Page 2 of Scream for Me

Once I shut the door behind me, I lean against the wall, clenching my eyes and willing my thoughts to clear. I don’t believe her story, but I can’t help that the old woman’s words affected the fearful part of my brain. I’m not a scaredy cat; it’s much worse.

My hands shake, and I must ball them into fists to stop them from shaking loose and falling into the waistband of my jeans. I could rub myself off and get the need out of my system, but my attraction to fear is something I’m trying to rid myself of, not encourage. Besides, I have too much unpacking to do to waste my time indulging in self-pleasure.

I’ve been turned on by fear since my teens. I’m an autassassinophiliac, diagnosed by a real therapist and everything. We’ve never dived deep into where the kink stemmed from, but it’s not hard to imagine the cause. There’s probably an event or a whole string of horrible tragedies I endured as a young child that rewired my brain. I could try different types of therapy to uncover the suppressed memories in my psyche, but why the fuck would I want to do that? It feels like a blessing that my brain has saved me from that part of my history, even if I’m left with a completely unsavory taste.

I’ve only been in a handful of committed relationships, and even with them, I’m too afraid to admit my deepest desire. How ironic. You’d think mustering up my courage enough to tell them would turn me on, but sadly, no. All my sexual experiences have left much to be desired. I don’t trust men, probably rightfully so, and much to my dismay, I’m tragically heterosexual. With the information about my deepest desires, they could cause some real harm. It’s better that I keep my fantasies to myself, the monsters in my movies, and my battery-operated partners.

Even with my compromises on pleasure, the kink is still one I want to kick. Right now, I’m trying to eliminate any reward for my desires, and so far, it’s not going well. As I work on unpacking a box of utensils into the wonky kitchen cabinet drawers, the sun setting and shadows dancing across my walls, all I can imagine is a serial killer barging through my door and pressing me up against a wall. Sure, he’d likely slit my throat and wear my skin, but the events leading up to the horror are enough to make my panties completely drenched.

I grunt, abandoning the box and digging into my purse for my pill container. It’s only 7 p.m., but I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon. There’s no reason to rush and unpack everything right now. I swallow a sleeping pill dry, find my silky blue pajama set in a box of my clothes, change, and shuffle my baby-blue slippered feet to my mattress. I groan after discovering I still need to put on my sheets. After fifteen minutes of wrestling with the corners of my lumpy mattress to stretch the worn fabric of my fitted sheet, I lie on my bed, completely exhausted and ready to let my dreams take me away from my perversions.

It’s pitch black when my eyelids drag open. I try to fight the intrusion to my slumber, but the shouting and banging won’t let me go. My body weighs me down, and the sleeping pill turns my reason thick and sticky. I register that there’s some fight happening outside my apartment, and from the sound of it, it’s escalating. My groggy brain fills with scenarios of how the scuffle could end. Someone could set off a gun, sending stray bullets through the thin walls of my bedroom. A normal person would jolt upright, dial 911, and seek cover. I, on the other hand, am clearly not normal. My heartbeat quickens, sending a rush of blood to my swelling clit.

What if the men outside burst through my door and kidnap me, using me as a hostage to settle their dispute? It’s unlikely, but my fear doesn’t need reason. I let my heavy hands seek out the heat underneath my sleep shorts. I couldn’t find my underwear, so the silk of my pajamas rubs against my slick flesh. It’s terribly arousing, and I play with myself as the screaming heightens outside.

My breath hitches as my strokes through my wetness increase. I’ve held myself off for too long. I’m so close to coming, and I’ve barely just started touching myself. I don’t close my eyes, instead searching my room for a shadowy figure I can imagine is a creature lurking in the corner. My vision rests on a large object in my closet. I don’t remember what I have stored in there, but I swear, piercing eyes stare back at me, glowing in the darkness. Still, the rational part of me assumes it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, using the drugginess of the sleeping pills to make my visions even more frightening and erotic.

