she couldn’t think about anything else.
Hot hands roamed down the planes of her stomach – so many, hand over hand over hand – fingers hooking against and around the curve of her hip bone, down to the juncture of her thighs until no more hands fit upon her body, until some were forced to roam back up.
Orla could hear herself panting – and it wasn’t entirely out of fear anymore. She was fucking dripping under the hand still firmly pawing at her core, fingers just barely catching on anything sensitive, her hips jerking and bucking every time the palm of the nurse’s hand dragged against her.
She tipped her head forward, to look down at herself. Hands covered her body, every inch of her skin occupied by a different on, moving together as one, caressing her skin, crawling over each other in haste to touch her again, fingers digging into flesh and-
A hand tugged on her hair, and Orla moaned.
The grip on her hair only tightened, her head held wrenched back as it was, her mouth open. All she could see was the chest of one of the nurses – presumably the one that held her so, the one whose hands tugged on her hair and rounded her throat, her jaw.
The fingers against her cunt caught on her opening, and Orla keened , a jolt shooting up her spine.
The nurses were smart.
The one that held her head – groaning low in her throat, another noise in the symphony of cracked hums and garbled noises – moved her hands, chasing the source of the noise, pawing at her throat, her mouth.
The hands between her legs moved fast, all but trampling over each other, many more coming to aid their kin in lifting Orla’s legs off the floor, spreading them wide to give them all access to what it was that made her make more noises.
Orla didn’t have the strength to push them away.
And if she did, she wouldn’t have.
Not with how the fingers pushed their way into her, relentless in their pursuit, thrusting in.
Orla gasped through her breaths, her hips bucking against the hands. The fingers didn’t stop, moving and changing until they found just the right angle, one that had Orla’s toes curling, a constant low moan in her throat.
Her skin felt like it was on fire – her every inch stroked and kneaded and groped, her nipples throbbing under all the attention, her hair held tight and another finger pushing inside her, other hands having found the source of her heat, of her noises . Orla couldn’t think – and she wouldn’t dare to try and close her legs – so she pulled the nurses closer , her hands clawing at the things’ backs, nonsensical pleas leaving her lips, pleas she knew they couldn’t understand but that she voiced still.
Her eyes fluttered shut, hands prodding at her mouth – fingers that she was all too eager to let into her mouth, fingers that tasted foul and salty and sour, pressing down against her tongue, that pulled her lips to the side of her teeth, that traced them roughly. Hands cupped the sides of her head, more palming her forehead, pawing at her cheeks and jaw and eyes until her face was nothing but hands.
Fire burned hot in her core, leaking into her stomach and up into her chest, the fingers inside her pumping fast, curling just right. Fingertips roamed around the hand, catching against her clit every other moment, driving her insane .
She was close. She knew she was close, so fucking close , she just needed a little more, just some-
Her arm moved, thrashing against the hands that held it. Orla cried out in frustration, muffled around the fingers in her mouth. She tried to move her hips, to grind against the hands, to get any kind of friction, muscles burning. All of her thoughts had ceased to exist, the entirety of her being reduced to the infinitely building sensation deep inside her.
Fingers roamed over her clit, three at once.
Orla screamed – was it her who screamed? – as her back arched as far as it could move, the hands leaving her skin for just a moment.
The fire in her skin consumed her very being, her legs trembling with the effort to close, held open by the hands that never ceased moving.
They never ceased moving.
The fingers pulled out, and Orla whined as best she could, hips canting.
More pushed in. Two, three – four – and she screamed. Everything was still so sensitive, but it burned so good.
The fingers were still on her clit, strumming, never from the same direction, always different hands, never stopping. She tried to open her eyes, to lift her head and see , but the hands didn’t let her. The hands held her in place, in the perfect torture of-
The fingers pulled out. Orla inhaled sharply at the sudden loss, spasming around nothing-
Fingers pushed in, a different angle. A different hand. Her jaw threatened to clamp shut, but hands held it open. The fingers switched out again, curling and pumping before leaving and being replaced by more that curled and moved at a punishing pace, and Orla felt her eyes roll back.
She couldn’t speak or move or so much as think, utterly consumed by the hands and the pleasure that coursed through every fiber of her being. Another orgasm rolled through her, but they didn’t stop or slow. Her every breath left her in a moan or a whimper, her body shaking through it all.
They kept rolling over her skin, the fingers hard against her clit now, and Orla could feel how the hands struggled to keep her legs still. The ones on her breasts kneaded them tight, soothed over by gentle caresses of wandering hands that moved up to her neck, her throat. Fingers curled inside her cunt, and she could hear how wet she was, could feel it rolling down her skin and dripping off of her, could feel her wetness on the hands that moved up her thighs and over her hips, a slick trail left behind that was soon swept up by the others that followed.
Orla came again, and again they didn’t stop. The hands simply switched and drew out more molten pleasure out of her, only to switch again to do the same once more, over and over until her every thought was consumed by them, by how they moved, by how they had her.
She wanted to beg for them to stop – that it was too much, that she couldn’t take it, that her skin felt like it was on fire.
But they wouldn’t be able to understand it. Even if she could speak, and even if they did hear her, she knew they wouldn’t stop.
And, deep down, she didn’t want them to.
The hands consumed her.
And she let them.