The Prize

The idea seemed perfect and enticing, and in light of the carnage I’d wreaked, absolutely doable. Easily enough for anyone else but not so much for me.  I’d been planning their deaths for a very long time, each detail mapped to perfection and NOTHING could come in the way.

I’ve come to the conclusion of what I had assumed was just yet another prison term. Albeit the solitary was perfection, and the only fly in the ointment were the long afternoons of enforced social activity outdoors.  Perhaps the torture they sought to inflict was to expose my pale flesh to the sun and expose me to the so-called normals.  They didn’t count on instantaneous attraction, or that I would see a rare and opportune moment to step ahead of the game and seize control of the prize for myself by breaking all the rules.

Broken they were. They were shattered in such a pleasurable fashion, through sex, death, and blood, as I had learned at my father’s knee, as I learned from the repeated ritualistic atrocities I suffered at their hands. I learned well how to ruin a mind and I intend to use it to my full advantage.

I recognize the security guard as I stand over him, giving him a view of the bareness beneath the short skirt I wear; my ankles straddle his chest, and with agonizingly slow pressure,  I push the pointed blade into the soft membrane between his collar bones, sliding it firmly into his body as I’m sure he would have done with his own weapon.  He gurgles my name at the end, eyes flickering as his body died, finally fixing on my face as he too was ended.  It was like a sweet treat.

Later, I wander through the nearly dead and dearly dismembered, the rich fragrance of copper like flowers in spring adding to the landscape.   I see one unharmed.  A demon. staring at me, a gentle smile on his face, his eyes on mine with wary interest.  I acknowledge his presence, thinking that there was still time for a little game, and a need to be filled.  Flicking my eyes away, I look over my shoulder at the tree line, my hands nearly immersed in the innards of the last camper who tried to touch me as I ran amok.

I’m sure it was to beg for her life, the too wide shell-shocked expression told the tale, and still I grabbed her arm and flung her against the wall.  The perfect circle of red where she hit still oozes down the wall.  Arts and crafts.

The unharmed monster holds out his hand and I consider letting it pull me down and fuck me in the blood.  Simply, there was time and I was in need, so I let him yank me down  and hold me hard against him.

“I know who you are.  You should have done this to them.”

My lips stopped his from moving. His erection was like warm stone, throbbing first in my hand, and then against my ready slit, it was all the same desperate motions and then it was different. A new warmth filled my emptiness. My knees slip in the cooling, congealing crimson pool as I grind my sex against his, pulling him deeper, relishing how the tip of his cock rubbed against my insides. It wasn’t enough and I groaned in frustration, still rocking my hips hard. I needed release and sooner rather than later. To my delight this beast threw me  onto my back with ease, his rough touch leaving hand prints on my breasts and burning fingerprints on my inner thighs.

“WIDER”

The demon has shed its skin and wears a human mask as it drools and growls above me, laughing when I scream.  It’s cock has grown larger, its girth stretching and pulling with every thrust bottoming out and it could care less.  My body is not my own, and it arches and contorts in pleasure and pain, chest panting for air as the pressure builds, my sex clenches.  Gasping I  dig my nails into its thighs, yanking the demon deeper.

It’s hand grips my hair in its fist, hard enough to pull me up as it lifts its arm, hissing at me as my canal walls are scalded with its fiery juices.  My own climax explodes seconds later, the deluge a relief on my pulsing pussy, the release causing my body to shake.

Surely whatever gods were not dead set against my existence had brought this creature into my path to provide assistance and perhaps a partner in depravity to fill my days and nights.  Either way I was sated and able to focus.  The desire to annihilate the competition  had become the moon and stars, far more than I’d anticipated and this one would fulfill my requirements.  I needed someone at my side who would  cast no judgmental glances as I fed my tendencies, nor cease to take possession of my body by hammering his own desires into my wet tunnel time after time. I doubted this would last, but cared less as long as it toed the line.

