Night Terrors

A few quick things before we get into the next chapter.

It's taken me a while to get motivated to move forward with this. I had a major illness take me down for a while, but I'm now recovered...mostly. When I was well again, I checked for responses to part 1, and there were none. I had 2 chapters, this new one and the next, written up and ready to go, but no desire to take the next step. There is no payment on this site, nothing to bring people to post here except for the desire to entertain others. If it looks like there's no one interested in what you have to say, in the stories you have to tell, you're only telling them to yourself. So please, not just for me, but for any writer on this site you like, send them a line. Tell them you enjoyed what they wrote. Give them the encouragement to help them go forward. One reader, just one, contacted me about part one, and that was all it took to convince me that the story was worth pursuing farther. You could be that reader for someone else – someone who isn't sure if they're good enough or worthy enough to have their stories read.

Nifty is a tremendous site, allowing young writers who may not have a voice anywhere else, to practice their craft and have their voices heard, without having to jump through a million hoops or pay publishing fees. It gives older writers a place to post their non-conventional work that they could never get out to the general public. It gives readers a massive archive of stories with characters like them, which is still too rare in the mainstream markets. And Nifty gives it all to you for free. If you could, please consider donating to them so they can continue their great work.

As of sending this chapter in (Saturday June 29, 2019), I have this story almost completely finished in hand-written format, and am almost ready to start the transfer and revision process for all of it past chapter 3. I also have a nice start on the second story of the Night Terrors anthology: Manley Paint. The world this all takes place in is rapidly growing in my head and I can barely keep up with it. A full length novel is in the works as well, called Pickering's Island, which will take place in the mid 1800's, and is sort of an origin story for the world of the Violet Shift (I think that's what I want to call it). Night Terrors is just the scary/sexy bits of the much bigger version of our Earth.

And now, on with the show.

^^^

Night Terrors

Death Game - Part 2

I ran to the door after the initial shock of devouring Darren had worn off. The door was locked. I guess a part of me knew it would be. I was a prisoner and a murderer. On the television screen were the words PLEASE WAIT.

I wandered into the rooms bathroom and cleaned myself up, then put on my clothing. I curled up under the covers to try and comfort myself.

"Cameron," said a voice from nowhere, scaring the shit out of me. I peered around the room rapidly to find he source, finally seeing a speaker in one of the ceiling corners. "I need your help, Cameron," said the voice a second time.

"Are you the one doing this?" I asked. "Did you make the stuff that killed Darren?"

"Yes," said the voice without hesitation. "And don't think for a minute that any of this is your fault. I tricked you and the others into this. You're a victim, not a killer."

"The others? Do you mean that everyone else is going through this?" I demanded.

"Of course," was the response, lacking any emotion. "I said that half the contestants would be eliminated this round, did I not? Everyone who topped is now gone."

"You monster!" I shouted. "Why would I ever help you?"

"Let me rephrase that," the voice replied. "One of the survivors will die soon without medical attention. Are you willing to help him?"

That shook me back into reality. Despite my disgust and rage, I knew the other people in here with me were innocent. I had to help. "Yes," I replied. "What's the emergency and where."

"I'm sending something to you." A small picture of flowers on the far wall swung open, revealing a mechanical alcove. I recognized it from the hospital. This place had a pneumatic tube system, like at bank drive-throughs. Within moments, a tube landed. I rushed to it. Inside was a key with a room number, a syringe and a vial. I read the vial and I knew the problem. Taking the contents, I ran to the door, knowing it would be unlocked. It was. I sprinted down the hall to the elevator, and pressed the button inside for a floor seven stories up. When I reached the floor, I ran down the hall and quickly entered the room. I heard the door lock behind me, and wasn't at all surprised by it.

I judged the weight of the man seizing in front of me and pulled out an appropriate amount of narcan from the vial. When I was pushing the drug, I recognized Conrad James. He started coming to in moments, but he saw me and jumped, the needle coming out of his arm.

