Before you lies a forest. A fucking forest. There’s tree’s up to the ceiling. Dirt absorbs the steps of your shoes. Fog hangs ominously around the trail.
There is a coat rack on the trail. Hanging from it is a red cloak. A sign on the wooden pole reads, “Be careful little Red Riding Hood. Stay on the path and don’t talk to strangers.” In smaller letters beneath, ” Place your clothes in the basket. Wear the cloak. Stay on the trail. . . or else.”
Unnoticed by you is a woven basket on the ground. Inside are two bottles of water and business card sized piece of paper. The card is white with black lettering. You bend over to pick up the card.
“The night isn’t over yet. For your safety, please hydrate. Things get more intense from here. Removing your clothes is recommended so that your cuck doesn’t suspect anything. This basket will be left at the next room and returned to you at the end of the fun.”
At this point you realize that the forest is silent. No fake noises. No rustling. Just the fog lightly hovering in the air. The trail appears to be lit by track lighting. Carefully concealed lamps project cones of light upon the path. Slightly lighter in color, the path winds back and forth between the trees. The end of the path is not in sight, but you can see the trail weaving in and out of view.
A deep breath fills your lungs. The orgasmic high from the previous room is wearing off. Being nude in this strange place seems alright. Each room has been fun so far. What could go wrong?
The dress comes over your head. It’s black material slipping off your body. The white bats flying up and then down into the basket. You open one of the bottles and take a few sips. Your bra comes off next and goes into the basket. About to pick up the basket, you consider the pile you’ve made.
A wrinkled dress might give him a clue. Carefully you fold and replace your clothes. Pulling down the red cloak, you realize two things: the material is sheer and the hem comes to just below your naked pussy. Hanging as it did, the material gave you a false sense of modesty. Now wrapped around your bare skin, with the harsh lights on the trail focusing on you, the curve of your figure is on full display. Small tents clearly show where your erect nipples are. No imagination is required to see your body. Who would even make a robe like this?
Bending to retrieve the basket, a slight breeze you hadn’t noticed before caresses your naked labia. The wetness of your sex being cooled like this feels like a long forgotten lover who used to blow across your clit before licking you. A shiver runs up your body. Your nakedness is not protected by this cloak, so why are they having you wear it?
Basket in hand, you attempt to hold the cloak around you despite the non existent covering it provides. Stepping gently you head down the trail. The center of the path a lodestone for your shoes. What dangers lurk off the path? What pleasures?
The path lazily passes in between the mounds the trees sit on top of. Fog still curls across the floor. The passage of your legs stirs little eddies in the mist. After a few moments, you look back. The door to the surgery room is there, but the coat rack is not. At least you think it’s not. Leaning around the corner of a tree you search for it. Who moved it? How did they do it so quietly? It’s silent here, you should have heard a shoe, a door, a hand touching wood.
No place to go but forward.
Turning, you continue along the path. A brighter light is just around the next tree. Cautiously you approach.
Below the bright lamps is a table. Maybe twelve to eighteen inches across. The top of the table is slightly above waist high. The box on the table is a dark wood. As you get closer the lights reveal it is stained wood and parts of the grain are red. White lettering is either etched or painted into the lid.
The hand that wrote the letters took time and care. You don’t know when you’ve seen letters painted with such precision in real life. “The story of Little Red Riding Hood is not a story of saving Grandmother. Originally it was a cautionary tale about the dangers of young women being ravaged and taken by lecherous men.”
Goose pimples pop up over your skin. You spin around looking into the dark. The light shining down to illuminate the table and box also prevents you from seeing into the dark. What’s waiting out there?
Seeing nothing in any direction but silent trees, you return to your senses. You’re sweating. You’re breathing faster. You are aware of the slick wetness between your thighs. Then your eyes return to the box. Before you looked away to examing the room, you failed to notice the handle on the front of the box. One hand leaves the safety of the basket and pushes the lid up.
Inside the box is an old style tape recorder. A sticky note reads, “Press here to start recording. Read the inside of the lid.” Confused you glance at the top of the lid. More intricate writing is there. The shadow from the lights hides the words. You press the lid up and a chain stops it at the perfect angle for you to read.
Your breathing picks up again. Your thighs press together almost involuntarily. You don’t know what to do with your hand. The bottom drops out of your stomach and you can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement.
The same careful letters are painted. This time in a bright red. Standing proud and tall against the dark wood, the look like red lipstick on a black paper.
Your hand extends slowly to the record button. Oh god, are you going to do this?
You glance down and expect your hand to be shaking. It’s not. Your body betrays your brains rationale. Your desire overrides your reason.
A click is the loudest sound in the room. Though the thudding of your heart feels almost as loud. A deep breath of air flows over your lips, caresses your tongue, fills your lungs and then comes back out carrying the words into the recorder. The words are shaky but also carry a hint of anticipation.
“I’m a slutty little bitch in heat. My body was made to be used and fucked by men. I dress the way I do so that men will notice me. I deserve what is about to happen. I consent to what is about to happen.”
