HEART OF A HAUNTED HOUSE
“Are any of you brave souls opting in to let the actors come in contact with you?”
Logan sticks his hand out. “Yeah, sure. I’m not afraid of anything.”
A good thrill is hard to find, and harder to let go.
Kinks!
- Bottom POV
- Noncon
- Public sex
- Fear
- Size difference
- Silent top
The haunted house is way out in the middle of nowhere, forty five minutes from their town, and yet there’s still a two hour wait to get into the place.
Logan fidgets in the cold while his two friends belt out the theme song from an old cartoon. They claim it keeps them warm. The last time Logan came here, he was probably fifteen and thought he was too old for this. That was before anyone had ever accused him of being impulsive. By the time the three of them have paid the thirty five dollar entrance fee for the fair, Logan has to piss.
“You’re going to hate me, but—”
“You have to pee,” Dru says.
“It’s fine, just hurry up.” Charlie points at the sign advertising the restrooms.
Of course, they’re both gone by the time Logan comes back. Sending a text on his precious one bar of service assuring Dru and Charlie that Logan is all too familiar with their antics and they’re not going to scare him, Logan gets in the second line to actually begin the main attraction. He’ll catch his friends inside when they inevitably attempt to jump out at him inside the haunted house, or at the end after staff members kick them out. A brilliant plan.
Two girls in front of him giggle and whisper for the entire wait as the staff member guarding the door keeps checking their watch. Logan would just about kill to eat whatever overpriced food truck is filling the air with the scent of fried dough when they finally let the two girls and Logan into the front door of the artfully ramshackle house.
Logan steps into the creaky recreation of a living room, wondering how much money it took to turn this place into a haunt. The low lighting does a lot of heavy lifting to disguise what is surely the equivalent of a high school stage play. The giggling girls are like deer scampering ahead of him, their boots stomping loudly across the uneven wood floors while an old TV blinks static at him. Logan walks steady and sure through a collection of specimens, waiting for the inevitable jumpscare from either his friends or some actor.
The house winds him through a narrow hallway where the walls immediately fill with banging and moaning all around, either people or machines on the other side reacting to his presence. At the end of the hall, a large painting clatters off its hook, sliding down the wall to reveal a waxy face springing forward at him with a tinny scream. Fake blood is splattered across the disembodied head. It’s not wearing clothes, and Logan’s gaze snags on the hard line where the figure comes to an abrupt end at the neck.
He thinks this would be a good time for his friends to jump out and scare him while his gaze is fixed on something else.
Around the corner, Logan steps into a disheveled bedroom, random medical supplies spilling out of cabinets and out from under the bed. There are restraints laid bare on the filthy mattress, evidence of someone’s violent escape. Across from the bed, a blatantly fake corpse sits in an armchair, five or six knives sheathed in its chest.
A deranged killer on the loose, or something.
His friends are nowhere to be found as a recording of an evil laugh plays from the ceiling, and Logan shuffles into a sitting room with an actress holding a baby in the corner. She rushes over to Logan, giving the performance of a lifetime as she babbles about her baby, and holds out a fake severed head.
Logan’s lips quirk into a smile, and the woman hisses at him like a venomous snake before returning to face the corner and hush her bundle of joy while waiting for the next group. Logan presses on, a nervous spring in his step. He may very well have to do this whole haunt by himself.
He passes through an open doorway and into a kitchen where a feast of rancid meals dots every surface in the room, and yet, there is no scent of rotten food. Logan’s mouth once again threatens to break into a smile as he edges around the kitchen table laden with burbling slime and plastic imitations of vomit and leftovers. The entire house smells like sawdust and wood and paint. Something about it brings back a sharp sense memory of scraping his knees at summer camp. They told him not to run in the barn, but what did he do?
Adrenaline trickles down his spine like raindrops. Logan can practically feel his knees stinging as he slips out of the kitchen, around another corner where the walls bang twice as loud, and then into a bedroom. Logan has been in countless identical, uninspired replicas of children’s bedrooms littered with dolls and the dirty, broken remnants of childhood. Laughter plays over a speaker, and a shiver rattles up Logan’s spine as he realizes it’s coming from underneath the frilly, ruined pink bed. As he studies the ripped sheets and the pillow torn in half, the bed begins violently shaking, and Logan stumbles back from it, heart in his mouth.
He starts laughing, rolling his eyes as he recognizes the repeating pattern of the mechanism responsible for the movement. Nothing here is real. He knows that.
The exit from the bedroom is through an oversized pillow fort lined with stuffed animals ripped apart in increasingly violent fashion, fake blood stains splashed all across the sheets, until he finally opens a door and steps out into a long hallway. There are three doors set into it. Two sit across from each other, about halfway way down the long, long hall. The third door is at the very end, hanging open as if to gesture him inside like a welcoming arm.
This hallway is unnaturally long. Just as Logan takes the first step, he is struck by the thought that this would be the perfect time to chase someone. And those two doors across from one another, those are probably the real exit. If Logan were the one designing this, he’d want to funnel people toward the obvious path at the very end, and then open up those two doors at the same time. One would have the killer behind it to scare, and the other would lead out to safety and fresh air. A perfect little climax and misdirection.
Logan walks down the hall, stomach tightening with firefly nerves. When will it trigger? Should he be louder? There’s always a gamble that he’ll miss the scare if he’s too quiet, or if he moves like a staff member. He’s had that happen before. An actor apologized to him once because they thought he worked at the haunt. Logan’s mouth is fixed in a smile as he remembers the giddy sensation that lifted through him at the idea that he was part of the mechanism. He could hold where he was, wait for the next group, and then give them a real scare.
There is a loud bang and Logan jumps back as a wood panel slides out from the wall in front of him, sealing the path forward, and blocking all three doors from sight. Logan’s heart jumps up his throat, and he whirls around back around to face the doorway back into the child’s bedroom.
An actor blocks his path, standing in the archway filled with muted pink lighting. His bulky form takes up most of the doorway, save where Logan can see the dust motes floating through the air around his head. All he wears are thick work pants, boots, a hooded sweatshirt, and a cheap plastic mask.
“Got me,” Logan pants, mouth still pinned in a smile. Adrenaline courses through him, his heart skipping a beat as he realizes he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go. The actor is blocking his only path out now that the hallway has sealed behind him.
Logan gives a laugh, waiting for the actor to do something. When the guy finally steps forward, Logan can’t stop himself from startling away, his body tensed in anticipation of getting grabbed. The actor quickly closes the distance in long, heavy strides, turning the long hallway into a cage where Logan is now cornered and laughing.
“Sorry.” Logan can’t help it. He’s practically giggling at the huge guy.
The actor’s hood is pulled up over the edges of the mask. It’s a fairly uninspired, red demon face, two plastic horns poking out of the top, the eye holes blocked by thin mesh, with a cartoonish beard drawn in thick black lines around the grinning mouth. It's the kind of face Logan might have seen in a children’s cartoon about the devil.
This actor is fucking huge. He doesn’t really need a costume when his bulk does the work for him. Logan would pay the haunt a compliment on their smart budgeting if he could get any words up his throat.
The actor points down the hall toward the open door leading back into the bedroom. The soft pink lighting may as well be a mile away. Logan startles toward the door, flattening himself against the wall to slip by the actor without touching him. The guy’s hoodie is dark green, his pants black. He looks much more like backstage help than an actor. Maybe Logan really did go somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. They probably didn’t realize he was in the room and left the wrong door open.
