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I watch them as they roll over each other, their kisses deep and wild and lustful. I can feel myself growing stiff, excited by what’s to come.
The bride fumbles with the groom’s belt and manages to shove down his trousers. The groom’s fingers dig into the lacing on the bride’s dress, tugging the corset away to reveal a lacy ivory and gold bra. Her nipples are dark pink through the sheer fabric.
I long to bite them, to show the bride what will really make her scream.
“Ride me, baby,” the groom huffs, lying down and tugging her on top of him.
The bride grabs the champagne bottle from the nightstand and chugs it back as she sinks down on the groom’s stiffened member. She lets out a contented sigh as her hips clench, and she begins to ride him, her breasts bouncing. She tosses her head back and drinks champagne straight from the bottle, her exposed throat bobbing, calling to me, begging for my own tongue to ravage the gap formed in her clavicle.
Drawn by the grunts and groans of the newlyweds, by the slap of skin on skin and the scent of debauchery in the air, I float out from my hiding place and cross the room.
Silent and stealthy, I pause at the foot of the bed to admire the scene from all angles. My cock stirs in my trousers as lust dances through my veins.
This will be fun.
The bride calls out the groom’s name and rakes her nails down his chest. I think she’s faking her pleasure—her screams are a little too high-pitched and exaggerated—but the groom doesn’t seem to mind. She’s a gifted performer.
I float across the red and black carpeting and stop when I’m able to crouch on the bed behind the rutting couple. They don’t notice as I undo my breeches and draw out my length and—
“Excuse me?” The bride slaps her husband’s chest. “Did I say you could fondle meback there?”
The groom chuckles, though the sound is pained with his hard cock still balls deep in his bride. “Haha, very funny, Cathleen. I’m wouldn’t do that without asking very nicely first—”
“I’mserious, Kurt. Cut it out. I don’t want to do anal tonight—”
The groom holds up both of his hands. “Um, baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not doing it.”
“Then who is—”
The bride whirls around, and her words cut off in a wild scowl as she sees my true face—the man with his finger buried inside her most intimate hole.
Only I’m not a man at all.
I’m a specter.
A horror.
Amonster.
The bride screams. Her scream is like an electrical charge plugging straight into my cock. I fucking love this part most of all, the moment when they realize that everything they thought they knew about the world is a lie, and that they’re about to die in the most painful way imaginable…
“Here comes the bride…” I whisper as I clasp the sides of her head in my hands.
Her scream unfurls around me like the petals of the first spring flowers, and just as beautiful too.
“All dressed in white…”
I twist.
Her scream cuts off as I wind her head around like the cap on a toothpaste tube until it pops off with a warm gush of blood.
“Now she is dead,” I whisper, the song dancing off my tongue, a sultry lullaby. “She’s all dressed in red. Time for her to sleep, with her lover in their bed…”
“No.” The groom tries to scoot away, but his feet are caught in the end of his jeans. “You can’t be real. You can’t—”
A cold, malicious laugh escapes me as I scrape my fingernails along the groom’s chest, like I saw the bride do. Only my fingers leave deep gashes that spill blood and…other parts. The groom tries to hold his body together, but his hands are slick, and his insides are spilling out of him at an alarming rate.
A few moments later, the groom is silent.
