| Silent Hill 2 | Chapter 5 - Monstrous Intercourse

He lay there, catching his breath, the aftershocks of his climax still rippling through him. The taste on his tongue wasn't from a kiss. It was something else – a mix of saliva and something metallic, almost bloody. A taste that both repulses and fascinates him. He opened his eyes; the flickering bulb above cast grotesque shadows, illuminating patches of crawling mildew.

The nurse was still there, perched above him. Thick, pulsing veins snaked across the distended scalp of the bulbous mass that was her head. Skin, stretched taut over the skull, had a sickly pallor. Lips were parted slightly, revealing small, pointed teeth.

She moved. Not away, but on him. With fluid grace, she shifted, straddling him. The cold, clammy touch of skin against his thighs sent shivers down his spine, tinged with carnal heat. It was the chill of the morgue meeting a fever dream. The ancient bed frame, damp and smelling of mildew, groaned under the weight.

He felt the weight settle on him, center pressing against his cock. He could feel the pulsing veins in the head, now inches from his face. He met the gaze – or rather, the empty sockets where eyes should have been – and a strange mix of fascination and terror washes over him. He sees nothing, and yet, he feels seen, as if the creature were peering into the darkest corners of his soul.

She began to move, slowly at first, a deliberate grinding motion. Teasing him, pussy hovers just above his cock. He could feel the rough texture of flesh against his skin. His hips began to move involuntarily, mirroring rhythm, begging for the contact. Pussy, slick with a viscous, almost phosphorescent fluid, began to open.

Long, pale hands, surprisingly smooth despite their clammy chill, found purchase on his chest. Touch, despite its coldness, ignites a fire within him, a perverse thrill at the unnatural contact. He could feel his penis stirring again. It was a surrender, a descent into the grotesque allure of the forbidden. His body revels in the sensation. This is wrong, so wrong, and yet… it is exhilarating.

She increased the tempo. Settled down on him, taking him deep within. He felt the cool, slick flesh of pussy envelop his cock. It was a tight fit, almost painfully so, the strange textures within gripping him like a vise, as if her corrupted flesh were trying to consume him, to absorb him into her monstrous being.

As he slid deeper, he could feel the muscles of pussy clenching around him, a strange, pulsing rhythm. A feeling unlike any he'd experienced before. The bed groaned beneath them, its creaks now louder, more insistent, a morbid heartbeat. Movements grew more confident, more demanding, hips rotating with deliberate sensuality.

As she rode him, the torn and stained remnants of a nurse's uniform, barely clinging to the grotesque curves of the body, shifted and strained. The thin fabric, ripped and frayed, offered little resistance to the monstrous changes it tried to conceal. As she moved, the black lace of a tattered bra, a jarringly seductive detail against the backdrop of decay, flashed into view as fingers traced slow, seductive circles over distended, almost pendulous breasts. God, it feels good. He felt a jolt – a tightening in his gut, a flare of heat in his groin.

A reaction he didn't understand, a visceral response to the unsettling beauty of the gesture – the contrast between the seductive curves of breasts and the monstrous reality of form, a paradox that both repulses and enthralls him. He met thrusts, his own arousal building. He felt the strange, almost alien texture of insides – a pulsating, almost prehensile grip that sends shivers down his spine. The chill of the room seemed to recede as his body heat mingled with warmth. The creaking of the bed became a continuous groan, punctuated by her ragged gasps and his own involuntary moans, a symphony of the perverse.

The metallic tang on his tongue, like rust and old pennies, mingled with the cloying sweetness of decay, a scent that clung to the nurse, to the room, to him, a constant reminder of the corruption that fueled his desire. He lost himself in the rhythm. It was just him, her, and the incessant creaking of the bed. More. Don't stop. He wondered how long they'd been like this, locked in this strange, macabre dance – a dance with the devil himself, a descent into the heart of darkness. Time seems to have no meaning here. He felt himself on the verge.

The bed screamed in protest. He felt a strange sense of merging with her. He was no longer just a passive recipient. He groaned, his body shuddering with release, the burning warmth of his semen pulsing through him. This time, the release was different. It was a surrender, a descent into the abyss of his desires.

He felt the strange texture of insides as he came, a final, shuddering release. His seed spilled into the dark abyss of pussy, a hot, thick tide that seemed to pulse and writhe within, a grotesque parody of life itself, coating him in its slick, unholy warmth. He felt the pulsing contractions of pussy as it violently contracted around him, drawing him deeper into the embrace, as if her body were trying to fuse with his. The warmth of his semen, a stark contrast to the chill of skin, filled her completely, a grotesque parody of a sacred union.

A strange feeling washed over him. It wasn't just pleasure. It was something darker. A creeping dread, a sense of violation that went beyond the physical act, a feeling that he was losing something essential, something irretrievable. He felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if he were being watched.

He saw a flash of small, pointed teeth as her lips curled back in what might have been a grimace or a smile. And then, just for a moment, he thought he saw something else – a flicker of movement in the empty sockets of her eyes, a hint of awareness, a predatory gleam.