HAUNTED HOUSE

Feature Writer: creativeboyinspring

Feature Title: Haunted House

Published: 28.02.2023

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: After moving in, a woman learns her house is haunted

Author’s note: The following very story has themes of horror, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic fiction story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read. Also, I would like to give a big thank you to Artemis Kelly for editing.

Haunted House

“Everything okay, Tina?” My friend Margaret asks, sounding very concerned. I look at her on my laptop screen to see that her expression matches her tone. She’s even leaned into the camera, as if that would make her closer to me somehow. Her doing this does make me smirk.

How else would I expect her to sound after I told her what I told her? It’s utterly crazy at the very least, so if she doesn’t think I’m crazy, then she thinks that there’s something after me. Something not… human. Something not human that seems to be focused on me… sexually.

“Y-Y-Yeah. Just, you know… I’m just being silly,” I tell her, finding that I feel the need to calm her down instead of her making me feel better. Marg doesn’t seem very comforted by this though.

What I really want to tell her is that it’s this… house. There’s something strange here, but I don’t know what it is. It’s not something you can see or hear, but you can feel. And whatever it is, it’s not good. In fact, it’s evil. It’s evil and I swear, as crazy as it sounds, it wants to fuck me. It freaking wants to rape and hurt me.

“No girl, you ain’t,” Margaret says sternly, showing she refuses to let me think it’s just me. Hearing how serious she is makes me smile, even if I try to hide it. This is why I love Margaret. It’s why we have been friends for so long.

“You just moved into a new house, in a new city after going through a horrible, terrible divorce. That shit will feel like a kick in the balls for anyone, even if you don’t have balls!” Margaret exclaims, which makes me laugh.

“Plus, some of the stuff you said ’bout that place… it’s… well, it’s crazy,” Margaret adds, and I can tell she’s picking and choosing her words closely. Not that she needs to. I’m a 30 year old professional and educated woman. I can handle bad language.

I look down as she says this, feeling a too familiar dread come over me again. Dread not of where my life is at the moment, but because of… whatever it is that’s in the house. There’s something wrong here and it’s nearby. It seems to always be watching me these days.

A month ago, I moved into this house. It was sort of an impulse buy, if I’m being honest. It came on the market and was priced perfectly for me. It was much larger than I thought I could afford, so I leaped on it before someone else did. Hell, I purchased it sight unseen because I lived in another state; the pictures just looked so awesome.

Just a few days after moving in, things started to happen. Things I couldn’t explain. Things that didn’t make any real logical sense. Stuff that you might see in some cheap-ass free horror movie on Amazon Prime.

I haven’t really told anyone about what’s gone on here, well except for Marg now, because I know everyone would think it’s all mental. That I’m going through some life crisis and it’s made me see/feel things. Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t reach out on social media to comment about all I’ve been through with the divorce. About how horrible he was and that they had no idea.

I moved because I had to change my life. The divorce was just too painful. Hell, the marriage was too painful. Everything goes painful when the man you married turns into an abusive son-of-a-bitch. God he was a bastard. A fucking bastard.

I was lucky in the fact that I work from home so I could go wherever I want. I could live in a different country if I wanted, as long as it didn’t affect my work. This gave me something extremely precious: freedom.

“Would you mind telling me about the word-thing again?” Margaret asks. She asks hesitantly but I can tell that she’s very curious about it. I have a feeling she’s spotted something about it that I haven’t. And I’m not sure if that’s going to be a good thing.

“S-S-Sure,” I tell her, though I think I rather have an operation to put balls on me and let someone kick them then re-live that story. It was the first time that I knew without a shadow of a doubt that something wasn’t right here. That it wasn’t just me having a mental breakdown.

“I- I was sitting on my couch, doing a puzzle,” I begin and Marg smiles. I know she’s thinking “Tina and her puzzles.” Yeah, I like to do puzzles. They help calm me down. Sue me.

“I was just sitting there, with music playing and doing the puzzle when I smelled this really funky, crazy smell. A smell like rotting eggs, but worse. Like rotting meat being cooked along with rotting eggs after a group of fat, smelly and ugly men farted up the room. It was really nasty, even if it wasn’t that strong,” I explained. She nods to show she understands so far.

“And I just got this feeling, like that feeling you get when someone stares at you from behind. Like what Brandon used to do, how he would sneak into the room and stare at me without me noticing at first.” I explain the feeling the best I can, but then I kick myself.

Why did I have to mention my ex? Now it’ll make it that I’m just reliving trauma or some shit. Especially as that was some creepy stalker shit he used to do. After I filed for divorce and kicked him out, I actually caught him standing in one of my windows, looking in at me. Just standing there, staring at me with wide, angry eyes.

“And, something… well…. something g-g-g-groped me. Groped my boobs. Felt like someone reached around, from behind, and took a good, solid squeeze of both boobs at the same time,” I explain, my face going red at admitting that, again.

I know a lot of people would wave this off. They would say it didn’t happen, or I got confused. But what I don’t get about people that may say that is that there is clearly a difference between your boobs pressing against something, and someone squeezing them hard. It’s a difference you can’t mistake.

“So I whipped around, thinking that someone was in the house… but no one was there. The room was empty. And I didn’t hear any running nor footsteps or anything. No one was there at all. And then… well. And then I saw it. A word written really big, at the very top of the wall behind me,” I state, gulping after remembering the terror I felt at seeing it. It was fucking huge. It had to have been six feet across and two feet tall.

“And I mean, at the very, very top of the wall, right next to the ceiling. Like you need a ladder-to-reach-type high, where not even the tallest asshole alive could reach,” I tell my friend, feeling my heartbeat quickening. The walls in this room are super tall, much taller than normal. In fact, every room in this huge house has super high walls.

“Then the word disappeared?” Margaret asks, remembering from when I told her before. At this I just nod to answer, remembering how scared I was. How I grabbed my mace and went room to room, thinking there was someone in the house, even if it was locked up. That I was too scared to even call the cops as I was sure they would take me to the Nut House.

I searched the entire house, and found no one. I didn’t even find anything weird, like a door that was supposed to be locked, or a cabinet door open or an altar to the Devil that was on fire. It was my normal house, with my normal things.

But when I returned back to the living room… the word was gone. Just, gone. No trace of it at all. Not so much as a smudge on the wall.

“What… what was the word?” Marg asks, which I find weird. She already knows what it is, so why would she ask? Is it because she wants to make sure I don’t change the word? To see if I’m making all of it up?

“Venit,” I answer and it hangs in the air. One might think it should be a scarier word, like ‘death’ or ‘murder’ or maybe ‘blood’ but no. It’s a word in Latin of all things. Not even a crazy word at that.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder if whatever wrote the word knew that you speak Latin,” Margaret ponders. I can’t help but wonder if this is her way of suggesting that maybe it was all in my head. But Margaret is far too blunt for that. She would just come out and say it. Then again, maybe she is about to. I know I’ve thought it, at least at first.

“That means, what? To arrive? Arrived?” Margaret asks, trying to remember her Latin from a college course from a long time ago. She hated Latin, but I didn’t. It’s why it was my minor back in college.

