Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Hot chicks and Tinder... what could possibly go wrong?

Episode Date: May 28, 2021

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Talk to nicely. I'm an average guy with average looks. I stay in my league until I met Tiffany. I was at the big fish, my watering hole of choice. The only women who drink at the big fish are those who need to watch their pennies, or those who've wandered in by mistake. Sometimes a beautiful woman might come through the door, but she's invariably linked to some guy's elbow.

Tiffany was a different species of woman altogether. Gorgeous, breathtaking, world-changing. She came in with a gust of autumn wind that hiked up her little black dress, showing off her slim figure. Her body was made of such exaggerated curves. She appeared like something from a Hollywood movie. She had dark Mediterranean features with a supple olive complexion and long dark curls that I envisioned on my bare skin. My imagination was working at full thrust, picturing our bodies coming in sweaty ways. Her eyes met mine.

She must have recognized my expression of dreamy ecstasy. She hips wade my way, sending me into an out-of-body experience. I suddenly saw myself as a bystander, like the rest of the big fish, watching, with disbelieving eyes as a sexual goddess walked over to an ordinary lump named Bob. I'm Tiffany, she said, with an accent that matched the exotic Mediterranean origin I'd assigned her. My body still felt oddly removed from the situation. I'm Bob. Could I get you a drink? I'll take a Manhattan.

she replied. The bartender, creaky old Gus, had to consult his cocktail guide. Nobody ordered Manhattan's at the big fish. Gus reluctantly delivered her Manhattan. She downed the whole glass, then gently sucked the red cherry on her pink lips. I'd like to make you an offer, Bob, Tiffany said. Every muscle in my body seized up, waiting to hear her offer. I felt like I was about to board a plane to Fantasy Island. She continued, when I drink my Manhattan's too fast. It lowers my self-control. Would you like to follow me home? I was thinking no.

Not no, as in I rejected her offer, but no, this is cosmically impossible. I paid the tab and escorted Tiffany to her car, a little Lexus Tudor. I followed her up into the Verdugo Hills to a Tuscan-style villa that could have been flown in from France. As she unlocked the front door,

I couldn't contain my hands another second. I gripped her impeccably firm and round derrier. My fingers spliced. played across her butt cheeks as my thumbs went digging for the little red strip of thong running between them. She slapped at my wrists. Not yet, Bob. We entered. The place was flawless and stylish, a physical space that matched Tiffany's image. She took my hand, leading me up the sweeping staircase and to the last room on the hall. She stopped me at the door. Now you may have my ass, she said. My hands went to her backside like they were magnetized. I never wanted to let it go. It was how I imagined

heroin. One taste and your body's urges and chemistry are forever hooked. Bob, do you like what you feel? Tiffany asked. Yes, yes, I replied. She continued. Because the rest will feel just as good. However, I was too lost in carnal heaven to really hear what she was saying. You must finish. Do you understand? Once we start, Bob, you must finish. Yes, yes, I said. We entered. The king's-sized bed was turned down and ready for business. The black silk sheets calling to me like runway lights. We hit the bed in a tumultuous flurry, undoing and shedding our clothes like they do in the movies. I laid beneath her, self-conscious of my flab, and allowed her to take center stage. I ran my eyes over the fleshy slopes of her breasts and the sculpted ridges of her torso and

the bed beneath suddenly moved, as if a set of hands had pushed me from below. What's that? I asked. She was now putting me inside her, writhing on top, and coaxing me to match her movements. Another push from below, this time hard enough that it stung the back of my head. Tiffany, what's going on? Bob, once you've started, you must finish. I tried losing myself in her beauty and her motion, cordoning off my brain so it was just operating the pleasure centers, and the pleasure centers were lighting up like a Christmas tree. Then another hit from below. This time in my nutsack, all of my pleasure centers shut down and went dark. The pain in my testicles was soon matched with a shriek that came from below the sheets. It was a must

muffled but heinous cry, somebody begging for mercy. Really, Tiffany, I'm getting freaked out. Stay with me, Bob. Stay right here with me. She leaned down and kissed me. The sweet glaze from the Manhattan and Maraschino Cherry hitting my tongue and reigniting my pleasure centers. Soon we were back in motion, swaying and pumping and swaying and pumping from the corner of my eye. I could see a shape forming next to me in the bed sheets. The face of a person, pressing against the black silk, a face of torment. That's it. I can't. can't, I can't, I just can't. I pushed her off me. She landed on her side, lips pouting in supreme disappointment. Bob, are you saying you're not going to finish? There's something living

under your bed sheets, I exclaimed. So no finishing, she asked. No, no, no finish, no way, I yelled. Then he's out, you're in, she said. And then the world went dark. I was lying naked and alone. I slid around, getting a measure of my confines. The space was about the size of a king-size mattress, With clearance so low, I couldn't even flip over to my stomach. And it reeked of bodily fluids, of raw sewage, and body odor, and sexual gratification. The ceiling was made of a silky material that was stretchy, but impermeable. Was I in hell? I could feel Tiffany's naked shape lying above me.

