"Breaking news, we've just received an update regarding the disappearance of 19 year old Melody Price, police have just arrested..." static cut into the broadcast for a moment, the old TV clearly having seen better days. "-and suspicion of kidnapping. The 26 year old was found to be in possession of the victim's purse as well as disturbing images of the missing victim on her phone and while the suspect continues to deny-" The newscaster's voice droned on, but the words barely registered as I watched from the crack in the closet door. A week had passed since my nightmare at the haunted house, and every second was etched into my memory like a gruesome tattoo. Currently I was kneeling bound and gagged in a harem like costume as I waited for my captor to return. The metal collar around my neck pinched and the chain tethering it to the wall behind me jingled ominously as I attempted to kneel in a more comfortable fashion. Just then I heard the front door of the house I was being kept in open making me jump, footsteps approached the closet and I backed away trying to make myself as small as possible.
The door to the closet swung open and the light from the living room spilled in, illuminating the small space lined with metal bars. Once my eyes had adjusted I looked up to see a wicked grin aimed down at me.
"Happy Halloween Melody."
One week earlier
"Bye mom!" I said as I headed out the front door of my parents' house, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The chilly October air hit my face, a perfect prelude to the job I was about to start at my hometown's local haunted house. This gig wasn't just for kicks, it was a quick way to make some extra cash before college started, the manager Roger, had breezed past my role when he'd called to tell me I'd gotten the job. He'd basically just given me the time I was required to start, how much I'd be making, that I should show up wearing whatever costume I owned and they'd figure something out when I showed up. Excited to be a part of the fun. I didn't think much of it, how hard could it be?
Walking down the driveway my heels clicked and clacked as I headed for my car, the sound echoing through the quiet neighborhood. My costume, a skimpy Catholic schoolgirl outfit, was definitely not something I'd wear on a regular day, but it was all I had that at least still sorta fit. The short skirt barely covered my ass, and the top was tight enough to make my C-cups look like they were about to pop out at any moment. The white thigh high stockings and four inch black stilettos completed the look. I had to admit, it was a bit thrilling to be dressed so...scandalously. Luckily my mom had been distracted in the kitchen with her back turned, so she hadn't seen the full extent of my costume. I'd just told her I had a "spooky" outfit for work.
Getting in my car I started the engine and placed my heel down on the gas. The height of my footwear made it a bit tricky to drive but I managed, eager to get to the haunted house. As I drove through town, the nervous excitement grew in my stomach like a swarm of butterflies, my heart beating faster than the bass in the pop songs playing on the radio. The scenery of quaint houses and street lights flickering on as the sun set, gave way to the more industrial area where the haunted house was set up. The town had transformed the old warehouse into a horror attraction every year since I could remember, but I'd never been brave enough to actually work there.
I couldn't help but wonder what kind of role they had in store for me. Would I be a greeter, a tour guide, would I work the cash register? Or would I be one of the actors jumping out at the thrill-seekers? As I pulled into the gravel parking lot, the headlights of my car illuminated the towering structure of the warehouse. It looked more menacing than it ever had before, there wasn't a line yet, but the decorations were already up, and the eerie music was playing faintly in the background.
My heart pounded in my chest, I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath my heels. The skirt of my costume was riding up, and I had to tug it down. The air was cool, and I felt a shiver run up my spine and it wasn't just from the cold. The place looked like it had been abandoned for years, with fake cobwebs hanging from the corners and a dilapidated fence surrounding it. The neon "Help Wanted" sign was the only hint of life in the area.
I made my way to the side of the warehouse, spotting the faded "Staff Entrance" sign. The door was heavy, and it creaked open with a groan. The smell of stale popcorn and musty fabric greeted me, along with the faint smell of dry ice. The corridor was dimly lit with flickering lights, and the walls were painted with scenes of horror. It was clear that this was not the glammed-up version of the attraction that the public would see. It was raw and unpolished, a contrast to the immaculate town outside.
As I ventured deeper, I stumbled upon a room that was part break room and part locker room. The walls were a dull gray, with peeling paint that hinted at past attempts to spruce up the place. The floor was concrete, stained with what looked like a Jackson Pollock painting of spilled drinks and food. In one corner, a rickety table held a coffee maker that had seen better days, surrounded by a disarray of mugs with various horror movie characters on them. The other side of the room had metal lockers, their doors hanging open like the mouths of jack-o'-lanterns, revealing the costumes of my soon-to-be colleagues.
"You the new girl?" A redheaded girl wearing a psychotic looking clown costume said from a chair in the corner. She had a piercing through her nose and a smear of fake blood painted across her cheek. She looked me up and down with a smirk.