As soon as Logan turns his back on the guy in the mask, a chill shoots up his spine. This would be the perfect time to chase me. Logan starts walking down the hall, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he hears the floorboards behind him groaning with the weight of the actor following him.
Shoulders stiffening, Logan walks slow and steady toward the pink bedroom. The man in the mask follows close behind, and Logan refuses to look back at him no matter how badly he wants to. An impulse he can’t explain screams in his head that if he looks over his shoulder at this man, that will signal the beginning of the chase. It’s practically an invitation to come after him. And he is no longer sure if this is part of the act.
Someone screams in the distance, probably a new group of people entering the haunt, but Logan still jumps. The floorboards squeal, like the man behind him is shifting his weight. A nervous sound like a laugh cut with a yelp spills out of Logan’s mouth as he starts walking faster toward the pink light.
The man in the mask matches Logan’s pace, his heavy plodding steps right behind Logan’s quick ones. Something tickles the back of Logan’s jacket, and his mind tells him the man is touching his back, pulling on his clothes to get him to stop. A breathy yelp chases out of Logan’s throat as electricity tingles over his skin and he comes to an abrupt stop at the threshold of the bedroom door.
The pillow fort is right there, ruined stuffed animals and the sound of fake laughter drifting out of the room. Logan watches, frozen, as a thick arm reaches past him, the man in the mask grabbing the doorknob to snap the door shut in Logan’s face.
“Uh.” Logan stares at the closed door, manic laughter bubbling out of him. “Was I not supposed…to be—”
His voice devolves into static as the man presses his chest against Logan’s back.
Logan really starts laughing when he feels the guy’s weight pressing into him, the sheer size of his body blankets Logan’s back in heat. He’s pretty sure his own head only comes to this guy’s chest. He’s getting pinned to the door, inch by inch, the pressure nearing the point of pain, and Logan can’t stop laughing.
“Fuck, man, what are you doing?” he asks in a giddy whisper.
There’s so much adrenaline funneling through him, his pulse throbbing in his neck as he places his palms against the wooden door like he might try to push back into the guy.
Two large hands skim up Logan’s sides, soft enough to tickle. Logan’s wild laughter sounds like hyperventilation, his voice squeaking out of him. Heavy breath sounds from above as thick fingers hook into the waist of his pants.
Does he think I’m someone else?
The question hits his brain like a dart, and Logan bursts out laughing, sensation zipping up the front of his body. His nipples harden as sudden and fierce arousal ricochets through his insides. The guy is shoving on Logan’s pants to get them down over his ass, and the old button springs open, the fabric too soft after countless washes. They’re his favorite jeans. They fit the best and he’s gotten two different compliments while wearing them recently. Dru told Logan to put himself out there more, that no one’s going to read his mind so if he doesn’t fucking get out of the house more, no one is going to realize he wants to leave.
His breath is coming in broken puffs as the guy starts pulling down Logan’s underwear. He always kinda hoped someone would tell him this pair sits on his hips nicely. The stiff fabric of the guy’s work pants press into Logan’s base ass, and Logan is one hundred percent sure the guy is hard. He can feel the thick line of heat even through those pants. Logan’s breathing shortens into panting as his body starts to throb. What the fuck is wrong with him? It’s almost like he wants this.
“I think you might have mistaken me for someone else,” Logan whispers.
A belt buckle jingles quietly amid the muffled sounds of the haunted house’s groaning and laughing and hissing and screaming. Logan holds his breath until he feels hot skin pressing between his thighs and something inside him says yes.
It’s been so fucking long. His body is giving in immediately, no passing interest in fighting. Maybe it’s some survival instinct kicking in. If he likes it, it won’t hurt. If it feels good, he won’t get fucked up about it. Yeah, that’s it. He just has to relax. Is it bad if he lets it happen?
A tremor goes through Logan’s legs, his knees threatening to buckle as the guy in the mask rubs the head of his cock over the lips of Logan’s cunt—no condom either. Logan’s voice claws out of him in a strangled whimper as his clit pulses with the need to be touched.
“Who the fuck are you?” Logan chokes out the words, voice mostly hot air.
The guy only pushes his cock harder against Logan’s slit, and Logan’s not wet enough for it, but he wishes he was. He shivers at the desire searing through him. This is insane. He’s just letting some guy do whatever the fuck he wants in the back room of this kitschy tourist trap haunted house, and Logan’s fucking soaking himself over it.
There’s a group of people bumping around in the child’s bedroom. They’re screaming and laughing while Logan’s legs are about to give out. He’s trying to keep his voice back so no one hears him moaning on some stranger’s cock, but when the guy pushes himself deeper, Logan slaps his hand on the door. It’s too dry, too tight, but when Logan rubs his swollen clit up against the door, he’s perilously close to coming anyway.
An actor howls at the people in the pillow fort, and Logan startles when someone presses right up against the door, shaking it against him. Logan clamps his mouth shut, a high pitched whine startling out of him as the guy slips his hands down Logan’s belly, shoving in between the wood and Logan’s skin so he can pinch Logan’s clit.
Logan shouts as the guy forces his cock in deeper, his knees knocking into the door with a deafening thunk. The people on the other side of the door scream in glee at sudden noise. Logan can hear them skittering away from him, and he shudders between the stranger and the door. He’s never had sex with anyone this big. He doesn’t know what to do. The guy’s dick just keeps pushing deeper inside him.
What is he supposed to say when he sees his friends? They’re going to ask what took him so long. Sorry, I stopped to let a guy rape me behind the little kid’s bedroom. Yeah, you know the one at the back of the house with the looping fake girl laugh.
The guy strokes Logan’s dick between two fingers, sending white hot ripples down Logan’s legs. His body can’t keep up, and he goes limp against the door, trapping the guy’s hand between him and the wood. Blind need takes over, and Logan starts rutting against the warm palm cupped over his groin. It feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t come.
He’s shivering uncontrollably, mouth falling open with too much pressure inside and no release. He wants more, wants the whole thing, every inch until he can’t breathe. But the guy pulls his hands back, his cock slips out of Logan’s cunt, and cold air rushes in. For a breathless few seconds, Logan hopes the guy will just finish what he started so Logan can pretend he had no choice and no time to run away, but five seconds tick by and rationale comes screaming back as someone else stumbles through the haunted house.
Logan snaps his pants back up, ignoring the cum dripping out of him, and fixes his button and zipper.
The guy in the mask opens the bedroom door again, and Logan is bowled over by the sounds of fake laughter mixing with his own. He isn’t ready for the guy to shove him back out through the pillow fort, and Logan half trips out of the hallway, his jelly legs barely carrying him back into the pink and red bedroom.
“Holy shit!” A screeching voice catches his attention, and Logan spins around to find Dru and Charlie clinging to each other.
“Oh my god, Lo?” Dru’s eyes bug out and they start laughing. “Let’s go!”
They grab his arm, and Logan can only let himself get pulled back through the bedroom and out of another doorway he didn’t notice the first time. It’s on the other side of the mechanically shaking bed, and Logan is baffled by how obvious it is to him now. How did he miss that before?
“Oh my god, did you go back in to find us?” Dru asks, breathless.
“We went again because you took too long,” Charlie rushes to add.
