Work Text:
Bela flung the damp towel over the dining chair's backrest, the fabric slapping against the wood with a soft thud. She stood there in her faded tank top clinging to her sweat-dampened skin and those loose shorts that rode up just enough to show the curve of her ass. Her fingers gripped the edge of the plate holding the steaming roti and aloo matar, the aroma of spiced potatoes wafting up as she lifted it. Each step toward the couch sent tremors through her thighs, the muscles quivering from the nonstop Zumba classes she'd powered through all day. "Damn, those sessions are killing it," she thought, a smirk tugging at her lips as she recalled the packed studio, bodies twisting to the beats, her Zumba center booming with new sign-ups every week. Finally, some downtime after the chaos.
She collapsed onto the couch cushions, the plate balanced in one hand, and snatched the throw blanket from the armrest to drape it across her lap. Remote in her grasp, she clicked the TV on, the screen flickering to life with that familiar glow. She thumbed through the apps, humming the catchy tune from her last class under her breath, "Ooh, la la, ooh la la," her voice low and rhythmic. Netflix passed by, then Hulu, until she landed on Amazon Prime, scrolling through the endless thumbnails of movies and shows.
Her gaze drifted past the usual rom-coms and thrillers until it snagged on the faded poster of Evil Dead—the original, 1981, that grainy cabin in the woods. A small laugh escaped her nose. Once upon a time that cover alone would have sent her diving under the bedsheet, heart hammering, night terrors guaranteed for a week. But after all that bullshit with Munjya, the possession crap in that cursed Konkan village—after the actual screaming, running, bleeding, believing—she felt nothing close to fear looking at it now. Dogs were the one thing that still turned her brave-girl act into mush, sure, but possessed trees? Please. "Come on, Bela, what’s left that can actually scare you?" she whispered to herself, rolling her eyes, and pressed play.
Tossing the remote onto the adjacent chair, it bounced once before settling. She tore into the roti, dipping pieces into the aloo matar and savoring the flavors as the movie unfolded, the group arriving at the isolated cabin in the woods. The plot built tension, but she ate steadily, lost in the escape. As she reached for the final chunk of roti, the screen showed Cheryl getting trapped by those writhing vines, one coiling around her ankle and snaking higher, disappearing under the torn skirt, and Cheryl’s scream cracked the speakers.
Bela froze mid-bite, not from the on-screen rape-y horror cliché, but because something slithered upward between her own thighs beneath the blanket. Her gaze dropped, locked on the unnatural bulge forming under the fabric, inching toward her groin like a living thing. The plate slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor with a spill of gravy, and she moved to rip the blanket away, but it was already too late. Her mouth fell open as whatever it was brushed against her pussy lips, tracing the folds of her slit.
"What the fuck is going on!" Bela yelled, legs kicking wild against the couch cushions, thighs slamming together in frantic clamps that did nothing to stop the pressure. She clawed at the blanket's edge, nails scraping fabric as she yanked upward with both hands, the throw refusing to budge like it had fused to her skin. Her hips bucked hard, trying to twist away from the insistent push between her legs, but the bulge only pressed closer. Heels of her feet skidded across the hardwood floor, searching for leverage that never came. The thing between her thighs sucked once, a hollow pull against her muff that parted her seam and tugged her swollen ridges while brushing her trimmed curls and teasing the groove of her quim.
Bela thrashed again, shoulders digging into the couch back while her fingers tore at the blanket corners, pulling until seams strained. Whatever coiled there dragged a rough, bark-like surface across her crease, dragging slow along the seam of her snatch. The texture scraped without breaking skin, scraping again higher until it circled her throbbing knot in a single rough-hewn stroke that grazed her bush and silky thatch. Her breath burst out in a sharp gasp, hips jerking upward against her will. Heels skidded uselessly again, soles chirping on polished concrete as the sucking returned, lips closing over her swells and ridges while pulling at her fuzz and curls above.
"Shit," she hissed through clenched teeth, hands abandoning the blanket to grip the couch arm instead, knuckles whitening. The tongue slithered out, ridged and dry like weathered timber, parting her muff with one broad lick from entrance to sweet spot that swept across her groove and seam. It flicked once over the pulsing knot, then twice, each stroke dragging that coarse grain across her ridges and trimmed curls. A wet schlorp sounded from beneath the blanket, obscene and close. Her thighs trembled open despite every effort to crush them shut, the tongue pushing deeper between her swells, tasting the crease of her dripping twat while brushing her silky thatch.