"Yeah, I'm Melody," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'm here for my first day."
The red-headed clown stood up, her oversized shoes thumping on the floor as she approached me. She was tall, with a figure that could have been intimidating if it weren't for the over-the-top makeup that painted a smile on her face.
"Welcome to the madhouse," she said, extending a hand gloved in white fabric with red painted fingernails through holes. "I'm Harley. You're going to love it here."
Her handshake was firm, and she had a grip that could have crushed a can. "Thanks," I replied, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. She turned and headed towards the door to the hallway, "I'll get Roger, he's the one you need to talk to."
"Okay," I said watching as the killer clown headed out the door leaving me alone in the cold room. I shivered, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that had settled in my stomach. It was probably just first-day jitters, I thought to myself. I looked around the room, taking in the costumes and props that lined one of the walls. There were chainsaws, knives, and all sorts of other gruesome things that would make anyone scream.
A few minutes later, a burly man with a bald head and a thick beard stomped into the room. He was dressed in a tattered suit, looking like he'd just stepped out of a zombie apocalypse movie. "You must be Melanie," he said, eyeing me up and down. "You're a bit...short for the job, but you'll do."
I opened my mouth to correct him, but before I could get a word out, he yelled, "Tony! Get over here, I've got the new girl!"
Before I knew it a man with a leather apron and a tool belt slung around his waist entered the room, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me. "Oh, she's perfect," he said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Put your purse in locker number eight and come with me."
After doing as I was told and depositing my purse into the designated locker, I followed Tony into the bowels of the warehouse. The air grew colder and the lights grew dimmer as we ventured further in. The sound of power tools and distant laughter echoed through the corridors, punctuated by the occasional scream from a sound effect speaker. The walls here were painted to look like ancient stone, and the floor was sticky with what I hoped was fake blood. The walls continued to change depending on the theme of each room along the path.
We meandered through the dimly lit corridors, Tony's heavy footsteps mixed with the clicking of my heels, the sounds echoing in the vast emptiness as he led the way. The walls around us were now a macabre tapestry of peeling wallpaper, fake cobwebs, and glow-in-the-dark paint, each twist and turn revealing another nightmarish scene. Tony spoke with an air of pride, explaining the intricate dance of fear and excitement that the haunted house orchestrated every night.
The first room we passed by was a big top circus room, complete with a dilapidated carousel and a life-size doll with a knife lodged in its back. "This is where we start 'em young," Tony said, chuckling to himself. The sight of the twisted toys and deranged smiles sent a shiver down my spine. "It's all about the nostalgia? Take their happy memories and turn 'em into a living hell, Harley's scare tactics are second to none when she's in the zone."
While clowns weren't one of my phobias, they had certainly nailed the crazy, creepy atmosphere here. The next room was a dimly lit maze of body bags and hanging limbs, the walls painted to look like the inside of a morgue. The smell of formaldehyde was so convincing, I had to fight the urge to gag. "It's all about claustrophobia in here," Tony explained, gesturing to the tight, confined space. "We want 'em to feel like they're trapped, like there's no escape and if they don't move they'll end up on one of the meat hooks themselves." I had to admit this room always gave me chills when I visited with friends.
The room after that was a strobe-lit corridor, with mirrors that reflected the flashing lights into a disorienting array of shadows and distorted faces. "This one's for the older crowd," Tony said with a wink. "They're always more jumpy when they can't tell if we're coming or going and the pressure plated jump scares are always a hit."
As we turned another corner, we bumped into a tall, lanky man with wild hair and a crazed look in his eyes. He was dressed in a blood-soaked lab coat, holding a prop chainsaw that looked suspiciously real. "Ah, Tom!" Tony exclaimed. "The mad scientist himself. What do you think, she's got the right look for the part?"
Tom's gaze fell on me, his eyes widening with excitement. "Perfect," he murmured, stroking the chainsaw like a pet. "The schoolgirl in distress. They're going to love it."
Before I could turn to question him further, Tony's hand was on my shoulder, guiding me away. "Wandering psychos," he said as we continued through the warehouse. "It's a classic. They're the wild cards of the haunted house. They don't have a set path, they just roam around, looking for fresh meat to scare." His grin was wide, showcasing a set of yellowed teeth. "And you, my dear Melanie, as Tom said, are going to be the damsel in distress in one of our newest and most popular scenes."
He stopped in front of a room that looked like it had been abandoned for decades, the door barely hanging on its hinges. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the floor was littered with broken chalkboards and broken desks. The scene was eerily familiar--a twisted version of a school room from a bygone era. Tony wasn't wrong, I didn't remember this scene being here last year and it looked like they'd worked hard on it.
