Page 10 of Horror and Chill

Perfect.

She spots us and waves, just a flick of her fingers, playful and unaware. We raise our hand and hold up three fingers.

She hesitates for half a breath. Then she bolts. We drop the third finger and chase.

She runs well. We’ll give her that. Not just fast, but smart. Dodging trees, weaving through the thicker brush, keeping her phone angled just right so her viewers can catch every glimpse of motion behind her. She’s a natural performer. Even when she’s scared.

We keep pace, close enough to make her nervous, far enough to let her keep pretending she’s in control. We want her adrenaline pumping. We want her breath ragged and heart pounding. We want her primed when we catch her.

She veers off the path, dips behind a tree.

We circle wide.

She doesn’t hear us approach, not until it’s too late. She’s talking to her phone, voice low and scared, playing up the act for her viewers, utterly unaware of the real audience creeping up behind her. We lunge, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping her arm. She jerks and flails, eyes wild. We push her back against the tree, pinning her with our body, keeping her still. She tries to fight, but she’s no match for us.

She’s trembling now. The phone is still recording, angled skyward. The chat is going wild.

We don’t say a word, just hold her.

Her heart pounds like a drum, a siren's call that we can't resist any longer. Our cock strains against our pants, desperate for release, for her. We grip her hip and spin her, pressing her chest and cheek against the tree. She gasps, fingers bracing on the bark as we step in close behind her.

Slowly, we slide our hand down her stomach, over the curve of her hip, and grip the hem of her dress. With one swift motion, we hike it up, baring her slender thighs and black thong panties. The phone still records our every move, but we don't care. The chat will just have to enjoy the show as much as we do.

Fuck.

She’s already soaked through, and we haven’t even touched her yet.

In one fluid motion, we drop our joggers, revealing our rock-hard cock, throbbing with anticipation. Without warning, we yank her panties to the side, exposing her wet entrance. She gasps and tries to beg us to stop, but it only spurs us on more.

"No," she whimpers, "please."

But it's too late for pleading now. This is what she's been craving all along: darker desires brought to life. We press the tip of our cock against her swollen folds and feel her shudder with need. She might say no with her words, but her body screams yes.

We thrust inside of her, bottoming out in one swift motion. She cries out in surprise and pleasure as we begin to move within her tight cunt. Fucking her hard and fast against the tree trunk as if we’re animals in rutting season rather than adults in a twisted game of cat and mouse. Her moans fill the air around us, mingling with the distant sounds of the chat going wild with each gasp and groan she utters into the night air.

We fuck her hard and rough, relentlessly slamming into her tight cunt as she cries out, but there is no one around to hear her. Her nails dig deeper into the tree bark, her body trembling with every thrust. She's close; we can feel it in the way her pussy clenches around our cock, milking us for every drop. We can't hold back any longer.

That's all it takes. With a high-pitched moan, she climaxes, her orgasm tearing through her shaking frame. Her pussy grips us like a vise, milking our cock as we erupt inside her, filling her with our seed. The warmth of our combined release spurs us on even more, and we continue to thrust until our own climax subsides.

When we're both spent, we pull out of her, and she collapses against the tree, panting. We take a moment to admire the sight before us: our Little Horror, usually so in control, reduced to a quivering mess against a tree trunk in the middle of the woods.

We let her feel how solid we are. How real. How wrong everything suddenly feels, because this—this—isn’t what she planned. And deep down, she knows it. We reach down and adjust our joggers, tucking ourself away before standing tall again.

Eventually, we lean in, mouth close to her ear. “You’re even better in person.”

She goes dead still. And then shescreams.

We laugh, low and unbothered, and slip back into the trees before she can do anything more than stumble after us.

She’ll remember that voice. She’ll replay every second of this night.

Good.

Because we’re just getting started.

5

Agatha