"What's going on?" he blurted.

"You overdosed," I told him. "I was reviving you."

He shook his head, then looked down at his arm. "Not me," he said. "Him. Rapist."

"The man you were with was a rapist?" I asked. Conrad nodded. "And he was on drugs?"

"Yes. Drugged me, too." It made sense. A combination of what they were both on got mixed into Conrad's system when...oh god.

"I know what happened after that," I said softly. "It happened to me too."

Conrad's expression went from fear and mistrust to concern and sorrow. "Would you mind if I finished giving you this shot to get the drugs out of your system?" I asked him. He nodded and came back to my side. I administered the last of the shot and he cleared up more.

"You too?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I liked mine, too. His name was Darren. I think it's happened or is still happening to all of the couples." Conrad jumped up and ran for the door, finding it locked. He shook it and pounded on it, but it was solid. "The host sent me the drugs and the key, telling me to save you. He locked the door behind me when I came in. I think we're stuck here until everyone is finished."

"Give me the key," he demanded. I tossed it to him, but there was no hole on this side. It wasn't a hotel room, it was a cell. "Fuck. Jonathan!" he moaned.

"Who's Jonathan?" I asked.

"The boy I met," he told me. "He was beautiful, special. I think I was falling for him."

"What collar did he have on?" I asked.

"Red," Conrad replied.

"Then he's in the same state we are right now," I concluded. "From what our host said, all the ones who topped were killed and absorbed by the bottoms. He should be safe still." Conrad slid down the door and sat on the floor with a thud. I could see tears in his eyes, and one escaped down his cheek. Was it from relief or sorrow? I had no way of knowing without asking.

"Did he say anything else?" Conrad asked.

"Sorry, no," I said. "It was an emergency situation, so it had to be brief. He was very cold, though, like he was doing all this, but not caring about the outcome."

"Do you really think Jonathan is OK?" he asked again.

"As OK as we are right now," I replied.

Jonathan and Ryan made out for a good hour before the Host spoke to them again. "I'm sending you something," he told them abruptly. The picture of flowers on the wall popped open and a bank tube landed in the slot behind it. Jonathan walked over to grab it, but was confused when he opened it. Two pairs of handcuffs were inside.

"I don't get it," he said. He looked at Ryan, who was deep in thought, looking down.

"Ryan will be cuffing you to the bed," the Host told them. "In exchange, Jonathan, both you and Conrad James will advance to the next round and can be together again."

Jonathan's heart raced. "He's ok?"

"Now he is. I needed to make sure of it, which was what kept me away so long. He is safe and waiting now. If you agree to be handcuffed, he will be waiting for the next round. If not, he will be waiting to be sent home, without your name or number, and with a pill to delete the last four hours from his memory. What do you choose?"

"The handcuffs, obviously," Jonathan replied. He lay on the bed and Ryan snapped the cuffs on his wrists. He realized his shirt was still on. "Shoot, can we get my shirt off?" he asked.

"No," Ryan said. "We don't have the keys." He slowly slid Jonathan's shirt up and pulled it behind his head, then kissed Jonathan. "Close enough?" he asked.

"Yeah, but why don't we have the keys?"

"Because he doesn't want me letting you out," Ryan said. "This is to keep you from stopping me from doing what I'm about to do." Ryan looked up and announced to the room in general, "this is it, isn't it? This is my time, like you promised?"

"Correct," the Host replied. "The enema bottle on the table contains the vore elixir. After you give it to Jonathan, take your drink. The rest will be up to you."

"Thank you," Ryan told the voice.

"I'm lost," Jonathan admitted. Ryan walked to Jonathan and leaned over to kiss him. Then he kissed a trail down Jonathan's exposed chest and stomach, opening his belt and pants as he kissed. He slid Jonathan's pants off and went to work sucking on him. Jonathan was hard, but confused.

Ryan slid off of Jonathan and went to take the bottle. He lifted Jonathan's legs and gently slid the tip inside of him, squeezing out the contents. "What is vore elixir?" Jonathan asked.