"Welcome to your stage," Tony announced, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You're going to be the star pupil in this little horror show."
At this point, I was done trying to correct people about my name and focused on what he'd said about my role.
"What do I have to do?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
Tony's grin grew even wider. "You're going to be our little sacrifice," he said, his tone ominous. "Tied up, under the watchful eye of our evil animatronic headmistress. For authenticity every desk, chair and even the blackboard has been brought from St. Augustine's all-girls Catholic school." He said proudly.
"You mean that haunted place up north?" I asked suddenly, a little more nervous.
"Yep, take a look around, I'll be right back, I forgot the box of props that you'll be required to use."
Left alone in the creepy looking abandoned classroom, I took a deep breath and glanced around the dusty, cobweb-covered space. The room was a chilling replica of a place I'd only ever seen in horror movies. Most of the desks were flipped over, chairs strewn across the floor as if a tornado had swept through. The walls were plastered with tattered posters of the alphabet and multiplication tables, the colors faded with time. A few lone bare light bulbs hung precariously from the ceiling, swaying slightly with each footstep I took.
As I approached the front of the room, the animatronic headmistress Tony spoke of loomed in front of me, a towering figure dressed in a starched navy and white habit. Her eyes were cold and lifeless, but the malicious smile painted on her porcelain face sent a chill down my spine. Her right hand held a realistic-looking riding crop, which was slightly bent as if she'd just used it to strike something--or someone. The desk before her was scarred and broken, littered with dusty books and a vintage school bell that had definitely seen better days. There was a large space on the desk I noted that was devoid of dust and debris.
Turning back to the headmistress, I took a closer look and noticed a black box with a switch on her side. It was a simple lever with a small antenna, painted the same institutional navy as the desk, but it had a worn, metallic glint to it that suggested it was more than just a prop. The sound of Tony's heavy boots on the floorboards grew louder, snapping me out of my daze. As he entered the room, I jumped, my heart racing in my chest. He chuckled, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Found your spot, have you?"
He strolled over to me, his arms laden with a large cardboard box filled with what looked like various props for the attraction.
"Here we go," he said, setting the box down with a thud. He rummaged through the contents, pulling out multiple coils of rope, a foam ball, and a bandana. "Now, for your role," he began, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made my stomach drop. "You're going to be tied up nice and tight right in front of our headmistress here."
My eyes widened as he talked, and I felt a knot of nervousness form in my throat. "But, I thought I'd be taking tickets or just scaring people, not being scared," I stuttered, my voice trembling.
Tony chuckled, his laugh echoing off the grimy walls. "You're not nervous are you?" He said it without malice, more like a statement of fact. "Don't worry, it's all part of the job. And the pay's a little extra for the...let's call it, 'immersive experience'. You'll get used to it."
He took out the rope and started explaining the knots he was going to use. "This isn't just for show," he assured me, his voice dropping an octave. "You'll be secured tight, but I promise you won't get hurt, now if you could put your hands behind your back and we'll get started." Turning around I put my hands behind my back, I noted that Tony's rough hands were surprisingly gentle as he looped the rope around my wrists a few times before cinching a knot that was snug, but not painful.
"Just remember to look frightened when the customers come through. It's all part of the act."
"Okay," I said nervously as he started looping more rope around my knees, tying them together tightly. "But why are my knees getting tied too?"
"It's all part of the scene," Tony said, his voice as calm as if he were explaining the plot of a movie. "The more realistic the better, right?"
He knelt down and began to tie my ankles together, the rough rope biting into my skin slightly. "It's all about immersion. You're the helpless victim here."
As he worked, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. This was supposed to be fun, a way to make some extra cash and maybe get a few good screams out of some locals. But as the ropes tightened around my limbs, the reality of my situation began to set in. I was going to be tied up, unable to move, in a room full of strangers.
"What do you mean, 'the more realistic the better'?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
Tony looked up at me, his eyes glinting with something that could have been amusement or maybe just a twisted form of professional pride. "It's all about the thrill, Melanie. You're going to be the heart of this scene. When the customers come in, they're going to see you, all trussed up and helpless, and they're going to feel it." He paused, tying a particularly tight knot around my ankles. "They're going to feel the fear."
At this point I didn't think I'd have trouble portraying the role of the damsel in distress. After all, I was starting to feel like one in real life. Tony held up the foam ball with a wicked glint in his eye. "Open your mouth, sweetheart," he said, his voice still surprisingly gentle despite the situation.