“Yes,” I answer simply. “Well, in some cases it can mean to come,” I add on, bringing out the nerd in me. To come isn’t really the best translation of it, but one I’ve heard before.

Marg takes a few more moments to think this over, clearly confused by any potential meaning. I sort of hope she figures a meaning because I sure can’t. Of all the things for a supernatural power to say, why would it say that?

“What happened next?” Margaret prompts, leaning forward again to show she is even more interested. I open my mouth to tell her, but then pause. Do I really want to tell her everything? Everything?

Do I want to share that I fell asleep on that very couch and woke up with my panties around my knees? At night I sleep in a t-shirt and panties as I find it is the most comfortable. And that night I accidentally fell asleep on the couch as I was watching TV. When I woke up, my panties were pulled down past my knees. They were stretched out and basically ruined too, as if someone yanked them down aggressively. Not to mention that my shirt had been pulled over my head, where it rested on the back of my neck, making sure my boobs were fully exposed.

Do I dare share this tidbit? I decide not to, mainly because of what it’ll imply. And that’s to say that I played with myself in my sleep. That there’s some dark part of me that went to town on my womanhood, but don’t remember it cause I was asleep. It wouldn’t matter that it doesn’t feel like I did anything down there, or that if I wanted to do that, I would rather use a sex toy. Just the fact that it happened would be an instant motion that I just need to get laid.

“Next… I was going to get the ladder from the garage because I wanted to check out the wall. But when I went into the garage, I saw the attic door. It’s in the ceiling, you know? The type you pull on the cord to pull down a set of stairs that go up. Well, I saw the attic door and wondered if what I saw was because of a gas leak or something. That it was making me see shit. So I decided to go up there and check, I dunno, like if there’s a big open pipe or something, you know?” I explain to Marg what I did next, leaving out the condition that I had found myself.

I pause before I say anything more, recalling all that happened. I think what makes it so strange was that I’ve been in the attic before. Many times actually. I was already storing crap up there. Why didn’t I see it before that night? Was it because I didn’t think to see if anything was out of place, or because something didn’t want me to see it?

“I went up in the attic and looked around. I had put in a few strings of full LED light bulbs up there, so it wasn’t dark at all. It could already be creepy up there so I wanted to make sure it was as bright as possible. I looked all around the attic trying to see if there was anything broken, but it looked like it always did. But then… I noticed something I hadn’t before,” I say and pause again as I get a strange shudder of fear.

“One side of my house is flat, if that makes sense. Well, the roof, you know? It doesn’t go downward but just stops into a flat end. Like how it would be in a house of cards. When I went to that flat side, I noticed the edge, or wall, or whatever the technical term is, was way too far in. That the end didn’t match the shape of the house,” I keep on explaining, starting to use my hands to better explain.

“That’s when I discovered that someone had built a wall… in front of the wall. They made a freaking fake wall, the entire length of that side of the attic from one side to the other. A wall that was three feet away from the real wall. Someone closed it off for some reason,” I tell Marg, the dark feeling in the room getting stronger. This worries me as I consider something I hadn’t before. Does acknowledging whatever it is, make it stronger?

“Damn it!” Margaret suddenly yells, furious. Her eyes get wide and a look of near rage flashes on her face. It’s so sudden that it scares me, bad. I actually jump back at it, surprised I didn’t scream. It scares me so much that for a moment I think she’s going to leap via the leap at me.

“Look, asshole, don’t you dare. Not after I had to clean up after you, last-fucking time,” Margaret yells, her gaze not on me but on someone beyond her screen. Right after this, I hear her husband talking, letting me know that she hasn’t gone crazy nor is she yelling at me. She’s yelling at her S.O.

“I don’t care if you are tired from a day of fishing. I wouldn’t care if you are tired from a day defeating every super villain ever created… You’re not putting all your fishing crap in here. Last time I had to rent a damn carpet cleaning vacuum to get all the mud and fish parts out of the carpet. Put all your shit in the garage where it belongs!” Margaret yells in a very stern, motherly fashion.

“Hey girl, I’m sorry. Give me a minute. All idiots have a king, and that’s my husband,” Margaret tells me apologetically. She says the same statement every time when describing her husband, which always makes me smile. She then stands up and proceeds to continue to yell at her husband.

This gives me a chance to reach for my whiskey. I’ve never been a wine or beer type girl, but a whiskey one. Not mixing it with anything either. Sipping on it straight, or as they say, “neat”. And I’ve found that after all that’s happened of late, I’m drinking more and more. It’s becoming one of the only things that calm me down.

I sip my whiskey and lean back in my chair, trying to relax even if I feel…the darkness looking at me. It’s why I wanted to videochat with Margaret. I knew she would make me feel better. She would chase the blackness away or maybe make me forget, if just for a little bit.

“What the?” I think as I take a sip of whiskey. On the screen is Marg’s midsection and left arm as she is still standing and yelling at her husband. But through my raised glass at my lips, it’s not what I see.

Marg’s hand is no longer a hand, but some sort of fluid-monster arm. It bends unnaturally at her wrist and elongates upward, like the end of a candy cane. Her fingers stretch, turn and stretch into what can only be tentacles like from one of those Japanese anime monster cartoons. This tentacle keeps stretching upward, wiggling furiously as it does.

Stunned I stare at it through the warped glass, not believing what I’m seeing. It’s so terrifying that my glass actually starts to shake as it’s pressed against my lips. In my terror I actually drink all of the whiskey as I’m too scared to lower the glass. Too scared to see what that thing really is.

Finally, freaked out and terrified, I lower the glass as fast as I can. It’s so fast that it falls right out of my hand and sails down to the carpet, not that I care. My eyes are focused only on the screen.

On screen, I see Marg, still standing like normal, yelling at her husband. No funky hand, no unnatural bending. No nothing. Just normal Marg. Normal everything. A normal hand at the end of a normal arm on a normal body.

“Fuck me,” I curse in panic and stand up suddenly as something touches my nipples. It feels like someone took the tip of their fingers and moved it over both of my nipples at the same time, like they are are trying to tease them.

I turn around in reaction, trying to catch whatever just did it. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and probably not the last. And each time there’s never anyone here. Just like each time I have on a bra, so it’s not even possible anyone could even touch my nipples. Yet whatever it is, can not just touch them, but pinch and pull on them even with a bra on.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Marg asks, very concerned as she sees my panic. I give my living room another glance, as if expecting something to appear out of nowhere. Yet, like all the times before, nothing shows up, nor do I even hear anything out of the ordinary.

“N-Nothing. Nothing. Just… dropped my glass,” I lie, not wanting to have to explain what just happened. Telling someone that you saw their arm turn into a monster, then had someone play with your nipples is a bit too much to say without them knowing you’ve lost it. And I’m scared Marg already thinks that very thing.

I sit down and pick up my glass, trying to make my face look normal. Or in any case, like I wasn’t just sexually molested by thin air. I then pour myself more whiskey, thinking that if I don’t watch it, I’m going to get plastered.

“Alright. Tell me about this wall in the attic,” Marg says, clearly interested. I’m not sure how her argument with her husband went, but her focus is back on me as she sits back down.