After you finish reading, the recorder stops on it’s own. Another click fills the air.
Silence.
This silence is different. The previous silent was curious, patient.
Not this silence.
This silence is dangerous. This silence is intentional.
The lights on the path you came down suddenly go dark. There is now only the path going forward and the circle of light you’re in.
You clutch the basket in your hands. Unconsciously bringing it up higher to your chest for you to hide behind. In your sheer cloak though, the basket hides nothing that someone can’t easily observe.
A whistle comes from the dark. A whistle that is meant to be adoration. The up and down trill a whistle that is used in movies and TV shows by every construction worker accosting a woman walking down the street. This whistle is slower though, drawn out. The owner knows exactly what they are doing.
Instinct kicks in and you start to walk down the path. Wherever that whistle came from you don’t want to be near it.
The moment you completely step from the circle, it’s light goes out. Quickly moving down the path you feel the darkness literally following you. Every six feet or so another light goes out. You stay in the light, but the darkness is a predator hunting you. It’s not the only thing hunting you.
“My, my, my . . . what a pretty little thing she is.”
With your heart beating loudly in your ears, you’re not sure where the voice came from.
“I could just eat her up . . .” A second voice. Lower in pitch. Is it nearer? Where are they?
The pounding of your heart matches the rhythm of your feet. You accelerate away from the sounds. If you can get to the end of the room, you can get away. But do you want to?
Even though you know the wolves are out there hunting you, part of you wants to be caught. To be claimed.
The darkness eats up the trail just as fast as you move.
“I love how her baskets bounce as she runs!”
“Come off the trail and I’ll show you a good time!”
Those words from the box keep playing over and over in your head. You said them. Not knowing what’s coming fills you with fear but you also realize there’s a new wetness between your legs.
Abruptly, the trail ends. By trying to catch a glimpse of what was in the dark, you didn’t notice. The lights kept on but the trail didn’t. The change in the texture of the ground was your only clue.
Those mother fuckers! Looking back you can see the trail just stops. You’re in another circle of light. At the edge is a wooden sign standing up from the ground, “You stepped off the trail”.
The bastards. They created a situation so you would do this.
The trail going back is dark. There’s no sign of where to go next. The basket is held close, like a child’s stuffed toy. Something to protect you from the monsters you can’t see.
“Uh oh. You stepped off the trail. You know what happens to little girls who flaunt their basket of goodies off the trail?”
Spinning hard to the right you try to see where that voice came from. Franticly you look into the dark.
“They get their goodies eaten.” The voice is in your ear. You scream. Turning again you see the man who spoke in your ear. He was inches away from you. How did he get there?
Two things stand out to you about him. He’s tall. He’s naked. The weapon between his legs is ready and pointed at you. Transfixed on the cock you slowly back away. That’s when the second man grabs you.
Twin pythons burst from underneath your arms, wrap up and lock themselves behind your head. The basket falls to the floor and makes no sound. Kicking and flailing you try to escape. Those massive muscles lift you and your feet come off the ground. Another muscle touches you. It’s warm, hard, and the cloak doesn’t do shit to protect you from feeling it.
The tall man in front of you approaches with intent. Your right leg flies out to try and catch him, but it’s caught instead. His other hand latches onto your thigh. He lifts. The second man adjusts his grip and suddenly you’re parallel to the ground. Hands support your back and a beard is rubbing into your shoulder. Stubble grazes your thighs. Looking down you see the top of a head between those thighs. Your knees are over his shoulders. The strength it takes to hold you up like this is impressive. Then you stop caring.
It’s been so long since a mouth was between your legs. The mouth down there now is an expert. He is slow and deliberate with his tongue. Even holding you up in this odd position, he takes the time to explore. To learn what will get you to respond.
You moan. You feel is gentle caresses gaining confidence. Circling your sex with intent, you know where he’s going. The assault still catches you by surprise.
The engorged clit is unprepared for the hot, wet attack. His tongue flicks rapidly over the point of pleasure. Sucking, nibbling, flicking, circling, his mouth does it all.
You arch your back and scream again.
You melt. Collapsing into their strong arms.
They lay you down with slow tenderness. As your butt touches the floor, you realize this isn’t dirt, but a bed. It’s firm like the floor, but soft to avoid scrapes. Your shoes prevented you from noticing.
The waves of pleasure rolling up from your clit have stopped. The lashes on your eyes part to let you see the lights have been dimmed. Not turned off, but made less harsh. They illuminate the scrotum that is almost touching your nose.
He smells nice. Washed, with just a hint of musk. Not overpowering, but present. His hands no longer hold you back. They caress your body, touching your chest, your stomach, encircling your breasts.
You lift your head and rub your nose against his sac. They are warm and full. Your tongue slips out. You lick a trail as best you can along the tender mounds in front of you. It’s your turn to hear him moan.
You smile to your self.