Bela's back arched off the cushions, a strangled squeal ripping from her throat as the tongue curled around her knot and pulled. The rough surface ground against the bundle of nerves, circling without pause, circling again until sparks shot up her spine while scraping her bush and fuzz. Another hollow glurk echoed under the fabric, like something swallowing air. She laughed once, high and broken, the sound twisting into a cry when the tongue speared straight into her quim, stretching the entrance with its thickness that spread her ridges and groove. Heels scraped the floor harder, dragging long streaks as her hips rolled forward to meet the hilted tongue against her curls above.
The tongue thrust deeper, coiling inside her ringed muscle, scraping along every ridge it found while dragging across her sweet spot and seam. It withdrew only to plunge again, fucking her with solid cram that filled her snatch completely and teased her trimmed curls. Bela's fingers clawed the couch upholstery, nails shredding threads while her legs spread wider on their own. A low, guttural moan bubbled up as the tongue twisted, grinding against her front wall in slow circles that pressed her knot and swells. The sucking returned around her stretched entrance, pulling at the rim with every withdrawal, pulling again until her juices coated the hilted tongue inside her muff.
"Goddamn," she cursed on a shaky exhale, head thrashing side to side against the cushion. The tongue speared upward, lashing her sweet spot with quick flicks that made her hips snap while flicking across her throbbing knot and groove. It licked broad paths along her inner ridges, gathering every drop of wetness before diving back inside her dripping pussy that clenched her ringed muscle and seam. From the television came a distant chainsaw rev, the mechanical growl underscoring her rising cries. Her knot throbbed untouched now, swollen and aching as the tongue fucked her harder, driving deeper with every thrust into her clenching twat while brushing her bush.
"No no—FUCK THAT HURTS!" Bela screamed, the sound cutting off sharp when teeth grazed her swollen swells, nipping hard enough to sting without piercing while catching her silky thatch. The tongue never stopped, slithering back inside her muff to lap at the ringed muscle it had just bitten and tasting her crease. Those teeth worried her ridges again, tugging one plump swell outward before releasing with a soft pop that grazed her fuzz. She squealed high, thighs quivering as the tongue returned to her knot, lapping rough circles around the nub while sweeping her trimmed curls. Another wet schlorp rose from under the blanket, louder this time, matching the wet sounds of her soaked quim.
Her hips ground upward now, chasing the tongue as it licked long stripes from asshole to sweet spot that dragged across her seam and groove. The coarse texture dragged over every inch of her snatch, scraping lightly across her bush and curls above. Bela cried out, a broken sound that melted into breathless laughter when the tongue plunged back into her twat, fucking her with rapid thrusts that stretched her ringed muscle and ridges. The sucking mouth closed over her entire crease, pulling her swells inward with vacuum force while tugging her silky thatch. Heels skidded once more across the floor, toes curling as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.
The tongue coiled around her knot again, squeezing the nub while the tip flicked rapid patterns that flicked her sweet spot and seam. It released only to spear inside her pussy, stretching the entrance wide before curling upward against her groove and trimmed curls. Bela's thighs shook uncontrollably, spreading to give the mouth better access to her dripping muff that exposed her fuzz. From the movie, a woman's terrified shriek echoed faintly, blending with Bela's own rising gasps. The tongue lapped hungrily at her ringed muscle, dragging across every sensitive spot it could reach while brushing her bush.
Bela's back bowed off the couch, a low cry tearing free as the tongue thrust deep and stayed there, grinding against her depths that pressed her sweet spot and knot. The rough surface scraped her ringed muscle in tight circles, building pressure that made her vision spark while grazing her seam and crease. Her quim clenched hard around the hilted tongue, trying to pull it deeper even as her mind reeled against her ridges. The sucking returned around her stretched entrance, tugging rhythmically with every inward push that pulled her swells. She laughed again, laughter bursting ragged from shaking ribs, hips rolling to fuck herself on the buried tongue inside her snatch.
