8. Madness #2
That many sensations are bound to drive a person mad.
After all, Madness is our name and our specialty.
Our freshly formed cock throbs at the first contact with Githany’s wet heat.
We’ve not had sex with a human before. We underestimated how small their bodies are.
Our beautiful creation will never fit. With considerable willpower, we shrink it down until the funneled darkness is just able to push past her opening.
Githany’s eyes roll back like a woman possessed. We mean to be careful, but we are not good with caution. Our hips can’t stop moving forward, burying until we hit something.
Pleasure that overtakes the consumption of fear bleeds through our every shadowy cell. We need more.
Githany cries out as our darkness invades her empty spaces. We’re quick to silence her, funneling darkness down her throat.
What a sight our ghost girl is. Eyes rolled, orifices stuffed with shadow, immobilized and leaking.
A distant sound rises above her whimpers. Uh-oh. We hear him before she does. A modicum of guilt tingles through us. He’s a jealous one. We are never going to hear the end of this.
With reluctance, we empty the holes of our little necromancer. The whites of Githany’s eyes vanish, allowing her pupils to roll dizzily back into place.
Her words are scratchy, her throat dry from a prolonged hinged jaw. “What, what happened? Why did you stop?”
“Time to share.” We sigh. “Hunt wants to play too.”
The sound of a chainsaw shattering glass tears through our maze.
The reflection to our right reveals him, approaching from behind us. The walls fall like sugar as he barrels through them, chainsaw raised high.
“There you are.” The menace in his voice has our cock twitching. Maybe he’ll punish us.
The tip of his chainsaw touches the mirrored box, sending vibrations rumbling through Githany’s fragile body. The back wall crumbles, freeing her from her prison.
She drops to the ground without support, gulping in air.
She’s only down there for a second before Hunt has her by the arm. He hauls her up, dragging her back the way he came.
We follow, laughing softly. “We were just about to come find you.”
Hunt’s eyes rove over our fear form, dropping to the wriggling cock we manifested. “Sure you were.”
Hunt tosses his chainsaw down and grabs our hand, raising it to his nose. He breathes deeply before dipping our dark fingertips beneath his mask and into his mouth. Our cock jumps as he sucks, biting our fingers hard before he drops our hand.
“You started without me.”
We shrug, dragging our fingertips along his bare, blood-splattered stomach. “It was just a touch.”
His gaze shifts to where Githany is sagging, naked and confused in his other hand. “Did you make her come?”
We nod, a wicked cackle escaping us.
Hunt’s fingers shoot forward, wrapping around our cock. We gasp as he squeezes our shaft until his knuckles turn white. The tendrils latch onto him in greeting, feasting on his rage. Hunt gives it to us best when he’s angry.
His voice is low enough for just us to hear. “You’ve been bad, Madness.”
He squeezes again, removing the pleasure and leaving only pain before releasing us.
Hunt’s not only jealous. He’s vindictive too. It’s taken many, many years for him to learn how to share.
Our first encounter was almost our last. All because he wanted to keep his victim to himself.
We met Hunt by pure accident. The asylum we lurked in abutted a great forest. The location was chosen for its isolation.
They thought being in nature would help the patients recover faster.
What silly humans. They should’ve known better.
If the isolation were appealing to them, it’s also appealing to the things that prefer not to be seen.
It’s no coincidence that there are so few stories of monster and demon sightings in the cities and suburbs.
We’ll never forget the first time we laid eyes on him. We are truly terrifying. An embodiment of fear. But Hunt is magnificently monstrous. A nightmare spun from a beautifully broken mind.
Our memories are fractured by his growling.
“You interrupted my hunt.” A puddle of blood pools around his chainsaw blade. We imagine him out on a rampage, cutting down the line of people waiting to enter Reaper’s Playroom while he calls for us to show ourselves. Outside our domains the visitors may very well be dead, dead, dead.
“We didn’t mean to. She found our door—”
“A door you put there. In the middle of my domain.”
We smile apologetically. “We were excited. You’ll forgive us, won’t you?”
Hunt steps closer, still towing Githany along with him. “You interfered with a hunt.”
The rage vibrating off Hunt is souring the freshly harvested aromas of the room. We need to change the direction of this evening and fast.