“Yeah. Well, I got a screwdriver and-” I begin but stop as the power goes out. The entire house turns off and leaves a layer of darkness all over. Darkness and silence. Only this darkness feels more than just darkness. Feels like a blanket coming down to wrap around every inch of me.

“Oh shit,” I say, terror coming over me. But before the terror builds too much, the lights turn back on. Beeps and boops sound off as devices are powered back on and the lights chase the darkness away. The sounds of the house coming alive with a multitude of electronic devices play out, making me feel not so alone.

Looking at my laptop screen, I frown. The laptop does have a battery, but without the internet, it got rather upset. The screen is now a pixeled mess of the videochat program. Not knowing how long it’ll take for it to reboot, I decide I’ll just call Marg to finish our conversation.

Standing up, I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket. Smiling because I know it’s Marg, checking on me. I reach into my pocket to pull it out, only to get another surprise.

My cell’s screen looks strangely like my laptop’s screen. It’s a pixelated mess of my icons and background. This doesn’t make any sense because my cell wasn’t charging or touching anything electronic when the power went out. Yet it’s clearly messed up.

“Damn it,” I growl and press the button on the side to try and restart my cell. Of all the freaking times for my cell to have issues, it has to be now. It’s like it was planned or something.

“Double damn it!” I shout and have to fight the urge to send my cell phone flying. It turned off, sure, but now won’t turn on. I press and hold the button, but it doesn’t power on. The screen stays as black as midnight.

Upset, I slam my cell on the coffee table, knowing I’ll need to let it sit for a moment. It most likely got overheated and needs to cool down before it’ll turn back on. I’ll just leave it for the 5 minutes and then call Marg. No biggie.

Trying not to get freaked out worse than I am, I grab my whiskey and walk to the large bay window. Despite me calling this room my living room, it’s really not. It’s an upstairs main hub, where all the rooms up here connect. I guess you could call it a living space or something, but since I spend most of my time here, I call it the living room. The stairs to go down are one end, and hallways lead to the other rooms.

Sipping my whiskey, I look out at the scene in front of me. I do like the view from here. My house is at the end of this dead-end street, so I can see completely down it. From here I see every single house on this small street, right down to the main drag. Hell, I can even see beyond and at the rest of the neighborhood too, since the house is so high up. Unlike the other houses, this one is built on a large hill.

This house is very unique in many ways, not just the spooky ones. It has a weird history too as it was built by someone that I would call a weirdo. But the part that stands out the most to me is that the house has a lot of land attached, so the neighbors aren’t that close. It makes this house stand out from the others, as their yards are normal sized yards you would see in any subdivision, while mine is three times as long, which sucks when you have to pay to get it mowed.

My house is the only one at the end of the street because of the huge yard. I remember thinking how it sort of looked like something you would see in a movie when I first drove up here. A lone house at the end, telling you that’s where the monster lives. Or that there’s going to be a murder mystery inside.

My eyes narrow as I spot something on a neighbor’s yard. As it is rather late and it’s pretty dark outside, I’m not sure I’m really seeing it, so I lean closer to the window. I spot the oddity, then blink several times to make sure I am really seeing it, and it’s not a trick of some sort. Sure enough, after blinking repeatedly, it’s still there.

“Who or what the hell is that?” I ask out loud, as if someone is going to answer me. Four houses down, on the curb, there’s a man staring up at me. He’s dressed all in black and just stands there, still as can be, staring up at me. There’s no doubt he’s looking at me either because I can feel it.

Looking at him, I’m not sure what I’m to do. Do I try and call the police? Would they even come out? Telling them there’s a creepy guy on my street doesn’t sound like something they would drop everything to investigate. I guess it doesn’t matter as my cell isn’t working. But, holy hell that guy looks creepy. Looks like what you think a gross rapist would look like.

“Oh… shit,” I curse under my breath when I see another guy. This one is across the street and one house down. He too is on the curb, wearing all black and is staring at me. Seeing him makes my already hard beating heart pound much harder.

That too familiar feeling of terror washes over me yet again. The feeling that feels like a bucket of ice cold water is dumped on top of your head. Where your heart seems to beat in your heart and not your chest. Where you feel that you are seconds away from dying.

You see… I think it’s the same guy. Or that they are twins. They look identical. I know I’m pretty far away, but I can just tell it’s the same guy. Or something using the same body.

I groan as I spot yet another guy. He’s on my next door neighbor’s yard. He’s just like the other two, dressed in black and staring at me. Only with him, I can really see the white of his eyes, even in the darkness of evening.

Panicking, I step backward from the window, wishing I hadn’t had the light on. They clearly see me. They know I’m home. And I don’t know what they are about to do.

I’m not sure what gives me the strength, but my body seems to come to life from the paralysis I was in. With this new power, I turn and rush to my cell phone. Grabbing it, I rush back to the window. In my spilt second thinking, I decide I need to go back to the window because it’s better to know where they are than to hide and not know.

I press down hard on the power button on my cell, hoping and praying it comes back to life. As I do this, I try to think what I’m going to tell the police. That a cult is stalking my home? That strange men dressed in the same exact thing are intimidating me? That I’m scared they are about to rush in and do something? Hell, I know exactly what they are going to do: rape me; gangbang me; run a train until I can’t even walk.

Looking out the window, I go to check where they are, hoping they aren’t rushing towards my house. That’s when I see they’ve disappeared. All are gone.

Yet, where they were… are garbage bags. Big black garbage bags left on the curb, reminding me that tomorrow is trash day. Just normal, stuffed garbage bags, like you see every week the night before trash day.

Staring at each of them in turn, I’m not sure if I’m going to start laughing or crying. They weren’t garbage bags before. I know it. I saw men. They were white skinned men all looking at me. I’m sure of it. I freaking felt them staring.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” I shout in shock when I catch my reflection in the window. Well, when I catch the reflection of my bare tits.

Looking down I see my shirt is up and over my breasts, exposing them to everyone that’s looking into the window. My full and large breasts, on display for the world, without me having a clue. In fact, I was standing so close to the window, they are actually pressing against the glass.

Immediately I yank my shirt down, my face going bright red as I end the showing off of my FF’s. Moving away from the window, I hold the front of my shirt down as if it is going to jerk back up magically. Doing this makes my hard nipples press against the fabric, showing off how aroused they are. But I fight to push this feeling away, telling myself that all that happened is when I raced to get my cell, my tits bounced because I’m not wearing a bra. And they must have pushed my shirt up. That’s it.

Wait a second. I was wearing a bra. Grabbing hold of my breasts on the outside of my shirt, I discover that I’m braless. It’s gone.

I’m not sure why, but I turn to look at the couch. There, laid out as if positioned, is my bra. It’s completely spread out too, showing just how large the bra cups are. At some point… I took it off. But I don’t remember doing that. And why would I do it?

Needing to talk to Marg, I look at my cell to see it’s still dead. Frustrated, I race to my laptop. I’m fully prepared that it too is going to be dead, but thankfully, it’s not. It acts like normal, no longer showing the pixelated screen.