“Have we just been chasing each other through the house?”
The two of them devolve into breathless laughter, and Logan glances around the festival grounds, the distant light of the rickety amusement park rides, the shitty carnival booths lining the property, and the hordes of people milling around.
Logan gasps for air like he forgot how to breathe.
Dru wraps their hands around his shoulders, their mouth pulled into a grin. “You okay?”
Logan meets their electrified brown eyes, the way they're smiling like this is all a big inside joke.
“That was fucking crazy,” Logan says.
“I know!” Dru shakes him with a laugh.
Charlie’s eyes flash. “We gotta go back in as a group right?”
Logan’s chest clenches.
“I fucking wish,” Dru says. “But I got a text from my mom, I gotta head out soon, sorry! Can we do the ring toss before we leave?”
“Anything for you,” Charlie says.
The three of them drift over to the row of carnival games where the staff all wear matching halloween costumes. The three of them take turns throwing two rings each at a staggering collection of empty glass soda bottles, and walk away with a misshapen teddy bear that Dru makes Logan hold.
Logan sits in the backseat of Charlie’s car with the bear hugged to his chest, wondering if he should mention to his friends that someone who works for the haunted house put his cock in Logan without even speaking to him.
“I’m sorry we had to cut early,” Dru says from the passenger seat. “I wanted to go through the house with you, Lo!”
Logan nods even though they’re not looking at him.
“Fair’s up all weekend,” Charlie says. “Nothing says we can’t come back tomorrow.”
“Oh shit.” Dru laughs. “I don’t know, I’m kind of broke.”
“I’ll spot you.” Charlie slaps their arm and spares a glance at Logan in the backseat before backing out of the parking spot. “What do you say, killer? Wanna come back tomorrow? It’s on the house.”
Dru twists around in the passenger seat, arms winding around the headrest, to grin at Logan again. “Unless it was too much for your delicate sensibilities.”
Logan looks up at their lip ring. Maybe he dreamed it all up. Maybe the place was scarier than he thought, and his brain started releasing chemicals to make him imagine something even worse to justify how wild he felt wandering through that place. He can’t really be so fucked up that he let a stranger stuff their dick into his cunt without a single fucking word between them. Everyone jokes about how inured he’s become to horror, but this is a bit much, even for him.
“You’re on,” Logan nods at them. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Yes!” Dru high fives Charlie.
The plan is set.
Logan is mildly amazed that he can continue to have pleasant conversations with Dru and Charlie for the entire drive home. They drop Logan off first, and he shakes both their hands from the backseat, promising to be ready the next day at seven thirty sharp, more like seven forty five considering Charlie’s penchant for showing up late.
Tomorrow he’ll go back. Tomorrow he’ll figure out if he dreamed that whole thing.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, right?” Dru looks at the boys with furrowed brows.
“Yes, space case, tomorrow is Sunday,” Charlie tells them. “The lord’s day.”
“Pfft, right, how could I forget?” Dru rolls their eyes.
They’re back in the line for the haunted house. This time, they have resolved to stick together. They even hung around so Logan could piss before the second line because of course, he had to. Somewhere around the fifteen minute mark on the drive, Logan started bouncing his leg up and down, potential energy zipping uncomfortably through his body. He could barely sleep the night before, unable to stop thinking about that stranger’s cock, how big it was inside Logan, how badly he wanted more.
He wasn’t even wearing a condom. How the fuck did Logan let that happen? Yeah it’s been a long couple of years, but that doesn’t excuse such risky behavior. He needs to be more careful than that. Even if it was almost unbearably good. Doesn’t fucking matter. That was rape. He should probably tell someone. He definitely shouldn’t go back to the scene of the goddamn crime where the dude probably works.
Though, if he suddenly backed out now, Dru and Charlie would wonder. He’d feel bad lying. But he doesn’t want to talk about it. So it’s probably fine just to go one more time and make sure not to lose sight of either of them.
But what if it happens anyway?
Logan gets a reflexive pulse between his legs as the line inches forward. There’s a bigger crowd out on a Saturday night and it’s taking twice the amount of time. Dru and Charlie are already making plans for what movie they’re going to watch after they get home from the haunted house. Logan is scanning every staff member, on guard for a large built man in a hoodie and work pants and cheap demon mask, but of course, he doesn’t see anyone like that. The staff members are either in full costume, or wearing orange or green t-shirts with the overdesigned festival logo on them.
No one is wearing a plastic demon mask. No one is looking at him.
“What do you think?” Dru slaps Logan’s arm. “Scream? Clue?”
“Clue does not count as a horror movie, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” Charlie groans, and Dru grins, and Logan tries not to let on that his cunt is starting to drip as they approach the door of the house.
“It’s kinda spooky!” Dru says back amid laughter.
Logan startles when someone grabs his arm, wheeling toward them only to see it’s just a group of people on their way off the grounds who wandered too close.
“Just because some people die in it doesn’t mean it’s horror,” Charlie protests.
Logan shivers and goosebumps cover his body.
“Man, it’s fucking nice out!” Dru hoots beside him.
Logan has tunnel vision. His mind is already back in the creaky hallway, footsteps chasing behind him, the smell of fake fog and sugar in the air. What if he gets touched again?
What if he doesn’t?
He tries to tell himself that this is the good outcome, but his body tells a different story. He’s been kicked between the legs. The ache is only getting louder.
Dru said something, but Logan can’t hear it.
They grab his arm, tugging hard enough to pull his gaze off the door and onto their face.
“Logan! Knock knock!”
“Sorry.” He blinks at them, shaking out of his trance. “I was trying to remember all the rooms.”
“Nerd,” they say with a snort.
“Wristbands.”
The staff member at the front door holds their hands out, and the three of them show their green paper wristbands to signify that they spent the right amount of money.
“Are any of you brave souls opting in to let the actors come in contact with you?” the girl asks with a practiced smirk that says she knows her audience well.
They didn’t ask him that last night. Maybe they just didn’t bother because Logan was alone.
“Fuck that, I’m good.” Dru shakes their head.
“Well I can’t, I have to stay with Dru,” Charlie says, putting on a brave face.
Logan sticks his hand out. “Yeah, sure.”
The girl nods as she pulls out a glow stick and snaps it into a bracelet around Logan’s wrist. “Enjoy. If you decide you don’t want to, just take the glowstick off and toss it on the floor. The house will take care of it.”
Logan nods, already breathless, and Dru wolf whistles.
“That’s our man. Fearless.”
The staff member opens the door for them, and Logan gestures for Dru and Charlie to go in first. He’s full of adrenaline, he doesn’t want them to see it spilling up out of him as they plunge back into the house that smells like dust and fog. What if they can tell by how he walks that he’s wet?
The staff have rearranged the living room. Today, the TV is against the other wall, and it plays a distorted video of a bunch of people dancing. It might be a music video, but Logan isn’t sure. The crunchy song that plays through the room isn’t coming from the TV anyway.
“Oooh.” Dru laughs ahead of him, their fingers skittering up Charlie’s back like they mean to scare him.
Logan silently commends the staff for having the forethought and dedication to fully utilize such a small space for a haunted house. Rearranging the scares is an elegant solution to reward people who want to keep coming back.
Where the fuck is the guy in the demon mask?
