House of the Depraved Ch. 02

A narrow hallway was revealed before him, lit by a disorienting, flickering, strobe light coming from the ceiling. It flashed in incessant rhythm. Flash on, off, on, off, on, off. With a moment hesitation he stepped into the tunnel, trying to orient himself to the nausea inducing flickering light. His movements seemed jerky beneath the strobe, unreal. Like he wasn't getting anywhere or was moving in slow motion. He stopped at one point, turning back to see if his group followed. At first they seemed miles away, but as he stood there, his friends, without seemingly moving at all, appeared next to him; first Camden and then Jaime and then the rest. He was transfixed to the strobe light flickering off Lane's pale flesh, casting her in silver and metallic. He looked around; the room was featureless, and while the strobe light was bright, for whatever reason it barely seem to delineate any features of the walls or floor except for the threadbare maroon rug that was missing patches like they'd entered the hallway of a one star hotel from the 1920s.

Satisfied his group was still with him, he forged on deeper into the hall. The wall to the left began thumping with a steady rhythm, so loud that Lane jumped and Jaime gasped. They all stepped away from it as though it were alive before coming to see that nothing else was accompanying this. It was just a thumping wall. Eventually they became used to its steady rhythm, and a couple of them let out breaths of relief before continuing on.

When the door appeared on the right wall, Logan couldn't believe it. He felt like they'd been walking down this hallway for miles and that it was a mirage. Under the flickering strobe light he could never really be sure what he was seeing. One moment there was nothing there, and then all of a sudden there's a door. He reached out for the wall, just trying to judge its distance, finding to his surprise that it was actually several feet further from where he thought it was. He touched the door frame to be sure it was real, and fingered the knob as he waited for the group to magically appear next to him. When they did he shoved it open.

Everyone turned an expectant gaze to the new room, only to find it was just the same as the one they were in, only differences being that a new strobe light lit this one, and it was going in a different direction. When Logan stepped in he realized there was one other key difference.

A scarecrow was lying on the floor directly beneath the strobe light. Straw was spilling out from under faded flannels and jeans, one arm splayed carelessly across its lifeless form. It was lying perpendicular to the door, such that if they wanted to get past it, they would have to step over it. What froze Logan in his tracks was that even though its body was facing one way, its face was pinned right on him as he stepped in. Coal black eyes were watching him impassively from the straw face, its painted-on mouth a bemused squiggle.

Camden hadn't realized he'd stopped and ran into him, pausing as he became aware of the scarecrow. A couple gasps rose from the group. After so much monotony it was strange to see it broken by something substantial. The tension had been getting to them. Logan breathed out and approached the scarecrow warily, expecting to get up and dance a jig right before them.

He stepped gingerly, trying to judge the scarecrow's distance and for awhile it seemed like he wasn't getting any closer to it. Then all of a sudden it was right there, by his feet, so close that he almost tripped over its splayed form. It was bigger than he thought, probably 8 feet tall if standing upright and its jeans legs were so thick that he would have to jump to avoid stepping on it. He looked back to Camden who nodded with encouragement, motioning for him to go for it. He took solace in the fact that based on how the scarecrow was positioned: its eyes were no longer directly on him.

Bracing himself, he leapt.

And then he was falling. He misjudged the distance again, and landed directly on the scarecrow. He could hear Jaime gasp loudly. The fall was sickeningly soft as he crunched into the straw. Sudden panic rose up within him and he tried to get up, but every time he'd tried to push off of the scarecrow, his hands would sink into its straw of its chest. And there was something on his hands, something wet. Still the scarecrow didn't move. Maybe it truly was inanimate. Trying to get a grip, he managed to pull his hands free and slither off of the scarecrow. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest as he scurried to his feet, seeing his wide-eyed gaze reflected in that of his friends on the far side of the scarecrow. By the looks on their faces, he wasn't the only one unnerved. Still he made it across, and brushing the straw from his clothes he began to steady his breathing. He was even about to give Camden a thumbs up when suddenly he heard the whirr of machinery starting up.