I cry out, plunging my fingers into myself as I clench. My mind plays even more delicious tricks, and I swear I can hear the figure grunting and the sound of frantic movements. My fear escalates even more, no longer focused on the very real disagreement outside my door, but the imagined beast waiting to pounce and devour me. I keep my eyes open as I massage my bundle of nerves, increasing my tempo, imagining a hulking monster pressing me against the bed, grazing razor-sharp fangs against my skin. White teeth sparkle in the darkness, and heavy breaths escape large nostrils.

I can’t hold back, no matter how long I want this mirage to last. I cup my breast, pinching my nipple, as my other hand strums until I’m drowning in a wave of ecstasy, my blood changing into lava. Another horrible trait of my sexual deviancy is that I’m unable to stay quiet. In the past, with roommates, I’ve had to gag myself to make sure no one hears me. Now, I’m alone, and there’s already a screaming match to take the blame if I let my pleasure free. I scream, the sound coming deep from my belly as my orgasm washes over me. My whole body convulses, my cries coming out in a chaotic, choppy rhythm. It’s been ages since I let myself devour my cravings, longer since I let my vocal cords slap against each other.

I’m so lost in my ecstasy that I don’t even second-guess when the monster steps out of my closet, looming over me. Giant claws wrap around a member protruding between his hairy, tree-trunk legs. He’s still shadowed, only illuminated by the faint moonlight from outside my window and his ever-glowing eyes. Something clings to his hands, coming from his body as he strokes himself even faster. I don’t flinch, instead continue to rub myself until I’ve milked every last drop, screaming until my throat is raw. It’s not until the monster roars and a large, warm wetness splashes against my thighs that I come back to this plane of reality.

Holy fucking shit. My throat is too sore to even scream, my brain still trying to catch up. My eyes open, really open, and I make out his features. He bends forward—too tall to stand straight in my room, and two curling horns cage both sides of his crown. He continues to stroke his cock—even in the dark I can tell its massive. His white fangs glint from the low light and heat bellows from his huge nostrils. For a moment, I still let myself believe this could all be a dream, until he lets go of himself, small popping sounds following, and grabs me from the waist and throws me over his shoulder. Reality hits me, as if an ocean of cold water had been poured on my head.

I scream. Not of pleasure this time. Of pure terror. I’m not horny, though. Maybe if I didn’t just get myself off, but now, as I claw at the coarse hair covering the beast’s back, staring down at the equally hairy tail, I yell in pure fear. It can’t be a dream. His claws poke my skin as he clenches me, one hand almost wrapping entirely around my waist, his other cupping my ass. I vibrate with his steps as he walks away from my bed. He grunts and then a whirlwind sound comes from below me. In my struggle, I’m able to pull myself up, turning my body around to see where he’s taking me. Instead of a closet floor, a black vortex spins below me.

My bitchy neighbor can probably hear me now, smirking to herself that she told me so. I scream as loud as I can until the monster jumps into the blackness and my consciousness blinks out.

Chapter 3: Darkness

She screamed for me. They always do when I first take them. My hunger persists, but the first scream is always the most powerful, allowing me to think reasonably for a moment, so I can contain my catch and gather substenance to make them last longer. She was different. My hunger is there. Always there. But it’s a smaller thorn in my side. I’ve never felt so light, so clear. But still hunger. Always hunger.

The initial pounce always arouses me—that’s nothing new. My member stands proudly between my legs, and my attachers move wildly, searching for flesh to hold—to contain. In the past, after my first fill, I’ve sated my primal urges on my own, but it’s always after they scream, when they’re unconscious, and I wait for them to wake so I can continue my reign of terror. My hunger always wins. No other feeling. Nothing gets past.

This time was different. This time, I couldn’t contain my desire. I had to stroke myself as I watched the female moan, smelling the delicious scent of her arousal. I was starved, but my aching cock overpowered my innate reaction to pounce. And then she screamed, a different kind. It rushed over me like a balm, sating my hunger in a way I can’t remember it ever doing before. I must make her scream for me like that again. I must keep her here so she can scream for me forever.