Logan rounds the corner into a tight hallway lined with huge paintings in pretty golden frames, except there are no paintings. Each piece is nothing but black paint. Smart use of limited resources. Logan’s heart is pounding in his chest. Every hair on his body stands on end as he feels the empty space behind him, the air on the back of his neck, the endless creaking of this shifting old house.
It takes much too long to realize the final painting is not a painting at all, but a hole in the wall framed in gold. Logan holds his breath as he walks closer, waiting for whoever is going to jump out at him from within the walls, but no one does.
“C’mon!” Charlie calls, a little breathless. “We need our hero.”
Logan ducks around the corner, viscerally aware of the empty hole behind him as he enters the next room. It’s the child’s bedroom, lit up in blue now instead of pink. One of the fake severed heads from yesterday’s kitchen lies on the pillow of the bed, but the laughter is still the same loop of a little girl cackling. Or maybe it is a boy. Logan can’t really tell through the bad quality.
“Nope!” Dru startles back from something, and Logan turns to see another gold frame around a hole in the wall.
“Did you see someone?” Charlie asks, poking Dru in the back.
“No, worse, I haven’t seen anyone,” Dru hisses back at him. “Lo, come steer this car, I’m about to piss myself.”
Logan lets himself smile at them, the adrenaline seizing him like an overexcited friend. He pushes the sleeves of his jacket up. “On my way.”
“Wait, no, I can do this!” Charlie announces and takes a long step out in front of Dru. “I’m no pussy, let’s go.”
Dru turns to give Logan a smirk as they respond, “Your funeral.”
Logan grins back. “Don’t worry, I definitely won’t scare you while your back is turned.”
Dru looks scandalized. “I didn’t even think about that!”
The three of them press on into the kitchen where a radio sits on the counter, a message surfacing in and out of the loud static.
“…cannibal on the loose…”
This time, the kitchen is covered in fake body parts. It’s a buffet of plastic and rubber limbs.
“…devoured his whole family…”
Logan admires the lumpy, fake body they have tied to one of the kitchen chairs, its head a mess of fake blood, a hand sticking out of its forced open mouth.
“Holy shit.”
Logan looks up at Dru and Charlie, who are staring back at him from across the table. They’re looking just past him, not at him, and Logan shivers at the sound of the floor squealing behind him.
He feels the actor’s fingers curling over his shoulders as he takes another step closer to plant his feet on either side of Logan’s sneakers. His boots must be twice the size of Logan’s.
Dru covers their mouth, eyes alight with glee. Just part of the show!
Blood rushes to Logan’s dick and he almost bursts out laughing, his face pulling into some deranged smile instead.
“…saved the hearts for last…” the radio drawls.
The actor guides Logan toward an empty kitchen chair, pressing on his shoulders until he sits down with a breathless laugh. His cunt aches, and he’s glad he’s at an angle that makes it harder for Dru and Charlie to see his face. He must look crazy.
The actor draws his fingers over Logan’s cheek before he turns his attention to Dru and Charlie. Logan can see them backing up out of the corner of his eye, their giddy laughter burbling out of them. The guy is wearing another dark hoodie, approaching the two of them one plodding step at a time. Dru and Charlie back further away until Logan can’t even see them behind the actor’s silhouette. Thick work pants, big boots, hood up over his head. It has to be the same guy, it has to be.
“Sorry Logan!” Dru screams and Logan hears their footsteps thundering out into the next room, Charlie following after them with a breathy curse.
When the room is empty but for the two of them, the actor faces Logan, revealing his cheap demon mask. Logan’s mouth falls open in a giddy laugh, and he counts the steps it takes for the guy to cross the room until he kneels down behind Logan’s chair. He lays a large hand gently over Logan’s throat, tilting Logan’s head up until all he can see is the ceiling of the haunt strung with cobwebs and a few extension cords stapled along the wood like thick veins.
The guy puts his other hand on Logan’s thigh, the sound of breath against plastic filling Logan’s ear.
In another room, he hears a door slamming shut as loud as a gunshot, more people screaming in delight.
The man in the demon mask slips his fingers between Logan’s legs, pressing along the front of his jeans until Logan gasps at the pressure on his cock. The guy must feel the vibration of Logan’s voice through his throat. He’s gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over Logan’s larynx, and Logan gets a responding throb between his legs. A few pounds of pressure would be enough to choke him, or cut off his air, but the guy’s thumb is soft.
Logan wants to be touched like that somewhere else.
The radio crackles and announces, “Breaking news!” and the actor retracts his hand so he can shove Logan’s chair under the table.
Logan jolts forward, just barely catching himself before accidentally grabbing the fake leg glued to the table in front of him. He wants to ask if the guy recognizes him, but a piece of fabric appears in front of his eyes.
“Is this…part of it?” Logan asks in a whisper as the actor ties the cloth over Logan’s face, the knot cinching tight at the back of his head.
He squirms in his chair, every moment he goes untouched allowing more chills down his body. This house isn’t exactly warm—only when the man touches him.
The guy takes Logan’s hands next as footsteps thunder down a hallway around the corner. Logan tries to math out where those footsteps are coming from. There aren’t that many rooms in this house. The other guests should be stumbling in here at a moment’s notice. Unless those steps are just a sound effect too.
The actor is tying Logan’s hands to the back of the chair, the little glowing bracelet around Logan’s wrist firmly out of reach.
“H-hey,” Logan stutters, trying to work up a useful question like do you even work here? But the guy wraps his arms around Logan’s chest, his own body pressing up against Logan’s bound hands. Logan’s eyes fly open beneath the fabric as he feels the front of thick work pants, and the shape of hard heat rubbing against his palm.
The actor breathes heavily right beside Logan’s face, and Logan swallows a whine as large fingers slide under his jacket, skimming over the front of his white t-shirt to touch his nipples. Logan bends backward with a gasp, his head bumping into the actor’s hard mask. His wrists twist against the restraints, fingers blindly feeling out the edges of the guy’s cock.
In another room, a different actor howls at a group of squealing customers, and Logan starts shivering uncontrollably.
“Someone’s c-coming,” he pants at the guy.
All Logan gets in response is the guy pinching his nipple. Feeling crashes through Logan’s body and he shudders, his legs spreading open. He aches for more even with the heightened fear of one of these fair-goers wandering in and seeing this scene.
“Ha-ah, please.”
Logan’s underwear is plastered to his body, the nonstop drip of fluid only getting worse the more this guy touches him. He’s more than ashamed of his own desperation, but not enough to stop. The guy’s hands are so warm, palming the slight swell of Logan’s chest, fondling the bump in his throat. Even his chest pressed against the slats of this tiny wooden chair is blanketing Logan’s back in heat.
The radio murmurs from a few feet away, “...chopped off his lover’s leg…and fed it to him for dinner!”
“Oh my god!” A distinctly human and present voice yelps, their voice bouncing off the hollow wooden walls. A couple sets of feet shuffle across the floor as the man in the mask drops a hand down to pop open the button on Logan’s jeans.
“OH, shit that got me.” Another person breathes through their laughter.
Logan is panting, his feet arching in his sneakers as the stranger works his pants down his thighs.
More footsteps scurry around the edges of Logan’s hearing, and the radio chimes in, “if you see this man, don’t contact the authorities…”
The stranger in the demon mask shoves Logan’s underwear down as the announcer on the radio revels in his read of the line, “Just run for your life!”