“What the?” I groan as my laptop tells me it’s not connected to the internet. I attempt to connect to the WiFi, but then discover that my network isn’t listed. This leads me to go downstairs where my router is.

Once I’m downstairs, I don’t have to look at or examine my router to know it’s dead. I can smell it. There’s a faint burnt smell that hangs in the air, and I know it’s going to be from either the router or my modem. So when I reach it, I don’t bother to pick it up. Sure, logically you could say that a power surge killed it when the power went out. But I doubt that’s true. It’s on a power surge protector after all. Even if there is the possibility that it could be fried, I’m not sure of anything that’s happening here any longer.

How else am I going to talk to Marg? I have so much more to tell her. Not just about what I found in the attic, but the research I did about the fucker that lived here. It’s not like I can tell anyone else. I attempted to share it on Reddit, but that was a disaster. If I could only talk to someone else, to tell them all that I learned to see what they think.

I think that’s what makes all of this so maddening. I can’t seem to get any true concrete facts about anything, so I don’t know what to believe. I can’t prove any of the weird things I see. I didn’t record them, nor is there any damage to show. Just like all the stuff I researched. It’s all rumors that were told person to person, with no proof at all. Especially as some of the rumors are freaking crazy.

The guy that built this house was named Dan Darkenmore, and he was an evil fucking bastard, if what I read was true. Dude was very wealthy and felt it made him better than everyone. So much so he didn’t care when two men died making this house. In fact, one of the things I read said he was pissed that more didn’t die while building it.

The guy was a sicko and a sex freak. I read everything from how he held orgies all the time to him forcing people to have sex in front of him. And by force, I do mean force. Holding their families hostage, having guns pointed at them, threatening to have his goons set them on fire, and other evil shit. Also, he forced them in every sense of the word. Made non-homosexual people do homosexual acts, and made homosexual people have sex with non-homosexual people. All for his cruel enjoyment.

The most troubling rumor I read is how he built this house special. He clearly had the money to have ten different mansions, but instead wanted to build this house the way he wanted. He built it for a purpose, but no one knows what the purpose was. It’s a large house compared to most houses, but nothing compared to a mansion.

Oh, some of the rumors I read about this house were just plain gross. I know most aren’t real as people love to make up stuff, but I have a feeling some are indeed real. Like he had virgin blood of adults mixed in with the red paint that coats the outside of the house. Or that he forced some poor woman to be anally raped in each and every room in the house so her screams could be captured in the walls.

Or maybe the most troubling, he kept people captive in the basement, using and toying with them, because he viewed them as sacrifices. That if he didn’t have sex at least four times a day, it would cause him physical pain. And this wasn’t the sort of guy that could have normal sex either.

If I had been smart, I would have looked into who lived in the house before I did. Not just who built it, but who lived here. But when I purchased the house, it was owned by a bank and no one had lived here for years, which should have been a clue. If I had only looked into it, if I spent five minutes poking around, none of this would have happened. I would have learned that no one has ever lived here besides that crazy, evil bastard. It’s been passed about, sold and resold, but no one has dared to actually live here.

Freaked out, I walk back up the stairs and into my living room. When I get there, I pick up my fallen whiskey glass. I look at it for a moment, but decide not to drink any more. Not because I’m scared or anything, actually the opposite. I’m getting rather, well, aroused. The urge to have sex keeps getting stronger, and this isn’t the time to be feeling it. The thought to fire up Tinder or some other site keeps popping in my head, which isn’t like me. I’m not the sort to hook up like that. I’ve had one night stands, sure, but not like that.

I know it has to be the whiskey. The whiskey and fear. They are acting on each other to pump me full of chemicals and hormones to fuck with my emotions. But I’m strong. Strong enough to resist. I know that of all the times to be aroused, this isn’t one of them. Especially thinking of the sex acts that sick bastard did within these very walls. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have sex in this place if I’m being honest.

Right as I’m about to sit on my couch, I hear a faint noise. It’s a strange noise that I don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from. It’s not someone yelling or talking, nor is it someone knocking. It’s tapping. Like some object tapping against something else. The problem is that it’s distant, far away. But I listen to the tapping over and over, trying to place what it could be.

The noise is coming from inside the house, I can tell that much, and that’s what scares me. Who knows what in the world I’m going to find. At this point, I don’t think I can handle any new or horrible surprises. I just want a normal house and a normal life. A life where I don’t have to worry about seeing shit or being magically stripped or raped.

I consider just ignoring the sound. To pretend I don’t hear it. But how am I going to do that? I can’t watch TV or listen to music because I have no internet. I can’t surf the web even on my cell because it’s not working either. What am I to do to not hear that crappy tapping?

Knowing I really have no choice, I begin to go room to room again, searching for whatever is making that noise. The noise does get a bit maddening as in some rooms it’s louder, some softer, but there’s no real reason for it. It is almost like the sound is moving.

Finally I go into the garage as it’s the last place I haven’t checked. The moment I walk into it, the cold feeling of fear is pumped inside me like a doctor giving a shot. The fear comes because I know exactly what the sound is, and it’s the last straw. I’ve had enough. It’s too much. I can’t take any more and I’m leaving. I have to get out of this crappy, evil house.

Whatever dark presence that’s here with me seems to sense my intentions, because at this exact moment, my pajama bottoms and panties are yanked down. They are forcefully pulled to my ankles, exposing my womanhood and ass. There’s no other way for this to have happened, unless some unseen force did it.

Panicking yet again, I try to run while bending over to hoist up my pajama bottoms and panties, not even caring that they don’t go back just perfect. I run as fast as I can towards my front door, refusing to be raped by a fucking ghost or demon or whatever the hell it is. Moving as fast as I can, I don’t care that my cell is upstairs and I don’t have my purse. All that matters is getting the fuck out of this house.

It takes mere seconds to reach my front door. Yet, knowing better as this night is clearly not a normal night, I flip on the porch light outside. I do this because I need to make sure there’s no one out there. That there’s no cult surrounding my house, prepared to grab me the moment I run out.

“Fuck,” I grunt as when I look through the peep hole, all I see is darkness. Leaning back, I know this isn’t right as I can see porch light shining though the side window as well as under the door. So why is the peephole blacked out?

This time, when I look through the peephole, there’s darkness, then a brief moment of light for it to go back to black. It looked like a ray of light moved, as weird as that sounds. I keep looking out of the hole, knowing that something isn’t right. That something is horribly wrong here.

Hurriedly stepping to the side, I move to the side window so I can look out. Pulling back the curtain, I look out at the front porch, trying to see what’s going on.

I have to grab hold of the wall to prevent myself from falling over once I see my porch. A feeling of non-belief hits and I really think I may pass out. That my brain can’t handle what I’m seeing because it can’t be possible. It’s impossible. Fucking impossible. IM-FUCKING-POSSIBLE.

Wasps. Big fucking wasps are everywhere. They crawl and walk all over each other as they cover most of my porch. Wasps of different sizes and colors. From angry looking yellow jackets to upset red wasps, to black as night hornets. They all mix together, making sure not to leave nearly any portion of my porch free from their patrol.

