AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Looking back the way I came - I think, I listen out for any unnatural sounds against the busy nightlife of the forest. Yet, just like earlier when I took a break sprawled across a low hanging branch, there’s nothing. No pound of guards running to catch me. No twins filling my head with escape plans and running off as soon as their time being paid to entertain me is up.
Nothing except the sound of my back cracking at the uncomfortable angle I laid across that stupid wooden limb. This night seems like it’s never going to end as I push myself onwards, wondering if it was even worth it. That brief touch of contact, the fleeting hunger-filled gazes. Worst of all, I’ve lost my book so now my reasons for leaving are mute.
This way, a voice whispers on the edge of my subconscious. I roll my eyes, knowing it wouldn’t be long until this particular voice found me. Even in the pits of hell, I reckon I couldn’t escape the figment of my imagination that tricks me into seeing a floating, toothy smile. And there it is, hovering in the distance, just to the right. The visual reminder no matter how bland my chosen prison is, I can’t run from myself. My longing, my nightmares.
Beckoning me to follow, I brush a hand through the bird’s nest sitting atop my head and give Stan a reassuring stroke. “If nothing else, I’m going to find you a decent home, buddy. One where someone won’t try to eat you.” The smile floats further away, spiraling all the while until the glint of a warm glow creates a halo around the grin. Just like that, it widens and fades, leaving me staring at a wooden cabin hiding between the folds of two, overhanging willows. Their snowy white ferns cascade down the roof’s silhouette and fall over an extended porch which creaks beneath my muddy feet.
Dropping low, I crawl the rest of the way, only making the noises more prominent until I pop up to peer through a grime-coated window. A fire is burning over a stack of thickly chopped wood, filling the room with a homely atmosphere I can feel seeping into my bones, even from out here. Paneling ranging from the deepest mahoganies to the richest walnut coats the walls, leaving the furniture to add splashes of cream and mocha.
A half-filled glass of whiskey sits on the stripped and varnished maple coffee table, the cubes of ice almost fully melted away. Strewn over the back of the L-shaped sofa, there’s a white jacket with the tell-tale logo printed over the breast pocket. This must be one of the guard’s living quarters and judging by the book tossed onto the bear-skin rug, where Cash disappeared off to. Abandoning assholes or not, I have to retrieve my dictionary.
Following the porch that wraps all the way around the cabin’s exterior, I creep through the back door which is helpfully unlocked. My main concern should be hunting for keys for the motorcycle glinting out the back window or hacking my family’s accounts and relieving them of the fortune that’s owed to me, but nah. Too much effort when the silky raspberry and vanilla home I’d made for Stan is now a tattered, stinky mess once again. What kind of friend leaves their bestie to reside in that?
Grabbing my book from the shaggy rug and darting up the stairs, I locate the bathroom through the process of elimination. Every door I open presents a bedroom, study, cupboard or sex dungeon. Intriguing - I maycumback to that last one once fresh as a daisy and looking to finger-blast some images out of my head. Transparent striped vests and braces, thick thighs and skinny jeans. Blonde hair, jaws cut from ice and glowing green eyes centered on me – just to name a few.
Standing outside the only remaining closed door, I brace my hand on the handle when a pleasured groan sounds from inside. I still, my heart halting in my chest as I listen carefully. It comes again. Shit, I got it wrong about the guards rushing off, but I’ve come this far and once I’d got the anticipation butterflies of a scorching hot shower fluttering around my tum tum, nothing can deter me. So instead, I hold out an open palm by my ear and coax Stan out with a low whistle. We’ve practiced this so often, it’s another reason the Terminator gave for padlocking Stan’s cage – I just refuse to believe him.
“Ready, Stan? Three, five, sixty-nine, attack!” Bursting through the door, my eyes don’t have time to adjust as Stan flies from my open palm, extending his fur-coated wings to descend on his target. A roar leaves Tweed as soon as Stan makes contact with his reddened face, scratching like a sugar glider possessed as I stare on with morbid fascination and a hint of jealously. I wanted to be the one to slice him to shreds after tossing me aside and going all Houdini.
Casting my eyes over the bigger picture, the realization he wasn’t having a face painting party without me settles in. Red, glossy and potent, everywhere. Tweed shifts around his perch on the closed toilet, reaching out to drag down the shower curtain that concealed Cash, who’s reclined in the bathtub. Head to feet, he’s coated in what looks and smells like blood which he licks from his devilishly long finger. My mouth parts on instinct, those tingles in my lower belly taking on a life of their own. Oh, this is new.
“Get the fuck-” Tweed curses, desperately trying to grab for Stan who claws his way around the back of the blonde’s head, “-off!” My main man here is like a ninja, putting those chunky claws and sharp little teeth to good use. Stepping forward to rescue my friend for his own sake, my soppy shoe skids out on a sheen of crimson and I stumble forward.
Cash’s hand whips out for my wrist but the blood acts like a lubricant and doesn’t help at all. Instead, I crash like a sexy tower of Jenga, slamming my head into Tweed’s crotch.
“Lends a whole new meaning to giving head,” I muster once toppled aside. I don’t know what titanium cock he has in those jeans but I rub my temple, sure I’ll have a bruise.
“Why do you hate my dick so much?” Tweed groans, tilting sideways where I see Stan clutching onto the back of his hair for dear life. There’s no escaping the blood now, a thick layer coating my back, dying my hair and clogging my throat. The coppery stench makes me gag and that’s saying something. I’m no stranger to blood, death or a decaying body for that matter. Yet whatever went down here was nothing short of a massacre.