His fingers are rough as he pushes past curls of dark hair to plunge his fingers into Logan’s cunt. It’s almost painful how hard he spears, and Logan cries out only to bite his lip to keep from moaning in front of these people. The stranger growls in his ear, his body jerking toward what Logan can only assume are a bunch of tourists who have no idea that Logan’s pants are around his thighs underneath the kitchen table.
Right on cue, the guests yelp and scream and giggle before they go fleeing out of the room. The stranger doesn’t stop growling, only lowers his voice as the house quiets down around them. Logan has no idea if the room really is empty, but he can’t stop from moaning when the stranger pulls his slicked fingers out of Logan’s cunt to rub over his clit instead. He hasn’t been this hard in years, even before he left his ex. No one’s really touched him like this, unafraid, almost cruel in its dispassion, like this guy has jerked off plenty of people like Logan and he knows exactly where to put pressure. Logan convulses, planting his feet against the floor to push into the stranger, the only way he can think to signal that this is driving him crazy. The chair rocks back on two legs, and the guy shifts so Logan’s head lolls onto shoulder.
“Please,” Logan pants, his voice just a hiss of air.
The radio crackles to life once more, “you’ll never get out alive…”
With the stranger’s thumb circling his tip, Logan’s legs jolt up into the table, accidentally knocking a few props over with wooden clatters and rubber thuds. Logan is so swollen he starts coming immediately, the rush of liquid heat pouring down his skin and onto the chair until the stranger stems the flow by burying his fingers back inside Logan’s cunt.
Logan whimpers as the stranger in the mask fucks him on three fingers. The noises Logan makes are somehow worse as he tries to keep himself quiet, his face scrunching up like a rabbit with its leg in a trap. He strains against the wild searing heat until his spine starts to go numb. Shockwaves of pleasure roll through Logan’s entire body, all he can do is keep his legs open with absolutely no care about what he’s getting cum on or who might be able to see him getting fucked. The only thing he can think about besides this ruthless milking is the stranger’s hard cock still rubbing against his tied up palm. There’s a damp spot on the front of the guy’s work pants that smears against the heel of Logan’s hand.
Logan’s never come so hard in his life.
“A cannibal leaves no trace of his crimes…”
The chair thunks loudly back onto four legs when the stranger releases him, and Logan feels the heat of his body fading. The ties around his wrist loosen up, and heavy bootsteps carry out of the room before Logan realizes he can pull his hands free. Scrambling as quickly as he can, he rips the blindfold off and pulls his pants back up, grateful that the room is still empty and that he wore black pants.
The backs of his thighs and his ass are soaked.
Logan takes his time exiting the haunt. He wants to let as much of the mess dry—and his heart rate to settle—before he finds Charlie and Dru again. The remaining rooms barely register to him, nothing more than stages for a play he’s not in. He already had his dizzying moment in the spotlight. He clings to it like a fading dream as he walks past yet another hole in the wall framed in gold. This last room isn’t even themed. There’s nothing in it except the gold frame around the empty hole. Logan stares into the obvious depth for a full minute as he realizes, now this is a good time to jump out at me from behind.
Charlie and Dru are waiting for him right outside the exit, their eyes flashing when they see him.
“He lives!” Charlie bellows.
Laughter bubbles up out of Logan’s chest, slowly growing louder until he’s got an arm around Dru’s shoulders, howling like a hyena.
“That was wild,” is all he can manage.
“What happened?” Dru asks, and then immediately turns their head away. “Nevermind, I don’t want to have nightmares.”
“Wimp,” Charlie says with a laugh, but he doesn’t ask either.
The three of them go on all the rickety carnival rides they can before passing a caramel dipped apple between the three of them and then driving to Charlie’s. Logan is just glad neither of them make a fuss when he asks to take a quick shower before they all cram onto the same couch for two hours. Thank god Logan packed a bag with fresh clothes.
They pick a funny horror movie to watch that still makes Dru so frightened, they insist on sleeping with the bathroom light on.
“You good out here?” Dru asks, brow raised. They’re standing in the doorway to Charlie’s bedroom in their pajamas. They always look a little guilty when it’s time to divide the house into the room where Charlie and Dru share a bed, and where Logan sleeps, untouched.
“Only you could be scared of that movie,” Logan says with a smirk.
Dru pulls a face. “Okay tough guy. Knock if you need anything.”
“Just try not to kiss too loudly,” Logan says.
“Shut up,” Dru responds with an angelic smile.
It didn’t used to be a problem when they were four to a group, but now the absence around Logan seems to demand more attention than his ex did.
After Dru shuts the door, Logan pulls his phone out and opens his banking app. One hundred dollars to his name until Friday. That’s definitely not enough to justify a third trip, least of all if he has to pay for gas to get his own car up there. It’s not really worth it. Then again, he doesn’t need to sleep on this narrow couch, but he does anyway, because he knows he’ll just be back here in the morning for breakfast no matter where he sleeps.
When the three of them are sitting around the kitchen table nursing mugs of watery coffee the next morning, Dru and Charlie ask Logan what he’ll be doing that day.
“Work and sleep,” Logan says while doing mental math on whether or not he can take a 6th shift this week to justify the extra money he’s thinking of spending.
“That’s our boy,” Charlie says. “You could learn a thing from him, Dru.”
“But then I’d be so responsible,” Dru says back. “Can’t have two responsible people in a couple.”
“Or zero,” Logan says, offering a hushed laugh.
Dru and Charlie both take a beat before easing into very uneasy smiles.
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” Charlie says while staring into his mug.
“It’s fine, you can laugh, I promise,” Logan tells them. “We were a mess.”
Dru tests out a more genuine smirk. “Okay yeah, you were. But you’re obviously the responsible one. I mean, you’ve been working at the same shop for like five years. He can’t say the same.”
Logan nods a few times rubbing sleep out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll take my humanitarian award any day now.”
They send him to work full of breakfast and pleasant conversation, but Logan’s heart races every time he thinks about the haunt. It’ll be a close call to make it on time. The fairgrounds are only open until eight pm on Sunday, and he works until six, but it should be alright, as long as there’s no final cut off he doesn’t know about it. Worst case, he gets there and they tell him they’re not admitting any more people. Maybe the hour-long drive will clear his head and he can stop obsessing over this.
It’s probably for the best if he doesn’t go at all. He winds up lingering at work as they’re closing the store, his mind drifting off as he vacuums under the tables where customers like to brush all their crumbs. He shouldn’t go. If either Dru or Charlie knew someone on staff was fucking with him like this, they would assume the worst.
It’s rape, Logan. And it’s fucked up that you’re telling yourself it’s not.
Are you doing this because you’re lonely?
Are we not being good enough friends?
Is this some backhanded revenge?
Logan argues with illusions of his friends until he’s dizzy and angry at things no one ever actually said to him. When he gets in his car, he sits in silence in the parking lot behind the shop before deciding to put off the decision by hitting up the drive-thru. He’s likely to get turned away from the fair for showing up late, and the long drive could be good for him. Really give him time to think about how he has absolutely nothing going on in his life anymore.
He drives straight from the drive-thru to the fairgrounds, nothing but half a pack of fast food french fries in his stomach. If anyone recognizes him out there by himself, he’ll just say he’s studying the haunt for a freelance gig. If someone else wants to pretend that he’s back to researching, so be it. Maybe they’ll take it as a sign that he’s finally moved on from the whole collaborating on a horror project with my boyfriend thing.