The tongue withdrew suddenly only to lash her knot with quick, rough strokes that sent lightning through her veins while flicking her sweet spot and groove. It circled the throbbing nub, then flicked upward, then down, driving her higher across her trimmed curls and bush. Bela's fingers dug into the couch, nails leaving deep crescents as her twat fluttered emptily around her ringed muscle. The mouth sealed over her entire muff, sucking hard while the tongue speared back inside, filling her quim completely against her silky thatch. A chainsaw buzz from the television underscored her climbing cries.
Pressure snapped tight in her core, every muscle locking as the tongue fucked her faster, driving deep and withdrawing only to slam back in against her seam and ridges. Bela's thighs clamped around the bulge under the blanket, holding it in place while her hips bucked wildly over her fuzz and curls above. The rough texture scraped her ringed muscle perfectly, hitting every spot that made stars burst behind her eyes while grinding her sweet spot. Her knot pulsed against the sucking mouth, swollen and aching for release inside her crease. She cried out once more, the sound breaking into a long, shaking gasp.
Her pussy spasmed hard around the buried tongue, ringed muscle rippling in waves that pulled it deeper while clenching her groove and seam. Pleasure crashed over her in lasting swell, flooding every nerve until she shook with it against her swells and ridges. Bela came with a sharp, keening cry, hips grinding against the mouth as her snatch gushed around the rooted tongue that stretched her twat. The orgasm rolled through her in endless pulses, clenching and releasing while the tongue kept licking inside her fluttering depths against her bush. Bela squeezed her eyes shut, lips stretched in a silent wail as her thighs jerked and kicked in terror, the tongue looping and tunneling ever farther along her quivering ringed muscle.
–
Bela's eyes flew open wide, pupils blown huge in the dim glow of the television screen. She launched herself off the couch in one frantic surge, body slick with sweat that gleamed across her collarbones and soaked the tank top clinging to her breasts. The forgotten plate launched from her lap, spinning through the air before it slammed against polished concrete with a sharp clatter, gravy splattering in dark arcs as the roti fragments scattered. She landed on her bare feet, chest heaving in ragged pants, thighs trembling while beads of sweat rolled down the curve of her spine and pooled at the small of her back.
Her gaze locked on the couch, on that innocent throw blanket still draped exactly where it had been, no unnatural bulge, no movement beneath the fabric. She stared hard, breath sawing in and out, sweat dripping from her jaw to patter softly on the floor. Slowly her eyes swept the room—the half-eaten bowl of aloo matar on the coffee table, the remote on the adjacent chair, the faint steam still rising from her abandoned dinner—everything ordinary, everything quiet except for the plate that wobbled in slow circles before finally settling with a last metallic ting.
Bela swallowed thick, throat raw, and pressed a shaking palm to her sternum as if to still her hammering heart. "Just a fucked-up nightmare," she muttered under her breath, voice hoarse, trying to convince herself that the vivid filth in her head had been nothing more than Evil Dead twisting into her Munjya trauma. But the heavy, slick dampness between her thighs told a different tale—her shorts soaked through, the fabric pasted to her muff, warm wetness cooling against her skin with every tiny shift of her legs.
A sudden high, childish giggle sliced through the silence.
Bela startled hard, a sharp squeal bursting from her lips as she whipped around toward the television. On screen, Deadite Linda lounged against the cabin wall, skin ghostly white with spreading dark veins, eyes pure white, hand cupped to ear in twisted play, that high-pitched evil giggle spilling from her lips in a sound that now felt far too familiar. Bela lunged for the remote on the chair, snatched it up, thumb smashing the power button so hard the plastic creaked. The screen snapped to black, plunging the room into sudden quiet broken only by her own panting breaths.
"Stupid fucking movie," she cursed, raking nails through her damp hair and scratching hard at the back of her head, sweat flying in tiny droplets. She stood there shaking, legs apart, feeling the slow trickle of her own juices sliding down the inside of one thigh.
Unbeknownst to her, Munjya rose just enough behind the couch for his gnarled, bark-skinned face to peek over the backrest—those wide, milky eyes gleaming with sordid glee, sharp teeth bared in a silent grin. His clawed hands dug deep into the upholstery, fabric bunching under twisted fingers. Mouth and chin glistened wet, slick with her taste, strands of arousal still clinging to his jagged lips. He giggled without sound, a tremor of pure glee rippling through his withered frame, before he dipped back down out of sight, vanishing behind the couch like roots retreating into earth.