“So, this is where you guys went?” I ask, pushing myself upright after a few messy tries. “Abandoned me to…” I trail off as a foot catches my attention, tucked behind the base of the toilet. The oddest part are the gnaw marks along the ridge that makes it appear to have beenchewedoff. Not to mention - where the fuck is the rest of the body? My eyes slowly lift to a casual Cash, licking each finger with unhindered satisfaction. Ew, talk about the cat who got the cream.
“Sooooo,” I nod slowly, “if you guys offer to eat me out, the answer is a resounding no.”
“We’ll see about that,” Cash grins lazily, rolling his head to meet my gaze. Stan leaps for it then, landing on the ground to scamper through the bloody swimming pool and claw at my leg for salvation. I snatch him up as Tweed dives to the ground, his hands locking on my knees and a growl tearing through his throat. This close, it’s easy to see which wounds Stan inflicted and where Tweed’s pasty white skin is simply covered with someone else’s blood. Mostly because the ragged scratches and chunks of skin peeling from his skull are oozing a congealed orange liquid that makes me cringe.
Before I safely tuck Stan back into the nest of my hair, I raise one finger towards my furry friend and smirk at Tweed’s responding flinch. One point to team Malice. Stan pushes his padded paw to my finger, maintaining eye contact between Tweed’s glowing green orbs and his beady black ones as we miniature high-five. What a legend.
“Next time that rat isn’t under your protection, I’m tearing his tiny limbs from his tiny body and having a tiny barbeque with them,” Tweed growls once more like a caged animal. Jeez, this guy could really use my dictionary if it weren’t dropped back on the hallway floor.
“Well, I’d better get used to having him shit in my hair then,” I quip back, my eyes sliding away for the briefest moment as I replay that last line back in my head.
Breaking the tension, Cash switches on the shower with his foot, projecting a spray of water directly over his horizontal body. His face becomes visible, his blonde hair rinsing free of color as he shimmies around in the tub. His clothes hit the bathroom floor with a slap a moment later, spraying Tweed and I in a fresh spray of blood. Tweed’s eyes are still firmly on me, burning two emerald-shaped holes through my head.
As intriguing and alluring as those swirling spheres are, just beyond him, Cash stands in all his glory and my eyebrow hitches. What constricting, devil’s denim were those skinny jeans created from to have vacuum-packed his boa so well? If I thought their zipped bulges were impressive, they have nothing on the monstrosity flopping between Cash’s thighs. I’m certain as he turns, it winks at me, inviting my curious nature closer, if Tweed wasn’t pinning me in place with the pressure on my legs. I pay it no mind, too concerned if Cash could give me blunt force trauma with that thing, lining me up like a croquet ball and swinging it against my head? Mouth open, of course.
The silky, bulbous tip shifts from view and the spell is broken, although Tweed knows. He can see my interest, sense the tremors shooting up my inner thighs to my Mary Magdalene. Either that, or he’s just gripping me so tightly, my circulation is becoming compromised. The thought of becoming a double amputee before I’m thirty has me shoving him off, although the tantalizing warmth of his touch remains. That’s what I get for liking it rough.
“Your turn,” Cash tells no one in particular, exiting the bathtub with a wonderous view of his full, heavy balls and leaving the bathroom without a towel. After a beat, both Tweed and I shoot forwards, racing for the shower in what seems like an uphill slip and slide. Not even a game of twister has had limbs tangled so much but with plenty of shoving, kicking and dirty tactics, I manage to pull myself up on the ridge of the tub, using Tweed’s face beneath my foot for a boost.
I thought tearing off my dress and jumping beneath the water would declare me the champion, but Tweed’s body crushes against my back a moment later, smushing me into the tiles so he can steal the best part of the spray.
“Really think you can win in a fight against me?” he mocks in my ear. Stan shifts around the back of my scalp and leaps to the back of the tub. Clearly this isn’t a fight he wants to be a part of, or he just doesn’t like getting wet. Leaning over me to grab a body wash bottle from the plastic shelf, I wait for Tweed to lather up first, before shifting to wash his front. Then, with the inch of space between us, I spin.
“Oh, this is you winning? I’m confused because it was part of my plan all along to use you as a giant loofah.” Shimmying my shoulders, I rub the black, lacey bra all over Tweed’s chest. Whether from exertion or the quick twitch of his arm, my bra pings off and swirls around the drain. I’m not deterred, though, rubbing the length of my torso over Tweed’s rock-hard abs. A strand of bubbles drips down his ribs until I scoop them up and fist my cleavage with it. Tweed’s eyes plunge into the depths of dwindling seaweed, swirling and lost at sea. Slamming his hands into the wall behind me, and I meanintobecause I hear the tiles crack, the strained croak that leaves his sinful lips makes a bee line for my g-string.
“How about you get on your knees and I’ll wash out the back of your throat too?” My eyes dip to the black boxers hugging his hips, the only piece of clothing he’s left wearing. On cue, his dick jumps to wave at me and I lick my lips on instinct.
“My mouth happens to be minty fresh, thank you very much,” I heave a breath over his face. “But I do have something that could use a good scrubbin’.” Shoving the boxers down his thighs, I lift my leg and his arm automatically wraps around my ankle, pinning it to his shoulder in an open split. I’d have preferred his double to have been in here, since this asshole doesn’t deserve the delight of my body, but cleanliness is key. All that separates us is the tiny slip of the G-string rubbing deliciously over my pussy as I use his dick for stability.