Fuck it, maybe he should just text Dru right now and tell them that he’s out here feeling inspired. He certainly feels something as he’s walking across the soccer field that’s been converted into a parking lot—more like pure adrenaline. He’s got his hands jammed into his pockets out of nerves, but he’s sweating and it’s turning his skin slick against the fabric of his windbreaker.
What the fuck is he gonna do this time?
What if he doesn’t do anything?
There’s only so many ways this tiny staff can rearrange the house. Maybe it’ll have just reverted to the way it was on the first night, and Logan will exit with no problem. Or they might have kept last night’s configuration. Maybe Friday was just the warm up, and Saturday had the real haunt. Maybe Logan fucking imagined every encounter with this guy and he’s been losing his mind trying to get back to normal.
Logan asks the woman at the ticket counter, “Is it too late for the haunted house? That’s kinda all I came to see.”
She is silent for a beat, her brows twitching before she nods. “Yeah, hun, the haunted house is right up that way.”
Logan holds his debit card out to her.
She smiles, officially amused. “It’s free on Sunday.”
Blinking, Logan watches her produce a yellow wristband and he stares, dumbfounded, as she wraps it around his wrist instead of taking his card.
“Have fun.”
Logan hustles off without another word, worried someone will realize it was a mistake. Didn’t he just see someone else paying for it? They probably just did the same thing he did.
The crowd is so much thinner that day, he barely has time to worry about someone recognizing him. The few strays heading toward the fairgrounds don’t even bother forming a line, they just pass underneath the archway made of black and orange balloons unchecked. It isn’t until Logan’s walking right up to the front door of the haunt that he realizes there’s hardly anyone here, save for the staff in their orange and green shirts. It’s pretty late for a Sunday but he expected a little more of a crowd from the college town nearby. The twenty-somethings usually like to linger, especially when they’re selling cheap mulled wine.
There’s no one behind him when Logan steps up and shows his wrist to the staff member lazily guarding the haunt. The guy doesn’t even glance at Logan, just jabs his thumb at the door and pops his gum. It’s the first time Logan has put his hand on the doorknob himself. He steps into a dark hallway, squinting into the blackness as he takes a few cautious steps forward. There’s a light in the far off distance, but he can’t see anything between here and there.
“Is it…set up?” Logan asks, anxiety prickling down his scalp at the thought that they’ve already started breaking down the house without telling anyone.
The front door snaps closed behind him, throwing him into the darkness. Logan can’t see a damn thing except the rectangle of light promising something at the end of his journey. As soon as he starts walking toward it, he realizes there’s no possible way the house is actually this long. Maybe they’re doing something with mirrors to make it seem longer than it is. He’s seen that kind of stuff before in other haunts, cleverly placed mirrors that make it look like you’re about to fall off a ledge. There’s always a chance he’s misjudging the length of the hallway just from the pitch blackness of it all.
What is he going to do to me this time?
He wonders if there are holes in the walls framed in gold that he just can’t see.
What if he doesn’t do anything?
There are voices bleeding in through the darkness on either side of him, the muted sounds of a crowd chattering through layers of wood.
What if he isn’t there at all?
Logan is already hard as someone yelps to his left, and he startles away from them before remembering there’s no one there. The darkness tricks his brain into thinking he’s walking through a massive cave with strangers all around him, not a narrow creaky hallway that he’s utterly alone in. It’s a relief when he finally gets close enough to the light source that he can see the details of the room beyond. There’s a short table extending to the right, and what might be the corner of a bed to the left.
As Logan studies the beige carpeting and the wood paneling on the walls, his heart clogs his throat with its wild beating. The voices around him are only getting louder and more chaotic, like he’s walking straight through a dense, noisy crowd and it’s all echoing up to him. What the fuck is this haunt? How the hell did they manage something like this? They must have speakers all around him, piping in recordings of people losing their minds. It could very well be the sounds of the guests from Friday and Saturday playing on loop.
All at once, Logan crosses the threshold into the small room, his sneaker sinking into old, discolored carpet. Immediately, his eyes are drawn to the person sitting in a maroon armchair, their head lolled back in relaxation, their hand wrapped around the base of their cock.
“Oh shit.” Logan’s voice escapes him in a gasp, and he covers his mouth as he stumbles back into the doorframe. It’s the stranger in his work pants and a dark blue sweatshirt. It has to be him. It can’t be anyone else. He’s jerking off listening to the sounds of countless people whispering and yelping and laughing and screaming.
The stranger’s head snaps up, the empty eyes of the demon mask pointed right at Logan. Logan’s breath catches, an inexplicable thrill shooting through his spine and straight into his clit. The hair on the back of his neck raises as Logan’s gaze helplessly darts between the black eyes of the demon mask and the stranger’s pale hand gripping his reddened cock.
The hinges on the door squeal as it begins to swing shut and Logan is struck by two thoughts.
I’m not supposed to be here.
There’s only one way out.
The stranger hasn’t moved an inch since he sat up to stare. The longer he goes without moving, the faster Logan’s heart pounds. He is an intruder in this space, and the stranger would have every right to punish him for entering. Pressing himself up against the wall, Logan breathes, “Sorry,” probably too quiet to hear over the din of the voices. All their delighted and fearful yelping comes from every side of the yellow lit room, growing in intensity with every passing second.
The stranger’s stillness is a threat. If he wanted Logan here, he would make it known.
Anxiety crawls up Logan’s back like insects, biting fear and heat into his skin until he can’t stand it. He slips back into the darkened hall with every intention to sprint for the exit, but fives strides down and Logan skids to a halt. He can’t see anything—not the walls, not the floor, not the door he came in through. His stomach clenches at the thought he could walk into a wall without realizing it, collide into a person, or step off a ledge into a sharp drop and he would have no way of knowing it was coming until it was far too late.
The voices around him are almost loud enough to drown out the sound of thudding boot steps, but not enough. Logan knows the stranger is coming after him, and a whimper escapes his throat as he forces himself to put one foot in front of the other, hoping that he, too, is invisible to anyone looking into this darkness. He shouldn’t have come here, that’s obvious to him now. He’s been tempting fate for three days. The best he can hope for is getting out of this in one piece.
Behind him, plodding steps pick up their pace and Logan tries to walk faster while fighting the vicious fear that he’s going to hurt himself, he’s going to step on something, he’s going to walk into a fucking nail at just the right angle and blind himself because he couldn’t help himself.
When the stranger grabs his shoulders, Logan screams. Someone echoes him on the right, their own shout devolving into wild laughter. Logan twists to the side to try and break out of the stranger’s grip only to trip on his boot. He stumbles, and the stranger immediately shoves Logan against the wall with a loud thud.
“Oh fuck!” Someone on the other side of the hallway yelps.
The stranger flips Logan around onto his back, his hands dragging down Logan’s chest and over his flank like he’s looking for weapons. When the stranger slips his hand down to cup Logan’s cock through his pants, Logan’s body lights up. This is what he wanted was afraid of. The stranger shoves a hand up under Logan’s t-shirt, pulling on his nipple with a shock of strength.
“Ahn—” Logan kicks his heel into the wall behind him just to let out an ounce of the steam inside.
Behind him, distant strangers squeal with glee.
We’re scaring them, Logan thinks. We’re inside the walls of the haunt and we’re scaring them.