She lies on the stone floor of my cave, the pulsing green lights illuminating her small form, her hair aflame. I made sure not to touch it—the light color I know deep in my bones to stay away from. The light burns. The light is bad. But she doesn’t seem bad. Her screams are delicious, and the soft golden hair flowing from her head begs me to grab it and wrap it around my fist as I pound my cock into her, yet I resist. The burn alone wouldn’t be worth it.

There’s a new hunger growing, one I’m not used to, and something inside of me tells me there’s only one way to fill the ache. She can’t scream unless she’s awake. There’s no point entering her if I can’t get my fill, although I want to.

I’ve never thought so clearly after bringing back a human. Usually I throw them to the floor, barely having enough reason to gather a small shell of water from the stream nearby for once they wake. Keeping them alive as long as possible is ideal. Traveling exerts energy, making the hunger stronger.

When I brought her back, I saw my home anew. I laid her down in the corner, positioning the cage of bones around her. I dug through a pile of items left over by the humans. I found two bars that smelled like food. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. I laid them out for her. The body of my previous victim remained at the back of my cave. I disposed of him, dropping him off the cliff nearby. I never enjoy the way they smell when they’re gone. I wouldn’t enjoy humans at all if they didn’t provide our only form of sustenance. I might enjoy her, though. There’s something different about her.

As I stare at her gold hair, I find myself inching closer. Her chest rises and falls, letting me know she’s alive and will wake soon. I should sneak up on her, let her stew in her terror while she awaits my arrival, but I can’t help myself. I reach through the bars. I shouldn’t touch it. I shouldn’t touch the light. It will burn. It will kill. But I can’t help myself. I caress the soft strands. The pain is immediate, piercing through my fur and my thick skin. I roar, cursing myself, but I can’t move away. I claw more of her hair, wrapping it around my hand. Yes, it hurts, but it’s good. I need more. I pull, forgetting she’s trapped in the cage.

She yelps, but I can’t stop. I need more of her pain. Her eyes flutter open, the lashes caging the blue, long and thick. Her lips part, and for a moment, I imagine the sound of her soft moans. My cock grows hard as she wakes. Her eyes focus on me, taking me in as she registers her surroundings. She screams. Yes, this is good. It fills me. But no. It’s not the same. I release her hair, moving away from her prison.

She curls into herself at the other side of her cage, screaming and clawing against the bones behind her. For every other victim, this would be good—exactly what I want. But I want more. I want the screams she gave me in her realm—the ones that cleared an ancient fog in my mind. I charge the cage, shaking the bars and roaring. She yells louder, her blue eyes bulging from her head. It’s still not good enough. Maybe I should pull her out, break her arm, and jam my cock into her mouth until she vomits. Those screams would subside my hunger, but her screams from before leave me with an ounce of reason. It’s dwindling, but I know it won’t be the same. Even now, with her fear heightened, her screams do not sate me. It’s nothing compared to the euphoria I felt in her cave. I need that again.

I push away from the cage, the bones cracking under my grasp. The presence of her confuses me. I need to leave, clear my head. She doesn’t blend in with my surroundings. She's a bright object amongst the decay. She’s different somehow. Her screams are different. I need them, and I will do whatever it takes to get them from her, even if I must break her.

Chapter 4: Marie

I’m alone. Somehow, this is worse. When will he return, and what does he have planned for me? I take in my surroundings—the bones, the smell of death—all of it adds another layer to my fear, and not in a good way.

If I awoke in my room, I could convince myself that the monster was a figment of my imagination, but here, I know this isn’t a dream. The damp chill permeates my skin, and I curse myself for not going to bed in warmer clothes. Of course, no one imagines being taken from their bed and jumping into a portal. Perhaps this scenario has happened in my darkest fantasies, but still, I never thought it would happen.