There’s so many of them that at times they block out all of the light as they swarm the light fixture. They pile up on it, as if blocking the light on purpose. Like they are all working together.

There has to be thousands of them. Not just thousands, but tens of thousands… all surrounding my front porch; all blocking me from getting out of my door. For I know if I dare open the door, they will attack. And stinging will be the least of my worries as I feel they will crawl and force their way into every single hole on my body for daring to try to leave.

The next thing I know, I’m at my back door. I don’t remember telling myself to go here, but it’s what happens. Not that I mind. I have to get the fuck out of here. I have to get out of this house.

Before opening the back door, I look out the large window on top of the door. It’s not something I’ve done before, but something makes me do it this time. Like some unseen 6^th sense.

“No… no! Damn it, NO!” I shout as I see several mean looking snakes coiled up at my back porch. These are large snakes too, of red and yellow color, not to mention scales. I don’t know much about snakes, but I’m pretty sure those are going to be venomous. And as I look down at them, their black eyes look at me. I think I’m projecting this at first, but then they lift their triangular heads and hiss in my direction.

Stepping back from the door, it hits me. It’s keeping me here. Whatever it is, doesn’t want me to leave. It’s keeping me here for whatever reason. I bet if I go to any window or other way out, there’ll be something there to stop me. That the entire house is in some evil lockdown.

In something of a daze, I walk back from the door, not scared that the snakes are going to get inside. As crazy as it may sound, I know they are going to stay out there. Just like I know the wasps will too, and whatever else is out there. They don’t want to go inside the house, but to keep me inside.

I walk slowly from the back door and into the kitchen. The layout of this place is odd to me, as instead of being close to the back door, the kitchen is on the other side of the house. Just like I find it odd there’s only one bathroom on the bottom floor, yet three of them upstairs.

Testing my theory, when I enter the kitchen I look at the sliding glass door that leads to the side yard. All over the outside of the glass door are a multitude of spider webs. Stringy, scary looking webs that are covered in small black spiders with what looks like a red hourglass on the body. In a quick glance, I figure I see at least two dozen of them crawling about. I’m no spider person, but I’m pretty sure those are Black Widows.

This confirms what I already knew to be true. It’s keeping me in the house. And it’s far more powerful than what I thought it could be. It has the power to control insects, snakes and more. What else is it able to do? How powerful is the fucking thing?

Staring at the spiders, I hear the faint tapping noise. The sound that is nonstop and maddening as it’s gotten louder. Or maybe it’s just because I’m closer to it now as the sound is coming from the attic. The secret space in the attic.

When I was attempting to break into the fake wall up in the attic, I wasn’t sure what to expect. And boy, it took me forever to break in. At first I was just using a crowbar, but in the end, I had to get a freaking sledgehammer. It wasn’t just 2x4s that made up that wall, but wood glue, brackets and much more. Whomever sealed it up, didn’t want it broken into.

The moment I was able to break in, from the moment I broke apart that first plank of wood, I was filled with a horrible darkness, like something evil moved over me. It felt like a moving shadow of hate and rage that was intelligent. Like pent up, intense, extreme emotions. It seemed to flow out of that room like water out of a glass. It was so intense, I swear I even saw some of it, like black smoke.

An hour later, I was able to take down enough of the fake wall to see true brick wall of the house. And oh, how I wished I hadn’t. I wish I had left all of it alone. If I hadn’t been so damn curious.

It was like another small room. A tiny room. And drilled into the brick wall were two thick iron chains bolted in near the top, close to the roof. They hung down a few feet, where the chains ended in lockable cuffs. Near the floor, were similar chains, but much shorter, also with cuffs.

It was pretty easy to see it was used to chain people up. That may not have been so bad, but those chains weren’t the only thing in there. Attached to the wall on hooks was all sorts of… equipment. Sexual equipment. Old floggers, whips, clips, clamps, primitive dildos and some homemade tools I’ve never seen before but looked… painful.

Every one of these toys had its own spot were it was placed. Each one looked lovingly placed too, where they hung on their own shelf or hook, depending on the item. It showed that whomever did this, planned where to put each one, and wanted to make sure they wouldn’t fall off.

There was even a long metal bar in its own casing, that took me a while to figure out that it was to pin a woman in place by inserting into a groove on the floor upward to… to… well… inside, you know, inside her special place. It would be inserted deep inside her womanhood, making it so she couldn’t move at all.

And written over each and every brick, hopefully in red paint and nothing else, were sigils. All manner of sigils with all of them looking evil. Scary. Demonic. Some of them had even turned black, like they were burned into the brick, which I didn’t think was possible.

It was finding that secret place that got me to research the guy that built this house. What put me on the path of learning all that he did. His twisted and evil history. It’s what made the haunting even worse.

I’m not even sure I could have told Marg everything. Especially about the stuff the evil bastard did in the attic. It’s so twisted and horrible that I vowed never to go back up there. I can’t even go near a place where such humiliation and abuse happened.

The evil bastard hired goons to go with him to a church, where he would pick out a victim. The goons would then kidnap the victim, only to bring them here and chain them up. It was mostly women, but every so often he would grab a man.

It was in the attic that he would sexually use and abuse them for as long as he wanted. They say he even brought in crowds that belonged to his cult to watch as he anally took his victims, allowing all to laugh at the naked victim as part of some ritual. That he hosted them like a party, with the victim being raped as the entertainment and sexual sacrifice.

At first, I thought he did such horrible things because he was just a horrible person. A sick pervert. Some loser that was so messed up he couldn’t get it up without hearing a woman scream. But no. I wish that it was.

He did all those evil acts because he belonged to some cult. A cult where the members pledge their soul to some sex demon. He did all those evil sex acts as a ritual to that demon, in hopes of, well, I dunno. Getting possessed? Getting riches? Getting… something? I really don’t know. But he believed in the demon and convinced many others to worship him as well.

The tapping sound echoes about the room and my mind, bringing me back to my senses. Though I can’t see it, I know what the sound is, and it’s the chains in the attic, rattling and bouncing off the brick wall, stating they want their next victim. That they need the sexual abuse, pain and fear from a new victim. That they have been awoken and empowered and will not stay quiet any longer.

With cold fear and a horrible tiredness coming over me, I know that I’m the next victim. The house wants me. It wants me chained to that wall so the darkness can do horrible things to me. I can feel it deep in my soul. I’m not sure if it is from the demon, or the evil bastard, or from the house itself. But I can tell whatever it is, it wants me.

Putting my hands to my face, I fight to keep it together. It’s just… I feel so tired. This place doesn’t let you sleep. I’ve gotten maybe 8 hours of sleep in the past week. Of late it seems like something was happening every day to freak me out. To make you too scared to fall asleep. It keeps you in this constant state of fear or nervousness, where any moment you know you will be touched or something will happen. And even when I do fall asleep, it’ll do something. From pulling my clothes, to pinching a sensitive place, right down to spanking or slapping my ass.

I’m so tired that it’s like I can’t even think. How am I supposed to get out of this if I can barely even remember my own name? There’s no internet, no cell phone, no nothing. It’s not like I can contact anyone. I’m all alone here. Alone, tired and scared.

