7. Githany #3
How the hell is he moving around this maze without getting stopped? The walls trapping me in become more and more transparent until they’re clear glass panes in a sea of hundreds of mirrors.
That laugh of his sets my teeth on edge. “How are you going to get out?” he singsongs, annoyingly amused.
Wiggling shows me just how little room I have.
“Fine, I’ll give you my bra and panties but you have to tell me how to get all the way out this time.” My ribs are starting to ache from the compression.
“Hmmm.” He contemplates this for a moment. “Maybe we’ll just take them.”
Madness toys with the edge of my thong. Panic plows through my stomach, flapping its thousands of wings like a colony of bats. A tingling spreads beneath the fabric he’s touching.
I can’t move. I can’t run away. I’m completely at the mercy of a crazed monster. A jolt of excitement throbs straight to my clit. What the hell, Githany? That is a very fucked-up reaction to this situation.
Wishful thinking brings me back to the ventilation system and the chainsaw dipped in aphrodisiac justification. Maybe I just can’t admit that something about all of this has me hot for a clown.
I learned about a study on fear in one of my college psychology classes.
They stopped people who were about to cross a bridge at ground level and asked them to write a short story.
The stories were normal, mundane. They repeated the study as people were crossing an incredibly high and rickety bridge.
The stories they wrote were almost all sexual.
The danger of their circumstances triggered their sexual nature.
According to this study, small amounts of controlled danger lead to arousal.
Maybe what Hunt said is true. We do get turned on by fear.
Madness’s fingers dip beneath the fabric, magically finding space between my skin and the mirror to travel down the front of my underwear.
Featherlight fingertips brush across my seam.
“Do you want us to stop?” His silky voice caresses my ear.
He brushes the hood of my clit. My whole body jerks, reminding me just how tightly pressed in I am. Are the walls still moving?
Pain spiders through my bones as they’re further compressed. The only positive sensation is Madness’s swirling touch between my thighs. He stills, awaiting my answer.
“No.” The word is strained but firm.
Laughter bubbles out of him. “We were right about you.”
Slow, lazy circles send warm blood pumping to my clit. I’m lightheaded, as if all the blood in my brain has rushed to meet his fingers. Pleasure gathers, growing in that savory spot deep inside.
The walls are most definitely still shifting. The subtle groan never ceases. I’m being slowly crushed to death. Claustrophobia fights against my growing climax.
“The walls are too tight. I can’t breathe.”
“If you can talk, you can breathe.” Madness can’t hide the humor in his voice.
Any traces of fear sweep to the back of my mind when Madness increases his pressure, pressing down harder as he tightens his circles.
“Oh my hel—” I can barely get the words out. Something in my back pops. My spine is being compressed.
Madness pushes his hips against me. A growing hardness digs into my back.
His other hand travels to my neck. He collars it, subtly threatening to steal what little air I have left.
“I hope you finish before you get crushed. Wouldn’t want your pelvis to break first.” Madness glides his fingers a fraction lower, stimulating a spot on my clit that ignites something deep. I break for him.
My exterior muscles are bruised from compression, but my interior walls still have the space to contract, hard.
An orgasm that rivals what my vibrator has been able to give me these past few years radiates through my entire body.
The pleasure saps the pain from my nerves, sending me floating into euphoria.
The momentary loss of my eyesight hints I’ve entered the afterlife itself.
Heaven. It’s actually heaven.
Fluffy, cloudlike bliss gives way to bone-crushing pressure. This is insane. This whole situation. Who climaxes from crazy clown fingering, while being almost-crushed in a mirror maze? I’ve lost my mind.
Or maybe, I’ve exchanged my sanity for Madness.
The euphoria fades until it’s gone. Reality sobers me. I am trapped in a glass fucking box.
Madness sets both of his hands on my hips. “Can you still breathe?”
“Barely.”
It’s a fight to turn my cheek. Pain spikes up my neck.
It’s worth it when I catch our reflection in the mirror to my right.
Madness’s polka-dot pants are gone. No underwear.
Just a massive, fully hard cock. Even if I wanted to spread my legs wider for him, I couldn’t.
I’m still being squeezed hard enough that fuzzy dots dance around my vision.
Then there’s the press of a smooth, full head between my thighs, and I hold in the last bit of breath I have left.
“Want us to fill you up?”
A small squeak is all the consent I can manage.
Madness rubs the head through my wetness, then pauses. “Githany?”
“Yes?” I pant, unsure if my voice is even audible.
I feel his smile against my hair. “Are you afraid of the dark?”