Slenderman’s Dark Gift

I locked my door carefully before walking into my apartment. It had been another boring day at work, and I just wanted to grab some food and zone out in front of the computer. I headed towards the kitchen.

There was something on my kitchen table, I frowned. I lived alone and I habitually cleaned up after myself. I knew there hadn’t been anything on my table when I’d left that morning. Well, maybe I had left something there and forgot?

I strolled over and saw that it was an envelope that had been neatly sliced down one short end. I never opened envelopes that way. When I picked it up to read the addressee, I gasped.

My heart thudded in my chest and terror shot through me. There, in my own handwriting, the envelope was addressed to ‘The Slenderman.’ That was all it said on the front of the envelope, “The Slenderman.” If there was an address for that particular person, I hadn’t known it when I’d addressed the letter.

The letter! With trembling fingers, I picked up the envelope again and reached inside, pulling out the letter. There it was, just as I remembered it from three months ago. Written on pink perfume scented paper in dark red ink was my darkest fantasy.

I want to be raped, The letter began. And two pages of explicit description followed.

I’d closed the fantasy up, sealed it in an envelope, and left it to sit for four days. Then, in a fit of sexual need, I’d addressed it to the boogeyman of my childhood and dropped it into a mailbox across the city from my apartment.

I’d fantasized about who would read my letter. Would some post office employee use my words for his, or her, masturbation? Would it sit, unopened, in a pile of undeliverable mail for years only to be uncovered by some future anthropologist?

Never, never, had I imagined that it would come back to me. There should have been no way for the letter to come back to me.

Abruptly, I realized that if the letter was here, then someone had put it here for me to find. Someone had been in my apartment. Someone could be here now. Someone who’d read my rape fantasy…

A spurt of wetness pulsed out of me at the thought. Had someone found it who wanted to give me that fantasy? Fear, and arousal, filled me.

Fear won. I turned and ran back to my door. I pulled off the chain and flipped the deadbolt, then the door lock. Why did I have so many locks? I turned the doorknob and pulled, but the door didn’t move.

There was something holding the door closed. I looked up and saw the long, thin, black arm of the Slenderman pressed against the top of the door. A gasp escaped me. I tried to scream, but my voice was gone.

My legs trembled and I fell to the floor. He was seven feet tall, all black and indistinct, nothing in his face but a void, just like the images on the internet showed him.

I shrank back into the door, pulling my knees up to my chest. Tears leaked from my eyes as I cowered. I’d never felt so afraid in my life. This couldn’t be real.

The Slenderman replaced each of the three locks on my door, slowly and methodically. Then, he pointed one finger towards me and crooked it upward. It was a clear command to get up.

My voice, that had left me earlier, came back. I opened my mouth and screamed. The sound was sucked up, as if into an airless void, and muted. I knew I was screaming, but there was no noise.

The Slenderman crooked his finger again and I felt myself rise. I was being controlled like a puppet. The words from my letter flared in my memory.

I want to be a puppet in the hands of my rapist. To have my body controlled and manipulated for his own sick pleasure. I want to give up all ownership of myself to him, to fulfill his desires.

Another hot pulse of arousal shot through me as I walked, no was walked by some unseen force, to my back door.

I want to be taken under the open sky, outside. I want to feel the cool breeze across my raw abraded skin. I want to be defiled in the open, not hidden away in shame.

Under the Slenderman’s control, I took off my clothes, sensually. I rubbed my hands over my breasts and nipples as I took off my shirt and bra. I pressed my fingers into my clit and vagina as I pushed down my pants and panties. Naked, I opened my back door and stepped out into the warm afternoon light.

I was easily visible to a half dozen of my neighbor’s apartments. Would they call the police? Would they save me? I hesitated on the threshold of the door, and then was inexorably pushed outside. I walked out into the middle of the grassy courtyard.

I turned and looked behind me, but the Slenderman was gone. I ran back towards the apartment but could not go more than a few steps before being pushed back by some unseen wall, like a cushion of air. I reached out and felt at the presence, walking along it. I was confined to a circle in the grass, I found, about eight foot in diameter.

I was naked and exposed in the bright light of day. I looked around to my neighbors’ apartments and saw a figure standing in a window. I waved and screamed, but then recoiled as I recognized the figure of the Slenderman.

He disappeared from the window, and a couple minutes later, my neighbor, Mr. Hartman, stepped outside his door. He walked with odd jerky movements as if in a trance. Mr. Hartman was thirty or forty years older than me. He was fat and gray haired and always mean.