Wanting to be away from the sight of the spiders, I leave the kitchen. As I do, I consider how stupid I found the idea of a “sex demon” to be at first. I mean, a sex demon? Really? Sounds like a bad Hellraiser movie. Demons are evil monsters. Why would they care about sex? Wouldn’t they rather be biting, striking, eating and attacking anyone instead?

After reading more about demons, I discovered how it did make sense, in a weird, sick way. People like the evil bastard believe sex was made as a beautiful way for people to show their love for each other. A God given gift to make a personal connection that’s needed to survive in this crazy world. It’s a beautiful, sweet act, made with love.

Many demons, such as the demon the cult believed in, took the beautiful act of making love and twisted it. Turned it from beautiful into a session filled with pain, humiliation and terror. The point being to pervert an act given by God to show defiance. And in that defiance it gives the demon power.

Learning this did sort of mess me up. I mean, good people can enjoy kinky sex and not be considered evil. I’ve even enjoyed getting spanked by a lover. I even let him tie my breasts because he kept asking to do it so often. And I’ve known others that like bondage, or pain and other darker-leaning acts who are perfectly good people. They certainly didn’t worship any sex demons.

I think the difference between normal kinky people and what the demon does is the demon does extreme acts on non-consenting victims. There’s no love or joy in it for anyone but the demon. While for normal kinky people, it is still an act of connection or love. It’s meant for joy and fun, not hate and pain as it is for the demon.

In fact, it did make me ponder a strange thought. I wonder what happened if one of the victims they captured started to enjoy the abuse. That they got into it, and turned it into something positive. Where the victim orgasmed off it, instead of being scared and humiliated. Would they have let the victim go? Did it hurt the demon? Did it give them power to fight it?

My eyes close as I feel an unnatural cold surround me. Like an unseen cloud, it moves around me as I stand in my downstairs living room. The cold brings something…alive with it. The feeling pumps even more fear into me to the point that it feels like it’s trying to enter my very pores. But with my eyes closed, I take deep, strong breathes to keep it at bay.

Once I feel a tad bit stronger, I open my eyes to see a sight that adds on to the confirmation of what’s happening. I see my panties, laid out in a line, as if a path for me to follow. And every so often, I see one of my bras too. All of my underwear made into a nice, neat line, making a clear path that heads no doubt to the garage…and then the attic. And yes, all of my underwear was in my bedroom, upstairs.

“Ouch!” I cry out and my hips shoot forward as I feel a bad sting on my bottom. It scares me to the point that I spin around, scared that a snake bit me on the ass or something. But of course, nothing’s there. Nothing’s there because it was a spank to my ass. A spank meant to make me move. A hard slap on the ass, telling me to get my body to the attic so I can be the victim.

“N-No,” I say out loud, not even sure who I’m saying it too. The house? The demon? The crazy sex bastard that built the place? Maybe to all of them.

My shirt is flung upward suddenly, exposing my breasts while covering my face with my own shirt. This makes me shriek as I wasn’t expecting it. It’s done it before, but never so fierce or aggressive. I grab my shirt and yank it back down to cover myself, refusing to expose any part of me. Refusing to give in.

As I pull my shirt down, my pajama bottoms and panties are yanked down as if there’s an invisible man behind me who did it. They fall to my feet, exposing my shaved womanhood to the house, as well as my ass.

Once again I shriek as I don’t want to be exposed. I bend over quickly to grab my bottoms, but as I do, something grabs my shirt again. While bent over, the force pulls on my shirt, allowing it to overpower my arms and slide off me, moving over my head with ease. In a single move, I’m made topless, my tits dangling and swinging under me.

The force of my shirt being pulled forces me forward, where I fall over. With my feet wrapped in my own pajama bottoms, I can’t step to try and catch my balance. So I fall, nearly landing on my face. Thankfully I’m able to get my hands out to break my fall.

Once I land, I reach out, wanting to grab my shirt. Only…it’s gone. I don’t see it anywhere. Panicking, I sit up and pull my knees to my chest in hopes of at least grabbing my pajama bottoms. But then I see they are gone too. My pajama bottoms and panties are just, gone. Disappeared. No doubt somewhere in my house, taken from me in some messed up hide and seek game.

I’m naked. Completely naked. NAKED. Every inch of me exposed and out in the open. I’ve been stripped. Made to feel like a toy to the darkness. I’m being assaulted and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And for some reason, I feel like every window is a pair of eyes, staring at me hungrily. Where there are hundreds of people looking at me in the darkness and are laughing at me.

“No! I won’t let you!” I declare to the house, my voice quivering as I’m so scared and pissed off. Defiant, I stand up as if about to physically fight. It’s silly and isn’t going to help anything, but I use one arm to cover my breasts and the other to cup my womanhood as I stand. At the very least, won’t let it get to see the best bits.

There’s just one question that I have…what do I do now? What can I do? The only thing my tired and fear-filled brain can think to do is to go get my Bible. That maybe, somehow, it’ll protect me. That it’ll repel the darkness because I believe in its power.

Suddenly, the air gets extremely cold. It feels like that cloud of cold air returns, surrounding me again, only this time it’s far more intense. Instantly I shiver and my teeth chatter. The cold latches on to me like a blanket, wrapping around every inch of me, like it’s trying to leach my body heat away. It feels physical, like its able to hold me.

“NO!” I scream as loud as I can as I feel the cold moving up my nose. I feel the stabbing cold as it snakes its way into both nostrils as it tries to get inside me. A moment later, I feel the exact same thing, but in my mouth. The piercing cold moves in like it was dry ice or something, freezing my body as it goes.

Panic once again overwhelms me as I feel my consciousness being taken from me. It feels just like when I had surgery as a kid. They put that mask-thing over my mouth and nose and told me to breathe. When I did, the gas inside seemed to go inside my body and steal my breath as well as my conscious mind, forcing me into a dark sleep. I remember trying to fight it, but it would be like trying to fight gravity when you are pushed out of an airplane.

“NOOOO!” I scream, but the blackness around the edges of my vision crawls over. It soon covers all of my vision, not allowing me to see a single thing. I fight with all my might to hang on to at least a tiny bit of my consciousness, but it too is ripped away from me. It’s just too powerful.

“W-W-What…what happened?” I groan as my eyes flutter open. My entire body feels drained and tired, like I did a few days of hard physical labor. My head pounds as well, making it feel like I’m hungover or dehydrated.

“Nooooo,” I groan in hopelessness as I see where I am. I’m in the attic, my hands held over my head, cuffed to the chains. And looking down, my feet are cuffed spread apart as well, leaving me naked and helpless in the house’s torture spot.

I pull and pull on the chains, wanting to get free, but they are still very sturdy. Even after all this time, they are strong enough to hold me in place. To trap me. And it doesn’t appear like they can be ripped out from the wall either.

The darkness possessed me. That has to be what happened. It possessed me and brought my naked ass here. Made me lock myself up.

Taking a sort of mental inventory of myself, it doesn’t appear that it’s done anything to me. There’s no pain or markings anywhere. If that’s the case, it must need the real me for whatever it has planned. That I can’t be possessed.