Air touches your pussy as your thighs separate. The dangling bits in front of you block your view.
A hot, hard, welcome object touches your soaking wet cunt. A cock that doesn’t belong to your husband slowly pushes into you. There’s little resistance. Even if you wanted to fight him off, your pussy is drenched from the mixture of your cum and his saliva. But you don’t want to resist.
“Yessss,” escapes your mouth. Almost as if he is pushing the words out of you as he slides that beautiful dick into your waiting sex. How could you have thought this was a weapon when it can make you feel this way?
He bottoms out. You feel his cock inside your married pussy. A stranger is so deep in you that you can’t think. The mixture of taboo, endorphins, lust, and fear mingle into an alchemical mixture. It grows outward from your stuffed, wet, hole. Expanding, the concoction works it’s way up to your brain. A voice that is thick with desire pushes its way out of your mouth, “Fuck me boys.”
The thrusts between your legs are strong and deep. His motion is consistent. The naked rod stirring your juices to a froth.
The sac in front of your eyes moves and is replaced by the head of the other penis. The head is wet already. Saliva slides down your throat as you swallow. The next thing to slid down is he rigid cock.
Now the two of them work together. It’s clear that this is an experienced team. Hands intermingling so you’re not sure who is touching you wear. Thrusts give you pleasure but don’t force you down or prevent a break in the rhythm from the other assailant.
Rolling pleasure hits you from your pussy. This time it’s your legs that lock around him. Pulling him deeper. Grinding up into him. You cum. Ripples of your orgasm tug at his cock. Drawing his tool deeper inside. Tickling his organ to get him to cum. He pulls back. Ankles locking behind him you keep him there. Now who’s the hunter?
Using the muscles in your stomach and thighs, you fuck him back. The cock in your mouth prevents you from seeing, but you feel him trying to retreat. The pace increases. It’s your turn to assualt him. Manically you thrust your hips and pull him down.
“Fuck, she’s got me locked up.”
“She’s a feisty one. Damn but she feels good.”
Another smile would have split your face, if there wasn’t a throbbing dick using that hole already.
It happens quickly. He goes from fighting you to matching you. The tempo between you two creating a staccato rhythm. The hard, hot cock pushes deep inside you. The sensitive muscles in your sex suddenly feel a change in the size of the invader. It throbs, expands, and then thrusts deep. A new wetness is now part of your body.
He makes no words but moans. A man who is not your husband just came inside you because you fucked him and wouldn’t let him get away. The thought, the grinding, or the last explosion of cum triggers you. Another orgasm causes you to loose your leg lock. Tremors emanate from your center. HE never makes you cum like this.
The orgasm is long and you feel small spasms shaking you for moments after the initial high. You’re still cresting. Dimly you’re aware that they are moving. And that only because of a sudden sense of emptiness from your mouth and your pussy.
Strong hands lift and roll you. Not quickly. They give you time to put your hands and feet on the soft ground.
A man lies in front of you. He is naked. His cock shines with a liquid sheen. The taste buds on your tongue prickle. Without conscious thought you arrive between those thighs. One hand grasps the base of his still hard cock. The smell of your sex and his musk hit your nose. You lick and swallow the combined nectar.
He moans. You’re using your mouth to give him the same pleasure he gave you with his. There’s something poetic about that.
Poetic thoughts disappear as the second piece of meat spears you. In and to the base in two strokes. This time there’s no thought to your pleasure. The man behind you wants what you have given. What you teased with the cloak they made you wear. He wants your body. He takes your body.
Fast. Deep. Strong. Demanding.
“Fuck, she feels good. This is a God damn pussy! Take it you naughty little slut.”
You hide your face in the balls in front of you. Not in shame. Well not totally. You hide your drool. You hide the flush that came to your face. Knowing that you’re being taken, you put as much attention as you can to your tongue and hand. Pleasuring the rigid rod before you.
Smack. A hand strikes your ass. Something that may have been a moan is muffled by a cock.
Slap! Another hand on the other cheek.
A guttural sound of pleasure and release fills the forest. For the second time in as many minutes your married cunt willingly accepts the seed of a stranger. A micro orgasm ripples through the muscles of your sex and pulls those swimmers deeper and deeper into you.
His orgasm is longer and more intense. You feel like the expanding cock is forcing you wide. You swear you can feel the 3, no 4, blasts of semen. The ultimate symbol of the joining of a man and a woman. But this is not your Man.
You sink down to the ground when your hips are released. Breathing deeply and heavily you feel the wave after wave of after shocks caressing your body. The are silent as they leave.
Not sure how long you lay like that, you only know that you are alone when you open your eyes. The cloak and basket are gone. Clad only in your shoes, you shakily stand.
A wonderful warm mixture of juices begins to trickle down your leg.
A light appears. Just ten feet away is another door.
You walk through the woods. You’re off the trail. You’re hunting the next thrill they have in store for you.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticstories/comments/jjidz8/a_haunted_halloween_house_pt_3
This is really enjoyable!