Sleep Number
Sleep Number is a surreal and erotic descent into a dreamlike encounter with a mysterious, masked figure who blurs the line between tormentor and liberator. As Cherry is bound and subjected to a visceral interplay of pain, pleasure, and psychological revelation, she confronts the darkest parts of her own psyche. In the end, the experience becomes a twisted form of catharsis—part exorcism, part seduction—leaving them transformed and questioning what was real. Read on!
This scene allowed us to bond and connect beforehand in a very special way. River’s costume involved being painted from head to toe in black water-based body paint. Since he was unable to reach several places on his own body, Cherry took charge of using foam paint brushes and getting him ready. Lots of laughing, bonding, and vulnerability helped get both of us into a comfortable, trusting mindset.
There were times where River would unhook Cherry’s left or right side, slowly roll her to her side, reattach her bonds, and then slowly roll her to her back to reattach the other side. After a while River used this routine to wind the scene down and spoon Cherry from behind. When he removed his mask they shared hugs, physical touch, and words of affirmation.
As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a strange sensation, as if my body were being lifted from the mattress. I opened my eyes to find myself bound by ropes, my wrists and ankles securely tied to the bed. A hooded figure loomed above me, shrouded in darkness. The mask on his face absorbed the purple and red-tinted hues of the room, rendering him featureless.
He moved around me with slow, calculated deliberation, his hands tracing paths across my skin like a ghostly conductor guiding an orchestra of sensations. I felt a mix of fear and fascination as he worked. The stranger’s fingers lingered on my flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The first touch was gentle, a whisper-soft caress that sent shivers down my spine. But soon, the demon’s claws emerged, raking across my skin with a stinging intensity that made my stomach roil. I tried to cry out, but my voice was stifled by something unseen, as if my own body conspired with him against me.
The pain spiked and receded in waves, interspersed with moments of delicious pleasure. The demon’s mouth claimed mine, his tongue slithering out from under his mask, probing the very marrow of my being. My breath caught as he grasped my neck, his vise-like grip tightened and released, tightening and releasing in sync with the pulse of my desire. I was torn between commanding him to stop the agony and begging for more of his rapture.
I tried to reason with him through strained pleas of distress, but his mask remained still, a mirror reflecting none of the emotions that churned within me. I caught sight of his eyes, burning with an intensity that threatened to engulf the fragile facade I presented to the world. He existed outside the bounds of humanity, a creature driven solely by my own primal urges I had been too afraid to give life to. He drove into me with a ferocity that bordered on cruelty. His hands moved through a vicious cycle: brutal manipulation, tender ministrations, and then back to merciless punishment. The demon’s rhythmic assault left me battered and bruised, yet ignited with a fire that seemed impossible to extinguish.
As the night wore on, my inner wreckage took shape, dancing in a macabre pas de deux before evolving into something even more surreal. I began to question my own sanity. Was this demon real, or just an apparition of my repressed imagination? The uncertainty only added to the thrill, for in that ambiguity lay the promise of transformation—perhaps even salvation. Would reaching out to touch his robe save me from the hell I had damned myself to?
In the crushing weight of his silence, he communicated volumes about the depths of my own psyche, exposing the monsters I had hidden from daylight for so long. His touch left me breathless and bewildered as he coaxed forth the terrors buried under my heart—the shame, the guilt, the self-loathing that I had nursed for years… When I finally released the last bit of life I had left into the night, he untethered my binds and wrapped his arms around me, bringing me back to Eden. Once sleep claimed me, he vanished as quietly as he appeared, abandoning his messy creation of turmoil and flesh, hopefully to emerge again.