He spun around trying to find its source but clearly it was coming from the floor. Or maybe the ceiling, or maybe the walls. He couldn't tell, but something had queued up something mechanical and enormous and he didn't like it one bit. Suddenly there was a loud scratch of a record player, and then the song filled the room. It was the carnival anthem, a theme he'd heard a million times before, but what sent a shiver up his spine was how it was completely off key and playing far too slowly, like the record was broken. And God how loud it was! He realized he'd been buried in his ears in his hands stepping back slowly, desperately trying to find where the music coming from. As loud as it was it still couldn't completely deafen the sound of the gears turning and the monstrous machine that was getting to rhythm. Suddenly he felt the whirr of air on the back of his neck and he spun back around. He screamed as loud as he could.

The scarecrow was up and moving, but it wasn't walking. No it was hanging halfway in the air, its movements jerky and awkward, moving in time to the demented circus theme. Its legs would kick out sending straw flying one way, while its arms began to wave back and forth. How the hell? He couldn't for the life of him understand how it was moving; but he couldn't turn away from it; even as its head turned all the way around in a 180, till those coal black eyes were facing him. Then the body spun as well so that it was a completely facing him. He began to back away slowly.

But under the strobe light he wasn't getting anywhere. It was always the same distance which bewildered him until he figured out that it was moving towards him. It was shucking, and jiving and shuffling in a slow steady course towards him and it was huge looming large under the strobe light, bigger and growing and demonic. He felt the graze of straw against his hand and just about lost it then. And the distant memories from his childhood came flooding back, a scarecrow, the man in the top-hat with his curved knife and a 6 year old Camden cowering in the corner, blood dripping from his hands.

Turning on heel, he ran down the nightmarish hallway, wordless terror bubbling from his lips. He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to get away from this thing. Running and running and running as the hallway stretched on forever, and the music kept getting louder and louder, and he refused to look back but he knew the scarecrow would be right there.

He ran so fast that he ending up slamming into a door and collapsing against it. Frantically he jumped back to his feet and jiggled the knob, panic bubbling anew as it didn't seem to be opening. Then miraculously it clicked, and he was forcing it open and stepping through, slamming it behind him.

So unnerved, and so much time spent staring at the door he just came through, expecting it to open, it took him awhile to realize the room he'd entered was completely different. There was no strobe light here and the music was completely gone. When had it stopped? The room was stone walled and dimly lit, but this time with dusky lanterns along the side walls and it smelled queer but familiar. Belatedly he realized it was a dungeon. Compared to the strobe lit hallways, it was near total blackness but as his eyes adjusted he realized he wasn't alone.

There was a girl chained to far wall, eyes wide, watching him enter. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but as he stepped closer he realized they weren't: she was real. She was quite tall he could tell and skinny to the point of being emaciated with ragged, tangled auburn hair and green eyes. Her pale arms were pinned over her head in iron manacles and she wore nothing but thin cotton panties and a bra, exposing the lines of her ribs. Around her neck she wore an iron choker. "Who are you?" she whispered tremulously.

His fear, the flashbacks, the scarecrow, this girl. He couldn't make sense of any of this. First, who chained her? The only thing he could figure was that she must be part of the act. And then, idly he thought, she 's a hell of an actress, her eyes seem to show real terror. Guess this must be the depraved part of house of the depraved. He realized he was staring at her. "Um, Logan ma'am," he managed, approaching slowly.

"Shh!" She snapped, her eyes flickering to a door along the side wall. "They can hear us," she whispered. "Listen to me! You have to help get me out."

Bemused, he cocked his head towards her. "How?"

"There's keys to the cuffs hanging on the wall through that other door. Yes, that one there! He took me through there."

"How did you get here?" He looked dubiously at the other door. The only thing he could think of was that horrible scarecrow would be waiting behind any door he tried. Really all he wanted was his friends to hurry up and get here. Camden and Jayce were always much better at puzzling these kind of things out.

"I was on a tour. I was separated from my group. I...I can't remember what happened then, but I woke up being dragged through the hallways and..."

Logan backed away then with a half smile on his face, comprehension dawning. "I get it now," he interrupted. "You want me to go through that door, and God only knows what I'll find. Probably the next horror. Is that it? Is it some Frankenstein behind that door? Or Dracula? What are we talking about there?"