I imagine my fat old neighbor who always yells at me as my rapist. He comes to complain about where I’ve parked my car, or how loud I play my music. He finds me outside and lets his anger consume him, taking it out on me.

Mr. Hartman was angry now. His face was red and pulsing, spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth as he raged. But there was no sound. I stared at him, wetness pooling in my crotch. The Slenderman was giving me a gift, I realized. I was to be given exactly what I’d wanted.

I closed my eyes as I remembered everything I’d written. This was going to hurt; this was going to be terrible. Tears leaked from my eyes even as my nipples hardened.

Be careful what you wish for, I thought to myself ironically.

Mr. Hartman was pushed inside my circle and suddenly I could hear him.

“You fucking demon scum! I’m going to rip your entrails from your goddamn shadow slim body and use them to strangle you! Fight like a fucking man, you fucking coward!”

Finding himself in control of his body again, Mr. Hartman threw himself back towards his apartment and bounded off the invisible wall. He beat his powerful fists into the air and kicked it. Frustrated, he turned around, and that’s when he saw me.

I was cowering against the far end of the circle, in awe of his magnificent rage. As he ran his eyes down my naked body, I shivered with arousal. My clit pulsed helplessly.

Would the Slenderman come and make him do as I’d written, or was he acting on his own will now? Would he be bound by the rules of my fantasy or was he free to use me for only his own ends – just as I’d written that I wanted. But now, faced with the reality of his intense anger and powerful body, fear filled me.

“What the fuck is going on, you fucking whore bitch? Where’s your fucking clothes, slut?” Mr. Hartman screamed as he walked towards me.

I shook my head, too scared to talk. He reached out and grabbed my hair, shaking my head roughly, “Well? Are you some kind of fucking witch, summoning that prick ass demon?”

I cried, pitifully. “No… No!”

My neighbor spat in my face, “no? You expect me to believe that some dickless demon just ejected me from my apartment and puppet walked me outside, and here you are, naked and nipples hard as fuck, and you have nothing to do with it?”

He stuck his hand in my pussy, dragging his fingers through my folds.

“Fucking wet too, aren’t you bitch?” My neighbor’s expression lost some it’s anger and a new gleam shown in his eyes.

“Heh, your demon has no fucking cock, and you need one don’t you bitch? You need to feel a man in you, don’t you? I know you haven’t had any man over since you moved in here last year… You need it so bad you raised a demon, and he can’t please you, hmm?”

I shook my head wildly, “no… No, it isn’t like that Mr. Hartman.”

He grabbed my boob in his hand and squeezed it. For a fat old man, his grip strength was incredible. I whimpered at the pain, but I couldn’t hide how it turned me on. My neighbor laughed.

“Fucking cock tease whore. I wondered why that god forsaken shadow demon shoved a thrice damned Viagra down my throat, and now I guess I know. Too bad for you I hate fucking being manipulated, so if you imagined some nice fuck in the grass, too fucking bad.”

“That’s not what I want,” I admitted, pushing my bruised breast forward into his hand with helpless arousal.

Mr. Hartman narrowed his eyes and pinched my nipple roughly. Lazily, he slapped his hand across my face. The hit stung and I could feel the flow of blood to my face.

“Beg for it, then. Bitch.”

I sank to my knees, hating how much I wanted this, how aroused it made me feel to beg to be raped.

“Please, Mr. Hartman. Please do whatever you want to me. Please mm-make me your bitch.” My voice trembled as I forced out the words.

Mr. Hartman looked down at me with disgust in his eyes. He spit on me again, the wet glob landed on my cheek.

I want my rapist to spit on me, to pull my hair and degrade me. I want him to make me beg for the humiliation. I want to be recognized for the degraded whore I am.

Feeling sick, afraid, and intensely aroused, I used a finger to push the glob of old man spittle to my lips and then I licked it into my mouth, staring at Mr. Hartman as I did it.

“Use me like a filthy whore,” I said, “please.”

Behind Mr. Hartman I could see the tall slim figure of the Slenderman, just outside our circle. He stood, silent and implacable, and watched as I embraced his gift.

Mr. Hartman looked at me thoughtfully, then unbuckled his belt slowly.

“Stand up, spread your legs, and put your hands behind your neck.” He said in a cold voice.

I did as he commanded, fear burning a pit in my stomach. But the adrenalin aroused me too.