“Show her your fear face.” Surely he must be feeling as constricted as we were in that lean body he’s chosen.
He hesitates, turning his head toward our ghost girl and back to us. Is Hunt afraid Githany won’t take to his monster the way she’s taken to ours?
Leaning low, we whisper in his ear, “She was dripping when we let our darkness take over. We bet she squirts from the sight of you.”
We’re rewarded with a shudder that passes across his body. He likes the sound of that.
“Let her see you.”
Githany is silent. Her gaze darting between us and Hunt.
The aroused fear we instilled in her has shifted to confusion and uncertainty once more.
The intensity of the conversation has sapped the thrill of our earlier moment.
Hunt will need to chase our little ghost girl to get her back where he needs her to be to feed.
If she’s not wound up and willing by the time he decides to take more than her fear, Hunt will rend her in two.
“Pretty please. We will beg. We will submit. We will suck. We will fuck. We will do whatever pleases our hunter.” Our darkness slides up Hunt’s thighs, shadows slipping through his zipper with ease.
We stroke him, subtle, soft. Mindlessly slow.
Githany wouldn’t even notice our presence within his jeans.
“Stop that.” Hunt swats at us. Then pushes Githany into our arms. “Take her.”
Giddiness ripples through our shapeless form. He’s going to change.
Githany squirms as the burlap sack slides off. She pulls her lip between her teeth. That human is definitely the type of man Githany would go for in the real world.
He still exists somewhere. There’s a bit of a time glitch when we take over forms. They won’t remember most of what happened during our time in their bodies. When we’re finished, they’ll snap to like nothing ever happened.
Githany won’t get the chance to date Hunt’s handsome vessel even after his body has been freed up. She belongs to us, now.
Hunt doesn’t give us the striptease we want.
He lets his form consume him, clothes and all.
First his main body shreds through his jeans.
Twisted, pointy, and velvety grey. A serpentine lower half of shining silver and midnight blue.
Sharp legs shoot outwards around it. The bend of his first knee is at face-height for Githany.
A second leg slashes out, followed by a third, and fourth.
The snake body solidifies down the center, acting as a fifth leg.
That one is our favorite. It’s bigger than the others.
Hunt uses it to stand on, raising the rest of his body up into the canopy.
That single leg left behind appears to be nothing more than a tree itself.
He only keeps them separated for a moment before wrapping the legs around themselves, transforming his lower half into a thick, woven singular body.
His hips ruin what’s left of the jeans. They’re sharper than human hips, with two layers of metallic skin that are so smooth to touch.
Wide, angular, currently concealing the part of Hunt between them that makes us bounce with need.
We can’t wait for her to see the flat, hooked head.
It turns up at an angle. We bet it’s going to wreak havoc inside Githany.
The best part is a few inches further. The thick knot in the middle of his shaft rubs such delicious spots inside us.
Githany stares at his new body, oblivious to the hidden piece.
Will she be able to take it without tearing? Maybe we will lick it first, get it wet and ready. We have two tongues after all. One to make Githany drip and another to lubricate Hunt’s knot and tip. Yes, yes, this will work nicely.
His decadently muscular torso curves up to a cavernous chest. The center is designed for sound. Bellows that rumble far louder than his chainsaw ever could. Sounds that shake the forest when he feeds.
The arms jutting out of his sides are the most human part of him. Toned, five-fingered, but with a grip that can snap bones.
Hunt’s face puts any question of humanity to rest. Jaws that hinge forever open to accommodate his teeth grind and shudder. The top of his head juts up and around. Completing Hunt’s infamous look are a dozen glossy black eyes that bore into Githany.
He’s so beautiful. Sometimes we forget he’s silver. A crimson tide usually coats his body when he’s not blending in with the trees. Most encountering him would think he’s red.
Hunt stalks in his snake form but prefers to kill with his legs unwound.
Stomping his victims, punching around the vital organs to prolong the suffering.
We’ve watched him in action. The way the blood flies up as he jams his legs into their bodies is true artistry.
Sometimes the blood sprays so high he’s able to catch it on his rough, twisted tongue.
As our name suggests, we feed off of fear, not blood. Hunt just likes the taste.
Now fully shifted, he swoops forward, his unblinking eyes meeting Githany’s horrified gaze. She screams, a gorgeous, bloodcurdling scream.