Page 14 of Make Her Scream

I turn back around and retrace my steps down the hallway and turn right.

I wonder which of my Preachers grabbed me. Who plunged his fingers inside me and had me on the edge of an intense orgasm so fast? I think maybe it was Mal. He can be rough that way sometimes, but then again, it could really have been any of them.

Ahead of me, the corridor breaks into a T-junction. I reach the end and look both ways. Some flickering candles offer the tiniest bit of extra light. On a total whim, I decide to go left. Above me, the strange screams, cries, and laughter of the funhouse sound even more muffled now. It’s giving this whole thing a truly eerie air. I pick up the pace, my feet pounding down the long hallway.

Cold fingers wrap around my arm as someone grabs me and yanks me to one side. I let out a piercing scream. I hadn’t even noticed the archway to my left, yet I’m dragged through it into a dark, unlit room. The light of the candles barely reaches in here, and I can only make out a towering, cloaked shape.

The sheer, menacing size of him means it must be Cain.

He crowds me up against the wall, then drops to his knees smoothly and pushes my skirt up. He pulls my panties to one side, leans in, and inhales deeply.

His nose bumps against my clit, and I suck in a breath. His tongue finds me and slowly licks up and down, before flicking side to side over my most sensitive part. My fingers curl against the wall behind me as I try to get a purchase on something, anything to keep me grounded. I feel as if I’m spinning out of control.

All around me is darkness, at my feet a massive, powerful man worships me, and upstairs the strange sounds of the funhouse echo dimly.

This is unhinged. What the hell am I doing?

It’s as if this isn’t real. None of it.

A fantasy worms its way into my thoughts. I imagine this man is a stranger. I don’t even know why I think that. I love my men and would never want anyone else. Still, the taboo and illicit nature of the fantasy excites me. The man pulls his face away from my pussy and pushes two fingers inside me. He isn’t gentle, but pumps them hard and fast, crooking them until he finds that spot deep inside that drives me crazy.

I’m about to tumble over the edge, but he pulls his fingers free, stands, and hauls me away from the wall. He turns me around to face the hallway once more and slaps my ass hard.

“Giddy up,” he says in a deep voice.

I start to run immediately, complying with the order without even questioning it. I still find myself sometimes blindly obeying commands, even though I am trying to deconstruct myself from the cult.

As I tear out into the corridor once more and flee, I falter. Icy cold dread washes over me. Realization hits like an avalanche. I don’t know that voice.

Don’t be stupid, I tell myself. It must be one of the Preachers. Who else could it be? They’re probably messing with me to make this a more heightened experience. Changing their voices and making them sound deeper or different is easy enough to do. And with the noise all around me, the creaking floorboards above, along with the screams and wails from the funhouse, how can I be sure what I heard?

I reach the end of the corridor, panting, my chest heaving, and don’t know where to go next. So, I turn and run back the way I’ve come. Perhaps I’m hoping to bump into the man again, so I can confirm it was Cain. As I rush past the spot with the carved out entranceway to that dark room, I glance in and see no one. I bet he’s still there, though, lurking in the dark.

My heart speeds up, and I’m starting to feel a real sense of terror. I finally reach where there is the break in the corridor, from which I can turn right and head back the way I came. I think I ought to try to find the hatch and get out of here.

But then I see him, a figure at the far end straight ahead of me. He’s illuminated by the candles around him, and he beckons, crooking his fingers. He’s wearing a skull mask.

Roman!

Oh, thank God. I’d thought the first man was Mal, hadn’t I? And been pretty convinced the second one was Cain, even though his voice sounded different, and this is clearly Roman, in his scary mask.

I run toward him, and as I near, he pushes open a door beside him. Once more, I’m bundled into another room… except this place is horrific. I stare in absolute abject terror. The candles illuminate all the whips and chains and implements of torture dangling from the walls, the shadows and flickering light making them seem as if they’re moving.

This stuff looks real. The funhouse up above was cheaply done in many ways. Most things seemed to be plastic or rubber, but I can see from the way they hang that these chains have a heavy, solid presence to them.

Automatically, I step backward but hit someone behind me. They bump against me, and I stare back up at Roman, who raises one finger and moves it side to side.

No.

He’s telling me not to leave.

The figure behind me pushes hard, sending me stumbling forward into Roman’s outstretched arms. He gently strokes my head, and I close my eyes as my cheek lands against his chest, taking refuge.

I smile to myself and sigh. I take a deep breath in… and freeze.

I know.

This is not Roman. This man has a sour smell wafting from his pores. As if he’s milk that’s gone bad.