A creak in the attic floorboards makes me whip my head in that direction. The attic is brightly lit as the lights have been turned on, but I don’t see anyone. But I heard that creak, as if someone is walking over the old boards.

“W-What do you want?” I ask the darkness, trying to sound not as scared as I sound. Another creak sounds, this one much closer, but that’s the only response I get.

I can sense that something else is here. I can feel their presence, even if they are invisible. And whatever it is, is massive. I can feel that it towers over me and has to be double my size in width.

I gasp as for the briefest of moments, I see a flash of something. A black, shadowy shape with two red eyes, like the ends of two lit cigarettes. A huge black shape that is somewhat the shape of a person, and it’s right in front of me.

It’s the demon. It has to be. It possessed me and brought me here. Now it means to fulfil whatever dark plans it has to give itself more power.

A scream comes out of me unexpectedly as it feels like a lightning bolt cracked right over both of my breasts. As I scream, I feel my tits bounce up and then jiggle, hard. Looking down, I see a long red welt form on top of both breasts, making it look as if they were just hit with something like a whip.

Another blow comes, making me cry out again from the sting. My breasts do the same hard bounce, where they sail up, then come back down, jiggling all over. The sting lingers with a red welt forming underneath the first one.

It’s whipping me. It’s whipping my tits. When I figure this, I try to pull on the chains to break them, but I can’t. My reward for struggling is to be whipped several more times across my breasts, with the last blow landing right on my sensitive nipples.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I shriek at the unseen monster, my breasts throbbing from the punishment. My words are met with what feels like two vises grabbing my hard nipples. They grab and pull cruelly, but pull upwards, making both of my breasts move upward by the nipples as if doing it to themselves.

I shake my head nearly violently as the demonic presence abuses my breasts. I scream for it to stop as it starts to stretch my breasts into cones, knowing how much it hurts. But it doesn’t stop. Instead it pulls harder, pulling my poor breasts like they have never been before.

Finally my tits are released, letting them fall and swing as my sweaty self tries to catch my breath. At this brief respite, I hang on my bonds, more scared than I thought possible.

There’s no way out of this. I’m stuck to this wall. And even if I could break free, the demon has locked down my house. In time it would just bring me back to this exact spot. There’s nothing I can do.

It’s going to abuse me and no doubt rape me for the entire night, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’ll keep doing it until…I don’t know. Until it get what it wants. But how long will that take? An hour? All night? A Week? How long before I can no longer take it and it claims my soul?

Glancing around, I see all the horrid sex toys that are on the wall. All the tools that are about to be used on me, no doubt. Will it use the real thing, or some ghost/demon version of them? And there’s just so many and they all look like they will hurt.

Looking at the sex toys feels me with a great amount of fear. Especially the one bar prison which I swear is glowing. It’s like the demon knows how scared I am of the thing and is making sure I notice it. It wants me scared. It wants me to feel the fear of it before it uses it on me.

“Feel…fear,” I mutter out loud, my tired brain making some strange connection. The few brain cells that are still working and not passed out fire into life, trying to get me to work. To see something that the back of my mind knows, but I don’t.

The demon has been feeding off my fear. For weeks, it’s scared me and terrorized me. Now it is about to feed off my pain as well. No doubt feeding off my other emotions too, like my humiliation, terror, even anger. That’s what it wants. That’s its goal. To produce those in me and make them even more intense.

What if I did the opposite?

In my mind, I remember a long time ago, when I was having sex with my then boyfriend. We were just playing around and being stupid. He had me pressed up against the bedroom door, where he tied my hands over my head by wrapping a cloth around them and trapping them in the closed door at the top. I remember how helpless I felt, as I had to stand on my tiptoes. Being aggressive, he turned me around and pressed my face against the door and spanked me. Spanked me till my entire ass was red and then fucked me.

I remember that session because it was so hot. It was so intense. I will always remember it as he called me dirty while he spanked me hard. I remember feeling how I deserved it. That my ass belonged to him and he could do whatever he wanted. That he might even take pictures to show his friends. But more than anything, I wanted him to do more. To not just spank me, but much worse. Sure, it was all heated talk in my mind, but oh, how I craved it at that moment.

Over the years, I’ve let others spank me, but none have come close to that first time. Back to when I wanted it to hurt because it felt good. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded if he anally took me that day, if that’s what he wanted, which is something I’ve not let anyone do at all.

Taking deep, steadying breaths, I try to put myself back in that mindset. To go back to that day in my mind. To the time when I was experimenting with sex and loved the idea of being sexually punished. Where the humiliation and pain were just side effects of arousal.

Closing my eyes, I fight hard to not think of demons, of snakes or of possible death. Instead, I think of a fun lover, a bottle of wine and getting to experiment and cum. Of countless orgasms, no responsibilities and extreme joy. Of what this house was supposed to be for me.

I let out another cry as I feel myself being whipped again, only this time, it’s not across my breasts. It’s between my legs. I feel the blow land right on my womanhood, stinging it badly. This time it’s not a single whip, but many of them, like a flogger. Where the whip covers my entire womanhood instead of a single piece.

Only in my mind, I picture a strapping young man with a six pack having just open-hand slapped my pussy while smirking at me. When I see this in my mind, I actually let out a soft moan as it brings a weird sort of pleasure. It’s the smirk that does it.

My pussy is whipped again, only this time I don’t cry out at all. Instead I moan as I see the man in my mind do it. He smacks me with his hand, only to taunt with that smirk, asking, “what am I going to do to stop him?” This makes goosebumps appear as we both know the answer is “nothing.” I even tell him how he owns my pussy now.

Moan after moan comes out as I’m whipped repeatedly. Each time it hits, I feel the whip growing to cover more and more of my body. It takes turns where it hits me, with it landing on my breasts, pussy and ass in different patterns. But each time, my moans get louder as the man in my mind is getting more aggressive. I picture him grabbing a flogger off the wall to use on me, telling me this is what happens to dirty whores. And after a few hits, he grabs an even larger flogger to make it hurt better.

A high pitched squeal comes out of me as both nipples are pulled painfully upward again, stretching my tits. It’s so intense that my eyes are flung open, only to see my breasts are now strung up. There’s two small wire-like strings coming down from high up on the wall. At the end of these wires are two nipple clamps, which bite down on my nipples, forcing my tits to stay lifted.

“Oh damn it. Damn it. More! MORE!” I yell as the pain and humiliation mixes with the fear I feel. After screaming, I close my eyes to be transported back into the world of my young Dom, where I see him grabbing and holding my tits in his manly hands.

The air in the attic seems to change, almost like a fan was turned on. The fear and darkness that was here starts to change into an almost sweet, flowery smell. I think it’s the demon not liking the fact that I’m getting into his treatment. Feeling this makes me smile as I know it’s the way I can fight it. I just have to keep enjoying what is happening, which shouldn’t be too hard. I know it is making me dip into a very dark and primal part of myself, but if it saves me, I don’t care. Especially as I feel like I’m going to cum at any moment. It’s just something about the pain and humiliation that makes my entire body quiver.