Ryan sighed. "It's going to make your ass into a living creature that will swallow me whole," Ryan said.

"Swallow you whole? Like your whole body? Won't that kill you?"

Ryan nodded. "Yes. It was my last request to a friend. I only have a few months left. I wanted to go out this way instead of wasting away in a hospital bed." Ryan took a small bottle from his pocked, unscrewed the lid, and drank it in a few gulps. "This is going to make the process as orgasmic for me as it is for you." He started to strip.

Jonathan wanted to speak, but he was stunned. "You want to get eaten alive?" Jonathan managed to ask, his voice dying away at the end. He tried to make more noise, any noise, but he had gone mute.

"Don't bother," Ryan told him. "The elixir paralyzes your vocal chords, unless there's some inhuman trauma to unlock them. They'll recover in a couple of hours, after I'm gone. I'm sure the host will send someone to release you then, as well. Your other question, though...yes. I have a kink, a particular sexual fantasy, of getting swallowed alive. It's only something you can do once. You, Jonathan, are going to be the one to make my dreams come true."

Jonathan shook his head. "Not that you really get a say in the matter any more," Ryan told him. "Keep in mind that I've only got a couple more healthy days left, and then I'll be on the fast track to organ failure and immense pain. You're going to kill me with the best orgasm of my life instead. My choice, my way. Do you understand."

Jonathan nodded, but his heart was breaking. It shouldn't be this way. Ryan shouldn't be dying, and he certainly shouldn't be wishing for death. Still, there was something to be said about dying by pleasure right before the pain could start. A warm tingling sensation radiated from his hole to fill the rest of his body. His cavity suddenly felt very hungry and his dick got rock hard, despite how sad he was feeling for Ryan. This was real!

"Is it ready?" Ryan asked. Jonathan nodded slowly. Ryan bent down to kiss him softly, sweetly. "Thank you," he breathed. "The amount of pain you're saving me from...there aren't words." As he pulled back, Jonathan could feel the tear roll down his cheek. It was Ryan's.

Ryan caressed Jonathan's inner thighs, making sure not to get too close to the ass. Ryan lay back and did the same thing with his feet. It was turning Jonathan on despite himself. Ryan's feet traveled up Jonathan's thighs until they met at his ass, the his toes touched the hole, and Jonathan felt it open to take them in. It was starting. As Ryan's feet went inside of him, the pleasure took over, making him writhe. It was the best fucking he'd ever had. Down at the other end of the bed, he could see Ryan throw his head back, breathing heavily, as his feet went all the way in and Jonathan's sphincter started traveling up his calves.

As scared as Jonathan knew he should be, seeing Ryan getting so into it eased him. The television across the room showed what was going on at different angles. It was actually making Jonathan harder watching Ryan creep farther in. His knees popping inside was like a new thrust of a lover, pounding him with passion.

Ryan put his hands down, letting them slide in with his hips. "I want to try something," he said. Jonathan wasn't sure what was going to happen until his eyes widened with pleasure. Ryan was using both hands to milk Jonathan's prostate from the inside. If he could have screamed out he would have. Jonathan was gasping for air as he felt things inside of him that shouldn't have even been possible. "I guess that worked," Ryan laughed.

"My balls and dick are about to go in," Ryan said. "Are you ready for the big one?"

Jonathan couldn't do any more than nod vigorously. Ryan bucked and squirmed inside of Jonathan, whose jaw was locked in an open position. "My dick is actually inside of yours right now," Ryan told him. "I can feel what you're feeling, and you can feel me. Jonathan felt warm and enclosed, but with his dick being squeezed and pumped inside and out. And he knew Ryan was feeling his hole being filled like it had never been filled before. Ryan screamed out. "Oh god! Yes!"