Logan braces his hands on the wall as his body threatens to go limp. The stranger has him now, and there’s no way Logan will get to leave as easily as he did before. He rubs Logan’s clit through his jeans, and Logan’s mouth falls open with a miserable moan. His knees are going weak. What do the people going through the haunt hear when he’s getting jerked off inside the walls? They must think he’s a very dedicated ghost.
The stranger is ruthless like he can see through Logan’s clothes and it doesn’t take long at all before Logan’s teeth are chattering.
“W-wait, wait, let me—let me.” Logan tries to open the button on his pants while the stranger keeps touching him with cruel precision.
“Fuck,” Logan scrabbles with his own clothes to get them off before he ruins them, legs shaking as he pushes denim and cotton down his thighs.
The stranger makes no concessions to help. The moment Logan wrestles his own clothes an inch past his groin, the stranger presses the head of his cock to Logan’s. The heat is unreal, and Logan whines as he tries to push his body closer, caught with his hands still gripping the waist of his clothes. The stranger is close enough that Logan can almost feel his silhouette as he presses his cock lower, tracing Logan’s slit with it.
Logan tries to spread his legs but his clothes cut him short. All the fear of consequence is evaporating as he is once again teased with the offer of more flesh.
“Please.” Logan groans.
A customer on the other side of the walls giggles.
Warm thick fingers graze over his clit, and Logan gives an animal cry of broken tension. It takes no time at all before he starts to come.
“Wait!” Logan twitches, unable to get his body to move in time to get his clothes off. He shudders against the wall, pins and needles clenching through him until he can’t stand it, can’t stop it. Straining against a single point of contact, Logan jams his hips against the wall like he can possibly get away from the ceaseless orgasm as fluid runs down his thighs, no doubt getting all over the walls and the clothes he tried so hard to spare.
The stranger sighs behind his mask as Logan shivers, finally pulling his fingers away. Logan begins to crumble, realizing how very alone he is in these darkened halls. If he screams for help now, all anyone will hear is an actor in a haunted house. Besides, he’s the one who walked in here hard, desperate, and completely alone. No one even knows where he is tonight.
The stranger’s hands wind around Logan’s back and Logan gives a plaintive moan when he is lifted up against the stranger’s chest as if in a hug. Logan grips his shoulders, heat searing his face at his own willingness to give in. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have gone home. He shouldn’t wrap his arms around a stranger’s neck and press his mouth to plastic lips.
The walls are screaming as Logan kisses the stranger on his mask. There are far too many voices to make any sense, but Logan isn’t listening. The closer he is to the stranger, the less he can hear their noise. It washes over him no differently than steam or smoke. Logan licks the front of the mask as if there is a mouth to receive his tongue, shame clenching through his stomach at how badly he wants reciprocation.
If he likes me, maybe he’ll let me go.
When Logan breaks the kiss, the stranger slings Logan over his shoulder like an old jacket and turns back toward the room. A hand grips Logan’s bare ass, and Logan burns at how his cunt reacts, clenching with someone’s fingers so close. They’re heading back toward that strange yellow room, but Logan can only see darkness as the stranger carries him into inexplicable, pulsing warmth.
“Will you let me go,” Logan says, his voice gone quiet and thin.
The stranger doesn’t stop or even slow. They’re heading toward the room with no windows and only one way out.
“Put me down!” Logan shouts, thumping his fist against the stranger’s back with a surge of panic. When that does nothing, he tries to wriggle off the stranger’s shoulder, tries to kick or punch at the walls.
His foot connects with the wood, and more guests howl in delight in some kitschy haunted house that Logan can’t see.
When they cross the threshold together, the voices from the hallway briefly warp like a radio losing its signal, only to pop back into clarity as the stranger tosses Logan onto an old cot. The bed springs squeal just like the paying customers filtering in all around him, but it’s the sound of the door clicking shut that startles Logan out of his skin.
Logan bolts up to find four identical wood paneled walls, no windows and no vents. A flimsy card table sits a few feet away from the bed at an angle from the armchair where the stranger now sits back down in. There is an anemic cabinet set behind him with a sink that couldn’t possibly be hooked into any real pipes, and across from that is a boxy television full of static and noise.
The stranger watches Logan from his chair. He still hasn’t bothered to zip up his pants, and Logan tries not to stare at his cock as his body remembers what it felt like slipping inside him.
He’s stuck in this room. There’s nothing to hit the stranger with, no weapons to defend himself, only a single door that practically fades into the wood paneling. The room smells like old smoke and dry leaves. Logan is starting to sweat in his jacket and jeans as the all voices around them rise and fall in delirious waves. He glances back at the stranger to see him thumb over his own flushed cock. Logan swallows. Maybe if he just gets this guy off, he can go home. Or maybe this guy is just getting off on Logan’s desperation.
“Are you gonna let me go?” Logan asks, trying and failing to sound normal, but the stress hisses through his voice like rain on a window.
The stranger strokes himself, lazy and slow, his masked head tilting to the side.
Logan swallows to coat his fear-dried throat and starts to kick his sneakers off his feet. Now he can see the wet stains on his underwear, how thoroughly he lost it in the hallway. The stranger’s gaze itches his skin as Logan finishes removing his pants from his legs, letting it all pool in a heap on the worn out carpet. He doesn’t know what this sticky feeling clinging to his throat is, but he’s trying not to stare at his captor, or his cock, or the only way out of this room.
For a minute, Logan sits on the edge of the creaky bed and waits for the stranger to come and take what he clearly expects, but nothing changes—only the slow, steady movement of the guy’s hand stroking over himself. Logan swallows, the movement like a clock ticking in the corner of his vision as he stares at his own naked thighs, the stretch marks around his knees, the curls of brown hair over his sallow legs. He’s been trying good for Dru and Charlie, hardly doing anything outside of work. Trying to be fucking normal so people stop worrying.
What is this guy waiting for?
Logan’s hands twitch toward his shirt, thinking maybe once he’s fully undressed, the stranger will do something. He takes his jacket off in jerky, slow motion, and then peels his shirt up a few inches at a time. The stranger does nothing but sit there and watch through black mesh eyes. Logan shakes his hair out, acutely aware of how badly he wants to reach up and run his fingers through the short waves, as if he should care what this fucking weirdo thinks of him. There aren’t even any mirrors, no books or art or fuck all in this room.
When Logan is well and truly naked, he grips the edge of the mattress with both hands. The voices have quieted down, and Logan is sure that they’ll finally finish what they started. Nothing changes, the stranger continues his lazy stroking, so Logan finally looks at him again. He feels like a stalk of wheat compared to the size of this guy, and fresh anxiety pierces through him at the thought that he was just brought here to be put on display.
Logan has to fight the weight of his own heart as he stands up on trembling legs. The room swells with voices, a chorus of gleeful screams. Staring at his own feet, Logan takes a step toward the armchair. The stranger’s hand goes still, and the room bellows with manic laughter. A chill shoots through Logan’s spine as he steps over what looks like crushed leaves scattered over the carpet, and suddenly he’s right in front of the stranger.
“J…just a little,” Logan mutters, his voice catching on his own tongue.
The stranger places his hands on the armrest, sliding down an inch or two in his seat, leaving his lap open. Logan’s gaze slides right off the stranger’s mask and onto his erection. His cock is so hard, it’s curved off his legs in a stiff arc for Logan to consider. The voices chime louder and clearer as Logan cautiously slides his knee onto the chair.
