Hello, everyone. This is my first erotic fiction story, so I decided to go with one of my favorite genres: erotic horror. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoy the twisted insides of my fantasies as much as I do.
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Max tumbled down the familiar front three steps of the frat house, landing sprawled on the concrete path to University Way. He scrambled to his feet, wildly glancing behind himself as he sprinted away as fast as possible. He had to put as much distance between himself and the nightmare he had just witnessed.
'This is fucking f-FUCKED! 'he thought to himself, barely able to gulp enough oxygen to keep himself conscious.
The pedestrian street was lit by flickering street lights that turned every shadowy bush into a manic grin, a face in the dark that cackled at the young man fleeing down the street. Max tore down the street, hoping against hope that one of the other houses had students staying behind for the winter holidays. Darkened windows greeted him from the nearest three, and he'd have to make a right and run another quarter mile to get to some others. Instead, he chose to cut through the yard and take refuge in the forest, hoping the shadows of the trees could protect him from the horror that undoubtedly pursued him.
50 feet into the forest, he skidded to a halt and tried to catch his breath.
"Shit...shit shit SHIT SHIT SHIT!" he swore quietly, the cool night air like knives in his lungs. Max had never been more scared in his life. This was unbelievable. Was he going crazy?
Max pressed himself up against a tree and tried to quiet his panting. The woods were comfortably silent around him, the odd insect making a brave call into the still night air. He stole a glance around the tree in an attempt to detect anyone-or more accurately THING- that might be chasing him. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging and causing his vision to blur. He furiously grabbed his shirt, pulling it up to wipe his face and exposing his trunk to the air.
"You could just keep on going there, you know. Take it right off, pet." a velvety voice chuckled from behind him.
Max jumped like he'd been shocked, whirling around to face the source of the noise. He had enough time to register a pale humanoid shape before an unseen force wrapped around his throat and hoisted him off the ground. Max groped around his neck, trying to relieve the pressure on his windpipe and fighting for air. Whatever had gripped him didn't have a physical thing to grab so he pulled at nothing. Black spots danced at the corner of his vision and unconsciousness threatened to take him from this nightmare.
"Shhhhh...don't worry, pet. It'll be over soon." she crooned at him from several feet below.
He passed out.
48 minutes earlier.
Maximillian Francis Scott hated Christmas. He hated Christmas music. He hated Christmas decorations. He hated it all. Christmas time brought to the surface memories that he wished would remain repressed. Christmas marked the anniversary of the untimely loss of his parents at the hands of a drunken 43-year-old that couldn't take a taxi home. He had, of course, survived. They always do.
Max, however, was one of the lucky ones. He had ended up in an orphanage that had provided as good of an environment as they could, and he had worked his ass off to get where he was. Allman University had been his first choice, and while far from Ivy League, it was at least partially reputable. His intended major had him studying far more than a 19-year-old would like, but he still stayed afloat.
Max had been thrilled to meet some of the boys from Triple Kapps at the annual freshman bash, and had been invited to pledge by the end of the year. He went from rooming with an odd German student with an athletic scholarship to having a room to himself at the creaky old frat house that Kappa Kappa Kappa called home. Sure, it smelled of mold and spilled beer, and the drywall had more than a few holes in it, but it was at least his for the moment.
Triple Kapps was not a fraternity for jocks. The basement was unfinished concrete, and makeshift plywood tables lined the walls. In stark contrast to the raw and dusty room, high-end gaming computers were wedged next to each other and
connected with a jumble of cables. On the ground level, antique arcade machines filled what should be a dining room and a veritable amphitheater of second-hand couches focused their gaze on a projector screen that had been known to host some pretty heated Smash Bros. tournaments.
On December 22nd, however, Max didn't feel like playing any of the games. He didn't even feel like talking to the other guys that had decided to remain over the winter holidays. Max had gotten an older friend to score him a lovely bottle of whiskey, and he was going to drink enough of it to forget that his parents were taken from him on this very night six years ago.
Arriving in his small room, Max caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror he had hanging on the wall. His sandy hair never sat straight, and he didn't really understand how to buy clothes for himself, but he supposed he was roguishly attractive. He had a bit of a hooked nose that bisected his steel blue eyes that always seemed a bit tired. Max ran track in high school, which had kept most bulky muscle from forming, giving him a wiry frame.
He had just sat down at his desk with a Solo cup full of whiskey and Coke when Steve, his older neighbor, pounded on the door.
Max cursed the interruption and reluctantly answered the door, greeted by a very excited pudgy man with thick, black rimmed spectacles.
"Holy shit Max. Holy SHIT. You're not gonna believe this at all. Bro, you gotta come down stairs, time NOW." he exclaimed. He was practically dancing.