My hands gripped the imprint of her impeccably firm and round dairy air. My fingers spayed across her butt cheeks as my thumbs went digging between them. Was this hell or a perversion of heaven? Don't trust anybody you meet through Tinder. My mother warned me. It promotes promiscuity. What I've heard is that people who meet through Tinder will hop scotch from one bed to the next,

scheduling multiple sexual partners in a single day. She must have seen some news article that got inside her head, some alt-right bullshit blaming the social app for the decline of Western civilization. However, in my experience, Tinder was a valuable tool that could instantly match people with common interests. To put it bluntly,

hookups had never been either. Her name was Jolene, and her profile showed a platinum blonde, stacked, with a sexy pirate smile. We set up our rendezvous at an eye-hop because we both loved flapjacks. Under pre-tinder conditions, it might have taken five dates to realize our shared love of flapjacks. And though flapjacks might not seem like a solid foundation for long-term success, I wasn't looking for long-term success. I wanted short-term success.

Jolene was everything her profile promised. She drowned her flapjacks in Boisenberry syrup, then hit me with a bear trap question. How do you feel about kids in marriage? she asked. I fully support them, I replied. Do you? she asked, surprised. For other people, I replied. My sister and her husband, for example. Kids in marriage go together like a horse and carriage. That's a TV theme song, isn't it? She replied. Her smile was in full pirate mode. So you like kids in marriage for other people, just not yourself? I practiced safe sex, I told her. But if I were to get someone pregnant, I'd do everything in my power to help with the abortion.

Jolene laughed. We finished our brunch and then went to her house for some afternoon delight. I couldn't go to my place because my mom was home. She was always home. That's why my Tinder profile emphasized my preference for being the visiting team. Jolene's bedroom was in the basement of her house. It was a bit childish, fluffy pink pillows and unicorn wallpaper. I had to toss aside a dozen stuffed animals off the bed to make room for the water sports.

Jolene was surprisingly limber and truly gifted with her hands. She very much enjoyed herself. When we were done, I immediately started getting dressed. Jolene wanted to lay in bed and watch movies, but I had another Tinder hookup plan for the evening. Going somewhere? She asked me. Got a few errands. Sorry, babe. It's been a memorable afternoon. Jolene was flipping through my phone.

says here you're meeting Holly for bangers and beer. I grabbed my phone. The hell? What gives you the right? Stay out of my business. I am your business, she replied. I gave her a wink. Your old business.

Holly is new business. Jolene sighed. I really wish your mother could hear you. What would she say about scheduling multiple hookups in a single day? Don't know, I replied. Jolene slipped on her bra and panties and sauntered to the door. Ricky Meyer, I don't think you're taking me seriously enough. How do you know my last name?

I never told it to you. I never give it out. She stood in the doorway, flashing me that pirate smile, but now it seemed more predatory than sexy. She slid a cage door closed. I rushed at her and grabbed the bars, but the door, hidden on rails within a double wide wall, was made of carbon steel rebar.

Let me out, you fucking bitch, I yelled. She stood just outside my reach. Richard, you watch your language. I couldn't believe my ears. The stern warning, so familiar, hadn't come from Jolene. If I hear anything like that again, I'll take ivory soap to that filthy mouth. The voice was coming from beyond the cage door. From just outside my view, I could hear footsteps approaching.

All my vitals were skyrocketing, and I was feeling lightheaded. And then, my mother was standing next to half-naked Jolene. Ma? My body and jaw hung limp. I didn't raise you to be such an animal. Her head dipped in shame. Did I, Richard? Did I raise you to be such an animal? No, ma. I don't know. What was my mother doing here with Jolene? I wondered.

Your days on Tinder are over, Richard. Get used to these bars. That afternoon I ripped apart every inch of drywall in Jolene's fake bedroom, discovering the bars were embedded in both interior walls. The exterior walls were cinder blocks. There was no escape. The first few weeks I screamed and raised hell, daring my mother to open the cage and wash my filthy mouth. But those days are long gone.

Now I've accepted my world of four walls and two jailers. Jolene is pregnant. I watch through my bars as she and my mom turned the next room into a nursery. We're going to have a shotgun wedding, administered by my mother, who's taking an online ordainment course. I'm going to have a kid and a marriage, and I may never see daylight again. I really wish I'd listened to my mother. If you enjoyed this story and want more scary stories, head over to my Patreon page. Go to patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. The link is in the description below.

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