“Holy shit!”
“Did you see that?”
“Oh my god, no, no, no!”
Logan has to grip the back of the chair to get his other leg up and straddle the stranger in the mask. Goosebumps cover his chest as steadies himself, the chair groaning quietly with his weight added onto the stranger’s.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You go first, you go first!”
“I am not walking down there!”
The stranger’s hands circle Logan’s waist, forcing warmth back into his body. He startles at the feeling of plastic catching on his nipple, and looks down to watch the stranger pressing his mask to Logan’s beaded skin. Logan’s breath rushes out of him as arousal tears back through his skin, and he cautiously slides his trembling hands around the back of the stranger’s hooded head. He presses on the fabric of the blue hoodie, moaning quietly as plastic lips pull and pinch his hardened flesh.
He doesn’t fight it when the stranger pulls Logan down onto his cock. When the room starts screaming, Logan can almost pretend that he doesn’t want to feel this, that he’s not gasping and moaning as the stranger splits him open, forcing Logan to let him in. Logan is shaking inch by inch, dizzy with the pressure and unfinished pleasure. He might die in this room for all he knows, but his body wants this so badly, he can’t stop his hips from sliding up the stranger’s cock. The movement makes him gasp, and he grabs the stranger’s shoulders with both hands to brace so he can take even more when he pushes back down.
A brief flash of pain snaps through him, clearing up immediately as sensation tingles down his legs. He’s suddenly so full, it’s making him crazy. He tries to move again, his legs infuriatingly fixed where they’ve sunk between the armrests and the stranger’s own thighs. Desperation twists out of him in a whine, and Logan digs his fingers into the stranger’s sweatshirt and starts to roll his hips. His cock is already aching to be touched again, and all he can do is try to get the barest friction between their bodies. Every time the thick material of the stranger’s hoodie brushes against Logan’s tip, he shouts into the chorus of voices, completely indistinguishable from all the noise.
Here he can be loud. Here, Logan can lean his hands on the stranger’s thighs and arch his body so a stranger can rub his cock raw until he’s practically screaming. No one here can judge him for how hard he comes on a stranger’s cock—so hard, he’s lost control of his body and his legs are squirming and twitching in the armchair. Logan doesn’t know what he wants, only that he’s too far gone to care about what happens next.
His voice is hoarse by the time he runs dry, and the stranger keeps on touching him. Logan tries to pull away from his fingers to give his oversensitive skin a break, but he can’t get anywhere with the hand around his waist.
Logan pulls on the front of the guy’s sweatshirt. “Please, stop.”
He pants against the mask, winding his arms back around the stranger’s head. Delirium has him kissing pleas across his plastic forehead.
“Just let me go, please,” Logan murmurs, lips sticking to the demon mask.
The stranger tilts his head back, and Logan kisses his immoveable mouth without thought, still full to the brim. The arms looping around his waist give him false hope even when the voices drifting through the walls start laughing. The stranger hauls Logan up with him as he stands, and Logan clings to his torso, his body clenching on instinct to keep the cock from slipping out of his body. The feeling punches through him, and he gives a crackling groan.
Logan is drunk on delirium as the stranger lays him across the bed. There is only a thin sheet between him and the mattress, and Logan can practically feel every spring reacting to his weight. He settles with his legs looped around the stranger’s thighs, limp and spineless with the demon mask looming over him.
“Are you gonna kill me or something?” Logan asks in a whisper.
His voice is ripped out of him when the stranger starts to fuck him. Too much, too soon, too fast, too hard—Logan smothers his yelping with his hands and arms. His breathing is shorting out into frantic panting, his entire body lurching backwards every time the stranger thrusts into him. Tears spring to his eyes as everything threatens to break him from the inside.
Those black mesh eyes bore into him, dispassionate, uncaring. Numbness starts to spiral out from Logan’s cunt from the kind of intensity he can’t even get from a toy because he has no control over this. He can’t tear his gaze off those black holes, the red plastic, the fake smile carved into the mouth. It could be anyone—anything—under that mask, filling those clothes, fucking him raw. But Logan is always the same. No matter what he wears, or who he fucks, or what name he uses, he keeps making the same mistakes. Whenever someone asks him how did this happen, the answer is always the same.
I walked through the front door.
Logan is a puddle on the stranger’s bed, his vision going spotty, everything from the waist down a blur of half-numbed nerve endings. The stranger has him by the hips, no doubt bruising the memory of this ceaseless fucking into Logan’s skin. Logan reaches for him, giving one more ragged moan as he wonders if this is the only the beginning, or if this will be the last thing he ever sees. His fingers graze the stranger’s sweatshirt, and he pulls with whatever strength he has left as one more wave crashes through him, more come spilling out of him, no doubt soaking into the stranger’s work pants, dripping down the crease of his thighs.
The black eyes of the mask expand wider and wider until the whole room is degrading into darkness as Logan starts to lose consciousness. The last thing he hears is a deep, guttural moan humming against plastic lips.
-
When Logan wakes up, the room is empty. His limbs are splayed out over the bed, a thin blue sheet covering his lower half. His body aches from head to toe, his thighs burning, cunt pulsing loudly. He pushes upright, only to freeze up as cum spills out of him. Shivering wildly, he covers his mouth as he mewls at the mess. The stranger must have got what he wanted. There’s cum in every one of his orifices. He can taste the lingering salt on his tongue.
Logan’s clothes are folded on the card table. Most of them, anyway. When Logan manages to get himself to his feet and walks over, he doesn’t find his underwear in the pile. Instead, underneath his pants he finds a mask. It only covers the top of his face in perfectly white, featureless plastic. Logan holds tightly to it as he tries the door with his heart in his mouth.
It swings open with no resistance to reveal a dimly lit hall only a few feet long. Logan can see another door at the end. The ceiling is covered in cobwebs, and Logan has never been happier to see the signs of unkempt human halls.
“This place is so lame,” a voice echoes through the walls.
“Shut up, it’s fun,” another person responds.
More guests are walking through the haunt. Logan sets off toward the other door, his hand shooting out to turn the knob. Giddy relief bursts through his chest when it, too, is unlocked.
Logan’s breath catches. He’s about to walk out of here with no idea how long he’s been inside this place. For all he knows, someone is looking for him. He holds his breath while he puts the mask on, the elastic bands cinching against the back of his head. When Logan opens the door, the only thing he can see are translucent white curtains hanging directly in front of him. He goes still as movement catches his eye, only to see the mechanized body of a man shivering on the end of a metal arm.
He’s back in the haunt. Footsteps thunder across the floorboards to the right of him, and two people go stumbling into the room, laughing and shoving each other.
“You were so scared,” one of them says.
“Shut the hell up,” the other snaps, their voice breathy.
They walk directly in front of Logan, turning their backs to him as a fake portrait lights up on the far wall—drawing their eyes and keeping them still. A tinny voice warns them to turn back now with artificial lightning crackling through a speaker. Logan reaches for the edges of the white curtain, parting them around his face. The two people snort with laughter at the cheap effect, lazily turning back around. Logan smiles ear to ear as he recognizes the perfect timing harmonizing with the perfect marks.
The guests take one look at Logan, their eyes fly open, breath squeezing from their lungs in hushed gasps as they jolt away from the stranger in the mask.
Terrified.
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