Title: The Flesh
Keywords: f-solo monster rape

Chelsea shot up from her bed with a gasp.  She looked around the darkened room
with wide, panicked eyes.  Her heart pounded in her ears for what felt like
forever.

Nothing.  There was nothing in her room.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and swallowed hard a few times.  She took a
few deep breaths to calm down.  "Just a dream" she muttered to herself.  She
looked at the clock.  2:30 AM.

Rain beat against the window, and lightning flashed shadows into the room,
changing it for an instant into a place unrecognizable.

"What are you, two?  Scared of the dark too?" Chelsea muttered again.  She
pulled the covers off of herself, and sat on the edge of the bed.  Chelsea was
a young woman, or it might be more accurate to say, she would be a young woman
soon.  She was a tall, lithe girl, with the awkward proportions of a girl who
just shot up in a growth spurt, but did not yet have the curves to fill out her
frame.

She wore a tee-shirt, that used to be oversized, but now only came down as far
as her belly button.  Her panties were skimpy, much to her mother's objection.
Her mother's objections were the prime motivating factor in how Chelsea chose
to dress herself.

She got up from her bed, and wandered to the bathroom.  Flicking on the light
was blinded her for a moment.  She stood in front of the vanity until her eyes
adjusted to the painfully bright light.  She looked at herself in the mirror.
Her black hair was a mess, matted down with sweat, and flowing in every
direction but the one she wanted it to.  Remnants of makeup she failed to wash
off melted down her face.

She washed her face in cool water, and took a moment to scrub off what she had
missed when she came home.   As she pulled the comb through her hair, memories
of the previous day's activates filled her mind.  She had been at her friend's
house, with her laptop.  She was supposed to be there studying, but no one
expected them to actually be productive.

She and her friend, an older girl, spent the day looking at things they ought
not to have.  Chelsea and her friend were both interested in boys, and spent
the day looking at naked boys on the internet.  They watched them with girls,
or alone, or with other boys.  As the day went on, their taste got more
obscure.  They watched cartoons; animated porn, girls with monsters.  It was to
these videos that they started to kiss and touch each-other.

Satisfied that she was no longer a total mess, Chelsea returned to her bed, and
sat on the edge.  She hooked one hand on the back of her neck, massaging
herself.  She thought about those videos they watched, and how they were on her
laptop, just across the room.  Hundreds of them.  Her friend had copied her
entire collection onto Chelsea's computer, and Chelsea did the same for her.

"It's way too late" she groaned to herself.  The more she fought herself, the
more she thought about what she had watched.  Every thought was more vivid than
the last.  She closed her eyes, the weight of how tired she was started to take
over.  Her thoughts stuck with the animated porn, with the monsters holding the
girls, and doing all sorts of things to them.  It disgusted her.  It disgusted
her less than it aroused her.

She shook the memories of the day from her head, only to have them replaced by
memories of the terrible dream.  The more she tried not to think about the
dream, the more vivid the memories of it became.  Feelings of nightmarish
helplessness filled her again.  But there was something more.  There was a
sense of excitement.

Chelsea let out a little whimper, a sound which startled her.  She looked down,
and discovered she had unconsciously been touching herself; she rubbed her lips
through her semi-shear panties, soaking them, and moistened her fingertips.

She looked between the bed and her hand.  She reluctantly laid back down, on
her side.  Her hand was stuck firmly between her thighs, the tips of her
fingers continued to tease her young lips.  She closed her eyes.  "Happy
thoughts... Happy thoughts..." she repeated to herself, as her eyes closed.

It was pitch black.  She could not move.  She could not hear.  She could only
feel, and what she felt was clammy flesh pressed up against every inch of her
body.  She screamed, but no sound came out.  When she thrashed, the cool moist
flesh squeezed tightly around her.  The compression stopped her breathing, but
she stayed conscience.

Her mouth was forced open.  The flesh pushed itself inside her.  She bit down
on the flesh, which caused it to react; it got hot, unbearably hot.  Her jaw
released the flesh, but the heat did not subside.  The flesh pushed its way
into her throat.  She choked and gaged, but the flesh did not stop.  It thrust
in her throat.

Chelsea felt violated, but could do nothing about it.  The flesh used her
against her will.  Her violation was not over, however.  The flesh violently
pushed into her little pussy.

Chelsea could usually control her dreams when she figured out she was dreaming.
She could usually turn nightmares into pleasant dreams, or wake up.  She wanted
to wake up again, but couldn't.  This time the dream stayed.

The flesh, hot with rage, pumped into her, hurt her for its own pleasure.  It
paused to pump its hot liquid into her, then started again.  It lasted
seemingly forever, the flesh took her repeatedly, with no remorse, and no
consideration.

Chelsea convulsed in her bed.  Her fingers had worked their way into her
panties, and she had been fingering herself while she slept.  Her pussy clamped
on and soaked her fingers.  She shot up once again.

Tears rolled down her face as she sat on her bed, wet with sweat and sex.  She
panted hard for a few moments before she again threw off her covers.  This time
she stood up and turned on the overhead light.  She looked at the clock.  2:50
AM.

She cringed.  She sat down at her desk, and booted up her laptop.  After a few
minutes of checking her social sites, she navigated to her hidden folder.
Hidden by her standards.  She was eleven years old, and had a folder named "tax
returns" on her desktop.  She was fooling no one.

She selected the folder of animated porn she had scraped from the internet, and
held her finger over the 'delete' key.  She hesitated.  "Tomorrow's dreams
won't be as bad."  She thought, and closed the folder.