Another loud squeal comes out of me as I feel something new. My pussy lips are grabbed and spread apart, treating that sensitive body part like a cheap toy. I fight to keep my eyes closed as in my mind, my dom is now kneeling with his fingers spreading apart like I feel.

I fight the brief fear I feel as something begins to enter my womanhood. I don’t need my eyes to know what it is, either. It’s the one bar prison. It is placed against my sex and inserted steadily inside me, going deeper and deeper. It pushes my insides apart as it violates me.

Another whip lands, this time under my lifted breasts, making me yelp in pleasure as the bar goes at least six inches inside me. The whip hits the underside of my breasts which are rarely ever touched. It makes me feel even more violated, like my very soul is being spanked.

“Oh,” I gasp and go very still as I feel yet another new feeling. This time it doesn’t hit, whip or even slap me. In fact, it does the opposite. I feel what can only be a misshapen tongue flick over my clit while my pussy is filled with the bar. The tongue flicks across my clit left and then right, pressing hard.

My body tries to move in reaction, but I can’t. Despite there being some give with the chains that hold me, I can’t move because of the one-bar prison. It’s connected to the ground firmly, forcing me to stay in this exact place.

“Ohhhh,” I moan as that weird tongue licks me. It flicks over my clit in a way no human could. It almost feels like a tiny whip at times, hitting just my clit. But at other times, it feels like it’s able to cover every time part of my clit to make such an intense feeling.

The urge to cum is extremely strong now, especially as any tiny movement I make causes the one-bar prison to act like it’s fucking me. It’s such an intense humiliating feeling that I know moving to my tiptoes a few times will make me cum and cum hard.

There’s only one thing that is preventing me from orgasming. And that’s my confusion. Why is the demon licking me? It doesn’t make sense. It feels, well, good. There’s no pain. No abuse. Just the intense sensations on my clit.

“Oh shit,” I say out loud as intense fear hits me. It’s fear born of the fact that I’m wrong. I’m completely wrong. Oh holy hell. I’ve never been more wrong in my life.

My fear becomes so intense it feels like it steals my breath. It comes as I feel how hot my body is with arousal. That my abused nipples are rock hard and I’m so aroused I’m leaking on the bar that’s stuffed inside me.

It was never trying to just hurt me. That was never its goal. It’s the opposite. It’s been trying to make me orgasm. It wants me to enjoy that pleasure given by the darkness. It’s been conditioning me and leading me into this dark path.

“No!” I protest, but the tongue keeps flicking over my clit again. It presses harder now, making my eyes roll. Just as I feel this, my ass and then breasts are whipped, sending yet another shiver of pleasure over my body against my will. It makes my body melt and lean back against the brick wall, unable to fight back.

“N-N-No,” I try and growl, trying with all my might to fight against what I’m feeling. For the warmth of arousal that my body provides is the fuel for the butterflies in my stomach. It creates the fire between my legs, where the dam that holds back my orgasm is starting to crack.

“Someone, help me!” I yell, or at least try to as the demon makes me feel even more. This new feeling is one that brings shame, humiliation and a great deal of fearful excitement. Something is pressing against my ass. I feel the object firmly pressed there, spreading my ass cheeks as if warning me what’s about to happen. Yet no matter how I struggle, I can’t move. I have to feel the thing about to enter my most private hole.

The dam keeping my orgasm back has gasoline thrown on it now, causing my body to nonstop squirm. The feeling of my ass being violated is one that I’ve always secretly wanted to feel. And it feels just like I thought it would. That I am owned as I can’t move and am forced to feel it moving deeper inside me. That it is violating on a spiritual level, where nothing could ever compare.

My eyes roll hard as I throw my head back to moan. The moan is loud too as it is combined with a scream of protest. It feels like every inch of my body is used now, from my bound tits, my stuffed pussy, licked clit and now my violated ass. It’s as if there’s nothing more the darkness can do, which is a blessing as I don’t think I could take any more without cumming.

Suddenly, something grabs my throat as my head is looking up. It feels like a massive hand grabs it, and squeezes firmly, not enough to truly choke me, but enough to make it hard to breathe. This is yet another shocking revelation that turns me on even more. The control of my air hits some primal emotion in me, causing me to spasm. Where my very life is now in the hands of another.

A scream nearly comes out of me as something falls into my mouth from above. As my mouth was wide open due to the moan, the object falls in easily, where it damn near goes into my throat. Thankfully the object is far too large, as it is stopped due to not being able to spread my mouth open any more.

Crossing my eyes to look at what it is, a fresh wave of humiliation moves over me as I see it’s a wooden dildo. A huge wooden dildo that’s carved in great detail, making it look like a brown cock, complete with veins. And to make this unbelievable situation even worse, it’s too far into my mouth to get out with just my tongue. And the hand on my throat holds my face pointed up, making me constantly gag on it.

I look up at my attic’s ceiling. It’s at this moment, I know there’s no hope for me. Not only am I bound and helpless, chained to this wall naked, but there’s nothing that can stop the orgasm that’s coming. My entire body is racked with unbelievable pleasure as it was uncovered secret kinks and pleasures.

The feeling of being choked, whipped, violated, bound, licked as well as all holes plugged, is too much for me to take. Especially as my body seems to take over from my mind, to which I feel myself moving to my tipties and back down, fucking myself the best that I can on my own one-bar prison.

I cum.

My orgasm is unleashed, taking me to such extremely emotions that everything goes white. My body trembles, my soul quivers and I cum like never before. I cum off of humiliation and pain, abuse and punishment, and from sexual freedom. I have what feels like the first real orgasm of my life. An orgasm that can and never will be beat.

The intense moans of my orgasm echo around the attic as I am so loud I know my neighbors can hear it. And as I cum, the demon doesn’t let up, whipping and licking me even harder. Making me feel all these extreme emotions of pleasure.

“Tina? Tina? Are you ok?” Margret’s voice asks repeatedly as her face fills Tina’s laptop that is now working. The internet is flowing once again, allowing the connection the two were having to reconnect, to which Margaret has been yelling for some time, trying to get Tina to hear her.

Margaret then hears thumping sounds, which sounds like footsteps. Only it sounds like the owner of those footsteps weights a thousand pounds. But they are getting louder, which means the footsteps are getting closer to the laptop.

“Tina, is that you?” Margaret asks as a figure walks by the laptop’s webcam, as if not even aware it’s on. At the sound of her voice, Margaret sees the person that just walked by stop and back up. The figure then fills the entirety of Margaret’s screen, looking directly back at her.

At this Margaret gasps in shock. It’s Tine. And she’s naked. Completely naked. This is shocking enough, but then Margaret sees Tina’s body. It’s been greatly abused. All over her skin is red and has welts like she’s been slapped or spanked repeatedly. There’s even red handprints on Tina’s large, exposed breasts, like someone had been slapping them hard.

Suddenly Tina’s face is the only thing that Margaret can see, as Tina shoves her face close to the webcam. Margaret finds she can’t say a single word as she sees the face of her friend. It’s a face she knows, but not one she recognizes any longer. For Tina’s eyes are now completely black while she wears an inhuman ear to ear smile.

And then the connection is ended.

THE END