I want him to take his belt to me, like a misbehaving child. I want him to beat me until I am bloody and sore and too weak to do anything to resist him as he fucks me.

I gasped at the first stroke of Mr. Hartman’s belt. The pain was worse than I’d imagined it would be. I knew it would be worse. But, in the privacy of my own mind, it had been safe to imagine it. I’d never expected that the act of writing down my fantasy could have the power to make it real.

Another slap of the belt against my back, hard enough to make me rock forward and stumble to my knees.

“Fucking weak bitch, stand up and take it! A little belting never hurt anyone, not so much to matter anyway.”

I wondered if Mr. Hartman had been belted as a child. I could be strong, I told myself. My own parents had been kind and loving and never hit me. I had never been beaten like this, and I’d not known what to imagine, when I’d dreamed of it. This pain was so intense. And for some reason, I didn’t want to fall again, to disappoint the hard, cruel, Mr. Hartman.

He beat my back mercilessly. I managed to keep myself standing, at first. Then, I’d lost control, but I hadn’t fallen, not this time. The Slenderman kept me still, his puppet once again.

Mr. Hartman lectured me as he struck. “Fucking clean your porch, you lazy bitch. Do you think you live in a fucking trailer park where no one fucking cares? Stop buying the newspaper if you aren’t going to collect it! Don’t put liquids in your fucking trash bags and drip it across the sidewalk when you take out your trash! Stupid whore cunt.”

Mr. Hartman moved on, hitting my ass and my legs, the shifting around to my front to beat my breasts and pussy.

“Close your motherfucking curtains when you change clothes! You know I can see you fucking masturbate before bed every fucking evening, like fucking clockwork. You’re nothing but a needy whore, a disgusting slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Hartman,” I agreed, crying. I craved his belt now. The pain was so intense, but each new hit seemed to push my arousal further and further.

Mr. Hartman dropped his belt, having worked out some of his months of built-up anger over my failings as a neighbor. My whole body was on fire with pain and my clit pulsed with need.

“Please, Mr. Hartman,” I begged, crying in shame.

“Please?” He mocked me. “Please, Mr. Hartman? You want more, whore?”

He grabbed my chin and pulled my face up, then kissed me, shoving his tongue into my mouth roughly. His fat stomach pressed into me. I unclasped my hands from behind my neck, now able to move again, and wrapped them around Mr. Hartman’s chest, falling into him weakly. His t-shirt rubbed against my bruised chest and breasts.

“Don’t touch me, bitch.” Mr. Hartman growled as he squeezed my throat, cutting off my air. I let my hands drop and I hung in his strong grip, choking.

Mr. Hartman’s grip loosened, and I fell to my knees in front of him.

“Hand me my belt.” He said.

I groped around me, trying to find the belt through my tears. Frustrated by my slow speed, Mr. Hartman kicked me in the ass. I fell down and had to struggle to get up again. There was his belt. I grasped it and held it up to Mr. Hartman, whimpering.

I wasn’t feeling aroused now. Now, I just hurt. I felt humiliated and degraded and in pain. This had been so different when I’d imagined it, written it out. I’d imagined that the pain would always add to my pleasure, and never take it away. I’d imagined that I’d be given only so much as I could take.

I turned my head towards the Slenderman, who still watched, mute and implacable. Was he doing this to show me that I didn’t want this? To show me how wrong I’d been?

“Please?” I begged him.

Mr. Hartman laughed. “Your demon doesn’t seem to want to save you, does he? Maybe you don’t control him after all, do you? Just like you don’t control me, you cunt bitch.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, then turned me around and used his belt to bind my wrists behind my back.

“Ah, now that Viagra’s working…” Mr. Hartman sighed with satisfaction as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his hard penis.

It was bigger than any I’d seen before. I could not believe my fat old neighbor was hiding such a monstrosity in his pants. His cock was even bigger than my dildo. At least, I consoled myself, it looked clean. Was it because I’d specified in my letter that my rapist’s cock would be clean when I was forced to suck it, or was Mr. Hartman just a clean man? He was fastidious in his care of his home.

“Here now, cocksucking whore. Open up.” Mr. Hartman said crudely as he shook his dick at me.

I cried as he shoved his cock into my lips. My mouth opened wider than I believe possible, stretched by the Slenderman’s magic, and Mr. Hartman thrust his penis inside. He grabbed the back of my head with both hands and slammed me into his pelvis, ignoring the scrape of my teeth against his massive girth.