The pleasure built and expanded, as both of them could feel themselves and each other racing toward climax. Their orgasms were sending signals to each other, feeding off of each other in a feedback loop of ecstasy, growing and growing, until finally it all crescendoed with an explosion of power. As one, they both orgasmed through Jonathan's dick while their prostates were being milked. Wave after wave of cum erupted from them, shooting all over Jonathan's chest. It was the best thing he had ever felt, and it kept going! For minutes, it shot and shot, causing Jonathan to buck and squirm, coating himself and the bed with what felt like bucket-loads of cum. He could hear Ryan screaming out in pleasure, and feeling him experiencing it all with him.

And then it was over. The biggest orgasm of his entire life ebbed away, and left him with a glow, sapping all the strength from his muscles, and leaving him exhausted and satisfied. He looked at the screen to see that Ryan was gone. He looked down at his stomach, slick with semen from the both of them, as his voice came back to him. "Goodbye, Ryan, and thank you."

This time, the tear that rolled down his cheek was his own.

Conrad was now dressed again, pacing by the door, waiting for it to unlock. He wanted nothing more than to get Jonathan and get out. Cameron was sitting patiently on a chair in the corner. How was that guy so collected right now?

"Of all the ways I could have met Conrad James, getting imprisoned with him was not something that ever crossed my mind," Cam said. Conrad chuckled. At least Cam was decent company.

"Contestants," came the Host's voice over the loudspeaker, "I am about to release the locks on your rooms. Only your rooms and the paths back to the ballroom will be unlocked. There will be no punishment for trying to escape some other way, but it's not going to work." There were a couple of clicks down the hall, and Conrad could hear a few voices talking to each other as they met. Conrad and Cameron, however, were still locked in.

"Relax, Conrad," the Host said. "I'm only holding you back long enough to send you the key to Jonathan's room and his handcuffs. I figured you'd want to be the one to set him free." In moments, the flower picture popped away from the wall and a tube arrived. Inside were three keys. Conrad snatched them up and rushed out through the now open door, Cameron behind him.

They went down two floors and down a hallway. Conrad got to the right door and opened it as quickly as he could. He burst into the room, seeing Jonathan handcuffed to the bed , covered in drying cum.

"There's more cum on them than two people can produce," Cameron pointed out, as Conrad released Jonathan, who quickly embraced the celebrity.

"It's...hard to explain," Jonathan replied.

"No, it really isn't," the Host said over the speaker. "Jonathan's partner was terminally ill and his final wish was to be consumed by another man's body in a sexual way. I gave him something that would link their sexual experiences and convert some of Ryan's mass into semen. They team ejaculated Ryan all over the room. The cleaning bill is going to be astronomical, but it was worth it. You're going to find that Jonathan will be the least psychologically scarred of the men to reach round two."

"Least scarred?" Jonathan asked. "So everyone went through this?"

"Similar, but nowhere near as pleasant," the Host said. "Conrad was raped and fisted before consuming his rapist. Because of the angle the man went it, it got a bit gory. Cameron here seemed to be interested in something more with his partner. Pity. The worst one off will be the DJ. His partner was the locker room bouncer, who had been his boyfriend for five years. They had just got engaged before the bouncer went in dick first and got his body snapped in half."

Conrad's gasp said it all. That was possibly the most tragic and horrific thing he'd ever heard, yet the host talked about it like it was nothing.

"I'll give you a little time to get cleaned up. Round two will commence when you three reach the Ballroom." The speaker cut out.

"What is he?" Cameron asked. "He's certainly not human. No money is worth this."

Conrad nodded. Jonathan touched his arm, but didn't get much closer with his dripping body. "If I can leave here with you, I'll have already won," he said. Then he turned and headed for the bathroom.

Cameron eyed him, then Conrad, then walked to the door. "What is it?" Conrad asked.

"I know you like him a lot. I liked Darren a lot. It didn't keep him alive," Cameron quietly left the room as the shower turned on. His words echoed in Conrad's head.