And so it did, cleaning the gore and joy juice from his human costume in the shower, and swearing loyalty it vanished, anxious to begin the end. My inner thighs stung, even where they met burned and pulsed, and wished for more. It could wait. I had other priorities. A long walk that would end in my freedom.

the_twisted_path_group_SlayfulStories

It wasn’t long before a long shining black limousine pulled alongside me as I shambled along the road, wiping blood from my face.   “Get in. Your mother insists I return you home,”  a gruff voice demands from the window.  Refusing to give the driver even iota of acknowledgement I continue on, eyes on the horizon. My phone chirps, and I slide it from my skirt pocket.

Mother:  Get in the car.  You don’t trust him and I don’t care.

The limousine speeds past at an alarming rate, squealing to a stop just yards from me, it’s tires steaming in the growing heat.  A hulk of a man slinks from the driver’s seat, staring me down with his own cell pressed hard against his ear and sporting an erection that is alarming.  I will cut his throat for him if he tries.

Mother: Get in the fucking car. Now!

My monster’s flunky had his meat hook hand wrapped tightly around my bicep, the other hand on my ass, holding me hard against his erection  I struggle gamely, for sport for the most part and with a spark of fear, and am dragged to the vehicle.

Unceremoniously I land on my knees on the slick leather seat, my bare pussy exposed for his starving eyes. “She said I could,” he mutters, the fingers of one hand tracing the grooves of my sex, and I hear the small noise of his zipper coming down. I kick out blindly, praying to connect with this balls.  No suck luck.  The bastard flinches back with a chuckle and closes the door behind him, simultaneously ramming two fingers into my moist warmth with a satisfied grunt.  I spit words at him,struggling against the arm holding me in place as he pulls them out and shoves his cock in with one hard lunge.  It is large and thick, throbbing in my slick interior like some living beast, and I cringe as the head parts my outer flesh, pushing hard Inside and sliding easily along my inner walls.

Each time he enters my body he growls profanity, admonishing me to scream his name or he’d never stop.  I doubt he could continue at this pace and feel myself on the cusp of orgasm, the painful force of his thrusting now pleasurable as the strong hand  of the arm beneath me slaps my clit lightly in time with his pounding,  teeth digging deeply into my shoulder.

It wasn’t the chauffeurs name I called out as I soaked his rigid weapon and the seat beneath me but a steady stream of cursing.  He fills my body with his hot seed yelling derogatory terms as his tainted ejaculate scorches my pussy walls.  “Fucking whore. Can’t follow directions at all can you.”

My face hits the other door, eye flaring in pain.  The chauffeur crawls out, laughing meanly as my world goes dim. The heavy clunk of the door sends me into action and I scramble for the release frantically, before hearing the window behind the driver’s seat whine as it lowered. They still hasn’t repaired it.

No escape, no release.  I was trapped. I hear him call my name and glance over to see him salivating like a hungry dog confronted with fresh meat.  His eyes over my body linger so long that I began to feel a cold thread begin to wind its way around my chest.

It was obvious. Chauffeur was damaged goods.  What little humanity he still possessed was an aberration, a tiny spark in an otherwise cold void.  He points at me with a long thick finger, it’s nail perfectly rounded and sharp-looking. Then crooks it, beckoning me closer.  The frozen thread of dread and arousal continues to wind its way tighter around my lungs, making me pant and gasp, but still I venture closer when he when he calls, our of curiosity, my eyes trying to read his intentions as I do so.

the_twisted_path_group_MelanieMcCurdie

Melanie McCurdie

the_twisted_path_group_SlayfulStories

Slayful Stories

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The Orphan Killer 2 Bound x Blood Created by Matt Farnsworth ©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
The Orphan Killer 2
Bound x Blood
Created by Matt Farnsworth
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC

Matt Farnsworth on Facebook   Matt Farnsworth Films  

“The characters Marcus Miller, and Babysister are owned by  Matt Farnsworth”
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC All Rights Reserved
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