Her mouth worked wordlessly, disbelief in her eyes. "This isn't a game!" She whispered harshly. "It's not what you think..." The creak of hinges. Her eyes went wide all over again, pinned on the door she'd been gesturing to earlier. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," she began to intone rhythmically. He whipped around. He was half-expecting to see the little man, instead it was completely the opposite.

A woman had entered; clad neck to toe in tight, formfitting black leather. She wasn't very tall but she was all soft curves, hips and voluptuous breasts accented by the leather. She wore gloves and boots and was carrying a riding crop. Her curly red hair was frizzed and teased and was absolutely huge and untamed, framing her face like a lioness. But it was her eyes that captured his: framed by thick lashes, they were an otherworldly purple, the color of the most vivid lilacs. He'd never seen anything like that. Her lips were full and at the moment showed utter satisfaction. She didn't seem surprised to see him at all, infact she looked amused.

"Well, well," She purred. "What have we here?"

"Think I stumbled into the wrong room," he mumbled trying to offer a conciliatory smile.

"You're just in time actually," she said approaching sinuously like a cat almost. She touched his forearm with a gloved hand. Her perfume was musky and thick in the air, making him lightheaded. "Let's begin." She turned him to face the chained girl.

"I don't know who you think I am, but..."

"You're perfect," she caressed the line of his chest. Increasingly uncomfortable with the situation he also became aware of the stirring of his manhood every time she touched him. He tried to shake his head clear of the perfume which was all encompassing with her so nearby. Memory wasn't working. He was confused. Who was who again? Why was this girl chained to the wall? Did he know her? Everything about her was female and yet so alien in its own way. Something was off. He lifted his gaze and met that of the chained girl. She was bemused and wary. Clearly this woman wasn't whom she was expecting and she knew as much as what was going on as he did. Fear melted into desire which in turn melted into inertia and for whatever reason he couldn't move, not even if he wanted to.

"What am I supposed to do?" He managed.

"Aw you seem like such a sweet, shy lug. You can kiss her if you like before you begin. Just like this," The vixen grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a tight kiss. Inanely he noticed the glitter on her lips or the heat insistent need as they pressed against his. When the recovered from the shock his head was spinning and he could taste the lingering sweetness. "Now kiss her."

Without thinking he found himself leaning in to the skinny, chained girl. Somehow he wanted to taste her lips now too. She spat on him. He could feel it running down the side of his nose. He wiped it away slowly, lifting his eyes to that of the chained girl. She was glaring. "What the hell are you doing?" she seethed.

The vixen clucked her tongue, she snaked an arm about his waist and breathed a whisper against his ear. "You can't let that go unpunished, Lo-gan. Mandy's been a bad girl. She insulted you; she rejected you. She, a nobody, should be honored to be kissed by a man of your obvious stature." Smooth as silk she slid the riding crop into his hand.

All he could think was: Yes, she did insult me! She rejected me! Who is this slave girl to reject me? He could feel the sleek leather, and the rightness of it in his fingertips. A fine crop. To hear it snap through the air would be a thing of beauty. The chained girl's eyes went wide seeing the crop in his hands. "Don't you dare," she murmured with a hard edge. And then she was pleading: "Help me, please. You need to help me get out of this. I'm sorry I spit on you."

He was uncertain. He was supposed to whip her, it was what he was supposed to do. That was what the vixen said. But wouldn't it hurt? He couldn't remember why he was here. He idly felt the vixen's fingertips stroke his now throbbing manhood; slowly petting him as waves of pleasure shot up through him. It was getting even harder to think rationally. "Logan, you don't want me to ask twice. Do what you came here to do!"

Right. He came here to punish this slave girl. Now he remembered. He smacked the crop hard against the chained girl's ribs. She screamed out and twisted in the shackles, her eyes filled with pain and shock. His gaze was pinned on the lovely red welt the crop had left along her side. Distantly he heard the vixen crying "Again!" He lashed out again, harder this time, the crop stinging across the front of her upper thighs causing her to scream out even louder this time. The chained girl's breathing was ragged; such a lovely sound.