Billy's eyes were red and raw. He'd been sobbing even after the wailing was over. Those words were still on the screen. As scary as they should have been, he didn't care. If the Host was going to kill him, at least he would be with Chris.

The light changed in the room. Billy looked to see that the picture on the TV had changed. It was now showing him the Ballroom. It had a lot of men, but nowhere near the number from before. If he were to guess, he'd say there were 63 – the survivors from round one, minus himself.

"In the next room," the Host told them, "is an elevator. It only has two buttons, up and down. If you choose down, it will take you to the underground garage, where everyone's locker boxes have been moved to. Your golden key cards will unlock the boxes, and you may go home. If you choose up, you will move to round two, where the competition will be more fierce, and way hotter. The buttons won't work if the door is open, and only one person can fit in at a time. The choice is a personal one, and no one's business but their own. There will be a delay in between each person so that anyone leaving can go in peace, unless they request to wait for someone."

Billy shook his head. The garage was near the front of the building, and they were all in the rear, about to go farther back. Down would be a trap. Of course, up was a different kind of trap: willful participation in murder. He ran to the door, but it was, of course, locked. He watched Conrad James and a small mixed twink walk into the next room, hand in hand. Cameron entered the elevator and the doors closed.

About a minute later, the Host spoke to them again. "As expected, Mr. James is requesting for Jonathan to join him below. It is your choice now, Jonathan. Go and run away with Conrad James, or go up and fight for a million dollars. Enter the elevator and choose." In moments, Jonathan was gone, having made his decision. One by one, Billy watched men enter the elevator to decide, basically, how they were going to die.

I knew there was no right answer. Up was obviously going to be bad, making us choose to kill each other. However, there was no way this monster was just going to let them walk away. I hung back from the crowd, waiting to make my decision, to figure out how I could get out of this situation. There were only a few of us left unsorted when I had a plan.

"What if we don't choose?" I asked.

"Why would you not choose?" asked the Host.

"Because you won't really let us walk away, and the garage is on the other side of the building. Down isn't freedom. But up is a death match some of us have no stomach for. There's no win here, so what if we don't choose?" I asked.

"Death," said the Host. "If no one goes to the elevator, this room will raise by one degree a minute. It won't take long to roast you to death."

Another man went to the elevator and got in. The doors closed. When they opened again, I stepped forward. "Fine," I said. "I'm dead either way. You already know I won't kill willingly, so I guess it's either down to that death or get roasted alive. Make it quick," I told him.

"Or slow and erotic," the Host said as the door closed. Something about his tone made my dick twitch. I took a deep breath, let it out, and pushed down.

The floor was gone instantly and I was falling in a tube, which gradually went diagonal and became a slide. At the end of the slide, I had slowed down enough that my feet hit the cushion gently. I was deposited into a cushioned, clear plastic box with air holes. I could see the others who had pushed down in their own boxes, including Conrad and Jonathan.

There were fewer men down here than there should have been for my liking. Were so many of them willing to kill? The man who went before me had been terrified. I thought he may have pushed up to give himself a fighting chance. I'd know soon enough if that was the case. My box was on a cart that rolled out of the way as another box took its place. No more people came down, though. I had scared them into choosing up.

Our boxes, or coffins as I now saw them, were rolled automatically down the hall, into a large open room. They were aligned into a circle.

"Obviously, this was a trap," the Host said. "The others will now be playing for which of them gets to ingest which of you. It will take a while, so I will provide you with refreshments, along with a tube to urinate in, should the need arise."

There was more room than expected inside the box, when I actually moved a bit. A figure in a black hooded robe and veil walked around, using gloved hands to put feeding tubes into the top of the coffins, and elimination tubes into a lower hole. The elimination tubes had loose rubber on the ends that could be fitted around our dicks, and we could even slide them inside our pants for privacy if we wanted.

I was seriously confused about the Host. On the one hand, he was having us kill each other, but on the other, he was keeping us comfortable and allowing us to have modesty if we wanted it. It was like he couldn't decide between bloodthirsty or courteous. I took a sip of the liquid provided. It was sweet and refreshing. Something clicked in my head.

"Guys," I called out. "Drink the liquid!"

"Why?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"Cameron, was that you?" asked Conrad.

"Yes, it's me. And you're going to want to drink the liquid because it will only result in something good," I told them. "The Host said that the deaths would be slow and erotic when I called him out on this being a trap. Whatever he's giving us, it's either going to save us or give us the best orgasms of our lives as we die. He's going through way too much effort at making us comfortable to slaughter us painfully."

"That's a stretch," called out another guy.

"I believe him," Conrad called back. "Cameron's smart. Really smart. And he wants to save people. He saved my life when he probably could have escaped."

"I think he's right," Jonathan answered. He told the story of what happened to him and Ryan. "I think the Host is getting off on pleasuring us to death. I'd rather go out in the best orgasm of my life, like Ryan, if it's at all possible. I'm drinking."

The hooded figure finished and left the room.

"Time to go," the Host told Billy. "Head down to the elevator they all used and make your choice."

"No."

"The only way you can get back at me is to win, Billy. You know that, right?"

"Why did you drag me and Chris into this? We were happy. We would still be together if you hadn't hired us."

There was a pause. "I needed help to make it look legitimate. Having a recognizable DJ made it seem real, but I also knew the DJ would have to die. I chose Chris because I knew you wouldn't want him to have to go on with you dead. You would rather suffer than to have him suffer. I am truly sorry for your loss. Your release will be soon, and pleasant. Now please go to the elevator and pick a path."

"I hate you," Billy told the Host. He got up and walked to the door.

"I know," the Host said softly to the empty room.

When Billy reached the elevator, he chose up. He didn't want to be a passive spectator in this farce. He wanted some sort of agency in his awn demise. The elevator took him up to another room, a hallway of mirrors, where the other men waited. The hallway was long and wide, with enough room for them all to congregate and talk if they wanted. Some of the guys were looking at the mirrors strangely.

"Of the 64 winners of round one, 35 of you chose to come up here, and 29 chose down," the Host said. "Some of you may have realized that down was a trap. Those 29 are now your prizes if you pass this challenge. Six of you will not pass, and will be forced to compete a second time to see who will be a champion and who will be a prize."

"Why do I look different?" asked one of the men.

"You absorbed another person," the Host told him. "His energy is now in you. You will remain in your current state until his energy is depleted. You also have a portion of his strength, beauty, charm, everything that makes him desirable. You will also notice that you have his sexual appetites as well, added to your own. Everything you lusted after remains within you, as well as everything he lusted after. None of you are strict tops or bottoms any more. The same holds true for the men downstairs. It would honestly make for a fantastic orgy if I wanted to let you all do that."

"We're going to live twice as long?" another man asked.

"Idiot," Billy said. "One person will live 128 times as long. The rest of us will be dead." That sobered the room up quickly. "And considering the average intelligence in this room, I'd say the million dollars, if it's even real, will be wasted in under a year, and the winner will spend 128 lifetimes in poverty."

"You're a bitch and a half in person, Bubbles," a guy said.

"Absorb your boyfriend of five years, seconds after proposing to him, and get back to me about being courteous," Billy said. Silence descended upon the room, and arms were around him quickly. He was too numb to cry again, so he just went slack, letting whoever was holding him support him.

"I'm so sorry," said the man who had called him a bitch.

"Why didn't you just press down, honey?" asked another man.

Billy looked up. "I want to die fighting, not passively on a slab in a basement." He stood and looked into the mirror, seeing small bits of Chris in his new body. "I'm fighting for you, Chris," he said.

"Which one was Chris?" someone asked.

"The locker room bouncer," Billy said.

"Poor thing," said someone else.

"Are we done getting to know each other?" The Host asked. "It's time for round two."

^^^

My contact email is Jaycemarvel501@gmail.com

Don't hesitate to say hi, Jayce