I gagged as his penis hit the back of my throat and tried to get away. But Mr. Hartman was either much stronger than he looked, or the Slenderman held me in place for him. Shamefully, my clit stirred to life again under this sexual abuse.

My jaw ached as Mr. Hartman slid his cock in and out of my mouth. With every thrust, my face pressed into his fat stomach. I was thankful for his obesity; without it he would have been able to thrust much deeper and throat fuck me. This way, he just hit the back of my throat before I bounced off his fat.

I had no concept of time, of how long I was rebounded off Mr. Hartman’s stomach and back again with his giant cock stretching my mouth. But, with each thrust my clit pulsed and my vagina got wetter. Would he fuck me with this big dick, or would he deny me that pleasure? It was so sick that I even wanted it. Thinking about the debauchery of my desire aroused me further.

Finally, Mr. Hartman groaned and pushed me off him. His hot cum spurt across my face. I licked my lip and tasted his ejaculate, creamy and nutty. Feeling dazed and inexplicably aroused, I moaned.

“Fucking whore,” Mr. Hartman grunted and slapped my face.

He grabbed my hair and pulled me towards his apartment, across the street. The barrier that had imprisoned us fizzled away. I stumbled after my neighbor; my arms still bound behind my back.

Some part of my mind that was still grounded in reality wondered how none of my other neighbors had seen this, had called the police, had tried to intervene. I looked around the apartment complex but didn’t see any signs of any other people around.

There was only the Slenderman, watching as I was dragged into Mr. Hartman’s apartment. This was all his doing. Were my neighbors frozen in their apartments? Were they unable to get home? How far did the Slenderman’s magic reach?

Mr. Hartman pulled me down the hallway of his apartment and threw me into a bathroom. He turned on the shower, took his belt off my arms, and pushed me inside. The warm water pounded into my bruised flesh, stinging and painful.

The shower had one of those heads that you could pull off the handle and use to wash anywhere. I grabbed it and sank down into the tub, too tired to stand. I directed the spray of water at my pulsing clit, crying with shame at my intense need to orgasm.

I moaned as the pleasure built. I was so close, so close to release, and then the water turned off. I opened my eyes and stared at the angry face of Mr. Hartman.

“You don’t get to cum, bitch. You wanted to control me, you had your demon drug and kidnap me. Well, now I’m in control.”

I closed my eyes and cried as I remembered the words, I’d written months ago.

I want him to use me, to abuse me, until my arousal is so great that I would do anything to cum. And then I want him to deny me. To keep me from pleasuring myself, to control even that part of me.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hartman,” I said, not sure what I was sorry for.

He took a towel and wet it from the bathroom sink.

“Clean your face,” he growled at me.

I carefully wiped his cum from my face. I ached to touch myself, to pinch my nipple, to rub my clit, but I didn’t dare. Not under Mr. Hartman’s stern gaze.

When I was done, he grabbed me by my hair again and dragged me into his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, that I’d seen as he’d let me through it, this place was spotlessly clean.

He opened up a drawer in his dresser and pulled out some ties. He used one to gag me, one to bind my wrists behind my back again, and he tied one around my neck. Grabbing the tie around my neck, he led me to the middle of his room.

Mr. Hartman sat down on the edge of his bed, sighed deeply, then lay down on his back. He pulled his cock out of his pants again. It was still hard and sticking straight up.

“Sit on my cock and ride, bitch.” He commanded.

“I’m not on birth control,” I said, some part of my mind recalling that seemingly important fact.

I’m not on birth control because it messes with my hormones. I tell my rapist that, hoping to discourage him from cumming in me, but he doesn’t care. The idea that I could get pregnant with his baby, the risk of it, makes the degradation so much worse, and better.

“I don’t fucking care,” Mr. Hartman said callously. “Get up here and fuck like the whore you are.”

I struggled to get on the bed with my arms tied up and straddled him. I sank my pussy down over his too big cock slowly, letting my vagina stretch to fit him.

“Faster, bitch,” Mr. Hartman yelled and pulled the tie around my neck, strangling me.

I slammed down into him. Although my pussy was wet and pulsing, it hurt to have him inside me. He was too much, too fast.

“Now fuck. I’m too fucking old to rape you properly, so you’re going to have to do it yourself, bitch. I know you can.” He jerked on the tie around my neck, and I fell forward, my breasts smashing into him.