"A couple more for good measure," the vixen purred, sounding almost bored. He lashed out twice more, once against her arm and once along her thighs again, leaving a trail of red, black and blue along her taut flesh. By the end, the girl was sobbing between ragged breaths, her waifish frame supported mainly by the wall and the chains which kept her arms in place. "Now go kiss her Logan. She should be more receptive." She gave his manhood a little squeeze through his pants as encouragement.

Not that he needed any. He pressed his large frame against the chained girl. Her head had lolled to the side but he held her cheeks and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of cherries and salt and blood and she barely kissed him back, but it was still lovely. "Don't," she whispered faintly. But he didn't want to hear that right then, so he kissed her hard again, stealing all that was left of her breath, and biting her lower lip as he parted, causing the girl to gasp helplessly. He enjoyed abusing this slave girl. The vixen chuckle; a throaty, womanly laugh that bubbled up from her. Clearly she was pleased at his initiative.

"Hold onto her Logan. I'm letting her down. Time for the fun to begin." He held the waifish girl tight around her waist. She was pliant; barely moving, but he cold feel her breath against his cheek and he liked it. The Vixen was right there on his other side, reaching up to undo the girl's manacles, unlatching them from her wrists smoothly. When she undid the second one, the girl collapsed against him. He noticed the girl weighed next to nothing; he bore her weight easily.

"No, no. Don't. Don't!" The girl whispered so softly that it sounded like she was dreaming. Her eyes were half-lidded and her lips were a vivid shade of red against how pale and drawn her skin had become. The time lock had broken, and suddenly everything was happening fast. He'd ripped her bra off and her panties away. She was nearly hairless below, like a little girl, but she was curve-less. Absolutely naked, he could see how painfully thin she was. And then he was being told to take off his shirt and he did button by button and then his pants as well. He could feel the brush of the vixen's fingernails along his bicep, trailing a lazy line up his shoulder. She must've taken her glove off. When did that happen? He released the girl into a crumpled heap.

The vixen grabbed Logan's cheeks and kissed him deeply, her tongue probing so deep, he nearly gagged. And then he felt her red hair brush against his face in a wisp. She'd turned around and had slammed a boot into the girl's ankle as she'd been trying to crawl away. The girl let out a muffled cry of anguish. The vixen growled at him to take care of it, and so he did. He crushed his body against the girl's riding her hard into the stone floor. His cock was rock-hard, and he slammed it up into the girl like a piston, as she cried out and he grunted exultation. Each pump was met with a resulting moan from the girl who was trying to squirm, but couldn't as he held her tight. He could feel the vixen had ridden up behind him. He could feel the leather of her bust against his back, and the increasingly frantic scratch of her fingernails along his back. The harder she ripped into him, the harder he slammed into the girl. And how hot it was. Nothing else mattered.

His focus locked onto a singular point. He was thrusting harder now, determined to satisfy the ache within him or break the girl in two trying. Her moans had achieved a slow consistent rhythm and she was praying to God, to Jesus to anyone who would listen. And it was so noisy in retrospect he didn't hear what was happening around him. When his load exploded into the girl, and he collapsed against her with an agonized grunt, he noticed something was off. First, the back his broad shoulders were on fire. They felt like a red mess. But as he tried to turn around he realized couldn't. Why was that? He was locked in place, and he could feel the vixen's hands on the tops of his shoulders. She was riding him.

He hadn't seen the vixen putting on a strap-on, hadn't even seen her bring one into the room, but somehow as he lied against the girl he could feel it slam up into anal cavity, and the scream he let out at that moment rocked the foundation of the house to its core. He tried to force it out of him, but he was impaled and locked into place, being ridden doggy style as the vixen used his shoulders for leverage. He gritted his teeth through the intense pain; it was no small dildo, not by any stretch and it hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt. But to his amazement he saw his manhood getting hard all over again, and the vixen must have seen it too because she unleashed another throaty laugh and had her fingers intertwined with his shaggy main and was pulling back on it hard. He even caught a glimpse of the fear in the girl's eyes. She was pinned to the floor, still under him, but seem terrified as to what could be causing him to scream like that. Somewhere distantly he heard the gears within the skeleton core of the house start up, and the great creak and groan; almost like a giant train coming to a halt. He bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood.