4. Githany #4
Oh that’s a striking visual. I don’t even know what she looks like. Still, I can picture my cum dripping out of her sore and swollen holes. Glorious and filthy. “I want to—”
“No. You’re giving every bit of cum to me. Right now.” Gator grins and dips out his tongue. The metal bar flicks against the underside of my head. It’s easy to forget just how sensitive humans are to touch.
My head falls back as he repeats the action, moving the bar over the tip and back underneath.
“Hunt?”
Opening my eyes, I stare down at him.
“We don’t have much time. The scent of the blood is dissipating. They’re almost done cleaning up. Take what you need and then get our girl.”
My fingers become buried in his hair so fast I barely register the motion.
My black nails match the long side of his hair perfectly.
Gator grips the back of my thighs, anchoring himself as I fuck into his mouth with a savage pace.
I’ve been hard since I watched him get Madness off earlier.
Gator is generous, but there’s always a price.
Whatever he’s planning to have Madness and I give him in return the next time we’re alone is probably going to make me regret this little favor.
Gator is creative in the bedroom in ways that would give mortals nightmares. Sex with him incites its own brand of fear.
He swallows, taking me until I’m bulging from his neck. Never mind. Whatever he forces Madness and I to do later, this is worth it.
The sharp shred of teeth against my shaft has me rocketing over the edge.
My spine is on fire, balls cramping up as I pump cum down Gator’s eager throat.
The sharpest edge of my tension leaves me along with my spend.
A shudder wracks my body when he pops me from his mouth, replacing the wet heat with his gloved fist. He takes advantage of my overly sensitive shaft, pumping me while I whimper.
“I said, every drop.” A final spurt of cum leaks out. He laps it up, making me shiver. “Good boy.”
I’m half dazed when he rises, lifting my mask and smashing his lips to mine. Reaching for him is instinctive. He stops me before I can pull him as close as I need him.
“Focus.”
He’s right. We’re on a time crunch. “Thank you. I’m back in control.”
“Good. Get our girl.” He slides both my mask and his back into place.
Watching Gator walk away reawakens the part of me that was just satiated.
The butcher’s apron tied around the neck and waist is tightly fitted.
He’s shirtless beneath it. Every tanned and toned part of him shines as he glides beneath the blacklights.
He has muscles like that in his demon form too.
Only those are covered in leathery scales, making them far more durable when I sink my teeth in.
A few distant screams bring my focus back to the room I’m responsible for.
The next group consists of five people. Four nobodies, and her.
Madness was right. I know her the second she enters. Even before I see the blue on her arm. Her scent gives her away. She’s not afraid, not like the others tonight. She smells unnatural, sweet, painful to inhale.
The arms of her skeleton sweater are shoved up, revealing the mark Madness mentioned. From wrist to elbow, her skin is blue. I can’t see the rest of her arm, but if it’s the result of a ghost’s touch then that shit is spreading fast.
Thankfully, her group is small. Panic usually sends people scattering in all directions. I can’t risk one of her friends darting the same way she does. I need her alone.
She looks my way right before I rev my chainsaw.
I’m not surprised. Someone with her gift can likely sense things like us.
The other four are caught by surprise, screaming and taking off so fast one trips, knocking a second down. So many horror movies show some idiot tripping and getting hacked up first. I find those scenarios to be more believable every day.
The ghost girl volleys her gaze between me and the others as she helps them up. They’re too tight together. I won’t risk slicing the arm off our little treat and having her bleed out before we’ve started playing.
Moving with a bit of my supernatural speed brings me in front of the group.
They all zip left. I’m quick to block their path.
They try dashing right. Little sheep. I could anticipate their moves from a mile away.
Risking the decapitation of one of her friends, I swing the chainsaw over their heads.
It has the desired effect. All five duck, diving in different directions.
When they stand, they’re no longer moving as a unit.
I seize the opportunity, slashing down between our ghost girl and the others. They race toward the door, but she has to track backwards to avoid me.
I can scent her adrenaline; that classic fight-or-flight aroma is there. Where is the scream-inducing fear?
She’s running, but it’s not out of terror. Pure instinct is what’s driving her.
Blocking her movements again and again allows me to corral her farther into the room. Two more steps and she stumbles over the invisible threshold.
If she could see beneath my mask, she would find me smiling.
The game starts now.