6. Githany #2
They should go hand in hand, pleasure and fear.
The balance is tedious. By the time I get them as scared as I need them to be for a decent feed, their arousal evaporates.
A little fear makes people horny. Too much shifts their fear to terror and makes them lose their bodily functions.
I try to skirt the line between the two.
We all do, and we usually fail. It’s harder than you think to control your urges when you’re a fear demon whose sole purpose is to scare people to death. And then enjoy their deaths.
We’re good at the scaring part, less at the control. Which means our need for fear is met but our other needs often remain unquenched.
We’ve pleased each other for centuries but to have a woman, a plaything of our own…that would change everything. The blue skin of her arm means it might be possible. Whatever is happening inside of her is making her smell less human by the minute.
Githany’s reaction to fear and pain has me so hopeful that she’s different, that she could take it, take us. I could rip out of my skin right now from sheer excitement. This one. This one may actually be willing to discover how far we can push her before she breaks.
I won’t. Not just yet.
If she sees our fear selves, I’m positive she’ll cross the line from scared to terrified and we’ll lose our chance at mutual pleasure.
Madness has a tendency to get carried away. Today is no different. He’s still licking Githany when his face transforms, first the length of his tongue, then his smile, growing wider and wider.
Githany’s sweet moans cease.
“Madness,” Gator growls.
There’s a subtle shift in Githany’s scent. Confusion, panic, uncertainty. It doesn’t spoil completely. There’s still curiosity underneath. We haven’t scared her off yet.
“You guys aren’t”—she swallows, the sound almost vulgar against the silence of the space—“human.”
“Neither are you.” Gator flicks his tongue out again.
Genuine confusion knits her brow. “I’m a human.”
“Your spectral companions might beg to differ, little necromancer.”
Her dark lips turn down. “Don’t call me that.”
Gator nods. “You’re right. I like ‘ghost girl’ better. So tell us, ghost girl, have you always seen dead people?”
Her tongue swipes out, wetting her bottom lip. “No.”
I take a step closer. “When did it start?”
She pales. “I’m not talking about that.”
Fair enough. I’ll give her this one, for now. If she wasn’t born with the ability then she probably experienced massive trauma to her psyche or some shit. That’s how it usually happens.
Her scent has changed again. My voice drops. “You’re scared.”
“I’m—”
“That wasn’t up for debate.” Madness cackles.
“You weren’t scared in our rooms,” Gator muses.
I push forward, crowding her back against a nearby tree. “But now that we’ve got you cornered, giving you our personal attention, you finally smell like fear.” Dipping my face into the nook of her neck, I inhale deeply. “And you smell wet.”
She sputters, scoffing. “I do not.”
Stubborn, this one. Why is that so sexy in a woman?
I raise the tip of my chainsaw to her throat. Her scent intensifies. “Sexy, sexy little liar.”
Her tongue darts out, wetting those plump lips again. “You have to let me go.”
Poor thing. She still thinks there’s an outcome where she gets away from us. “We could. But we won’t.”
Behind me, Madness’s laughter bubbles up. “Sorry, ghost girl. We’ve tasted your blood. You’ll never be able to escape us now.”
I lean closer, whispering in her ear. “Not that it appears you want to. That scent, the one we can all smell, is desire. It’s flowing straight from your needy cunt.”
“Stop it.” Slamming her hands into my chest only makes me lean closer.
“Don’t like hearing the truth? That there’s something wicked inside of you that’s turned on by the monsters in us?”
She doesn’t argue back this time.
“You know…” I slide my hand to collar the front of her throat. “We could satiate that ache between your thighs. Curb your cravings for monster cock. All you have to do is play our game. Make it through our rooms.”
“And then we’ll give you what you want,” Gator rasps. I shift my body to allow him space. He drops to his knees and glides his fingers up her inner thigh.
Gravel grinds against the concrete floor as she spreads her boots a tiny bit wider. His voice is feral. “Is that a yes?”
Githany’s gaze flits between the three of us. “What exactly are you asking?”
“Play with us, we play with you,” Madness answers, sliding to hover over Gator and not clearing up a damn thing.
“Survive our personal playrooms and we’ll fuck that humanity right out of you. Trust me, you’ve never had cocks like ours before,” I clarify. Her breath catches.
I drink in her heightened state as her chest rises with rapid pants. Brown eyes dart between the three of us. “You won’t hurt me?”
This time I’m the one laughing. “Oh we’ll hurt you, but we’ll make sure you enjoy every second.”
“Yes or no, ghost girl?” Gator’s hand skates higher up Githany’s thigh. His wrist bends, fingers pushing upwards. “Yes or no?”
On a gasp, Githany’s answer stutters out. “Y-yes.”
Disappointment and a flash of rage burn across her face when Gator drops his hand.
“You said—” She’s fiery and flustered. This will be more fun than I thought.
Taking two steps back, I raise my chainsaw again. “You’ve agreed to play. You’ll get your prize…if you win.”
Githany
Lightning crackles through my cells, brewing into a storm of neediness that emanates from my core.
Touch. I need to be touched. I’m so wired my brain is threatening to fry itself.
I imagine smoke spilling from my ears like some damn cartoon.
I’m overcome by sensations so unexpected and wickedly twisted that it’s like my mind and body are two completely separate entities.
Gator and Madness back away, melting into the darkness until it’s just Hunt and I.
The chainsaw rumbles. I’m not sure what they’re expecting me to do.
Hunt moves the chainsaw between my ankles. My pulse leaps into my throat. The vibrations hum across my skin. Please be fake, please be fake.
“What are you doing?” I ask, throat dry.
“It’s like you said. We’re not human.” He lifts the chainsaw slightly. “I’m not sure we’ll fit between those soft thighs when we finally decide to take you. But my chainsaw can help make space.”
Hunt knicks my inner calf as he ascends. I yelp, practically levitating up and away from him. Oh, it’s real. It’s so real. The pain in my hand disappears beneath the fresh hot burn of the wound on my calf.
“Y-you cut me.”
He cocks his head, the human tooth smile sewn into his mask mocking me with the movement. “I did.”
“Fucking psycho.”
“That’s precisely what I am. The game has started, ghost girl. Your move.”
The chainsaw swings my way again. I don’t know what the game is or how to play. My instincts tell me to run. Hunt howls in the background as I sprint away.
The room is still black and expanding by the second. The chainsaw’s rumble grows louder. Where am I supposed to go in a room full of nothing?
This feels like one of those dreams where you’re running for your life but the ground is too soft to move forward or everything ends up in slow motion. It’s all just black.
The first sliver of light flashes to life ahead.
I aim my strides toward it, not caring what it is as long as it can get me away from the threat of having my freaking vagina chainsawed open. A white door forms against an invisible wall. I don’t know where it leads, but running around in here isn’t getting me anywhere.
A border of green flowers surround a wooden letter G.
I shoulder it open, shutting myself in and flipping the lock.
Shoving my back against the door and closing my eyes gives me a few seconds to catch my breath.
My body begs me to drop to the floor and sleep.
I’m taking up running as a hobby when I get out of here.
This is pathetic. An incessant nudging from my brain insists I keep moving.
When I open my eyes, a visceral reaction clenches through me. I’m not anywhere in the haunted house or close to some new exit.
I’m in my childhood bedroom.