I obeyed, my mouth going dry as I felt the soft, spongy object press against my teeth. He pushed it in until my cheeks bulged slightly, then standing behind me he pulled a red bandana tightly between my teeth and knotted it off behind my head effectively silencing me. The gag felt like a cushioned intrusion, muffling my voice to a mere murmur.
Just as Tony stepped back to admire his handiwork, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door to the classroom creaked open, and Roger, the manager, stepped in, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "What's the hold up?" he barked, his eyes scanning the room. "Why isn't she fully set up yet?"
"Just finished Roger, I just need to position her and we'll be good to go." Tony says as he stood up.
Roger's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of me, trussed up and gagged. "What the hell, Tony? She isn't fully tied and you know it!" he barked.
"She's new Roger so I thought-"Tony was cut off as Roger continued to bark at him.
"I pay extra for this role because it sells, now do your job so she can do hers!" As Roger stormed out of the room that nervous feeling inside of my stomach tripled.
"I'm sorry Melanie, I know this role can be difficult so I was hoping to ease you into it, but Roger has other ideas." Tony said, a hint of apology in his voice.
I took a deep breath and watched as Tony pulled a very long coil of rope out of the box. He began by folding the rope in half and looping it around my arms and chest just below my breasts. I could feel him link the rope behind my back sorta like a lasso, then he pulled the rope tight, pinning my shirt down and molding my arms tightly against my sides. Next he reversed the direction of the ropes, looping the cords back around my front this time above my breasts. As I felt the ropes being yanked through the knot in the middle of my back I looked down to see the ropes now doing a spectacular job of framing my cleavage. I mean this in effect really drew attention to my chest with the way my breasts were bulging under the pressure of the ropes. I couldn't help but groan as he fed the rope over my shoulder, between my breasts then pulled the rope underneath the lower ropes and back over my other shoulder. I looked down and stared with wide eyes, the way he'd tied the ropes effectively resembled a bikini top in its shape.
"Is that okay? That's not hurting is it?" Tony asked, stepping back to survey his work. The ropes were cutting into my skin a little, but they weren't painful and I was more mortified by the way the fabric of my costume was stretched taut, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
Grudgingly, I shook my head no, the ropes weren't hurting me. They were tight, sure, but not unbearable. The gag was a different story; it was making me feel claustrophobic. My breaths were coming in shallow gasps around the foam ball filling my mouth, the bandana biting tightly into my cheeks.
"Good." Tony said looking relieved, "Now let me expl-" once again Tony was cut off as Roger's melodious voice floated into the room making both of us jump.
"Tony! The other new hire didn't show so I need you up front pronto." Roger bellowed as he walked into the room.
"Yes sir I just need to get Melanie into position and expl-"
"Tony, I said I need you up front now! We open in less than five minutes. Now go, I'll finish up here."
Roger's impatient voice cut through the air like a knife, and with a quick nod, Tony dashed out of the room, leaving me bound and gagged in the dusty classroom. The headmistress's cold stare seemed to bore into me, her robotic arm slowly raising the riding crop as if she were about to deliver a punishment for my insubordination. The room felt smaller, the air thick with anticipation. I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread at what was to come.
"Sorry if I seem gruff, but we have a schedule to keep now... shit, you don't match the room's vibe at all. Damn it Tony, what do I pay you for." Roger said as he reached into the box Tony had brought and pulled out a tin can full of what looked like well...soot.
Roger must have seen the confusion on my face because he said "Look around girl, does your pristine looking uniform match the theme of this room?" He pointed to the walls that were covered in fake blood and grime. "You're going to have to get a little dirty if you want to blend in."
He took a handful of the soot and started to rub it onto my costume. I groaned through the gag as the black dust got into every crevice of my clothes, turning my once white shirt and plaid skirt a dingy gray. His hands were rough and as he applied the grime, I could feel him lingering on my breasts, his knuckles brushing against my skin. I tried to squirm away, but the ropes held me fast, my face grew hot with embarrassment and anger.
Next, he moved on to my stockings, which were still pristine despite the chaos of the room. He took his time, spreading the soot in a circular motion up my legs, his touch growing more deliberate with each pass. His eyes never left mine, and I could see the hunger in them as he enjoyed the power he had over me in this vulnerable state. I could feel my heart racing, the blood pounding in my ears as he worked his way up to my thighs.
With a sudden jerk, he ripped a small tear in my left stocking, just above the knee. The fabric gave way with a sound that was almost a sigh, revealing my pale skin beneath. He then proceeded to rip my shirt slightly, exposing the top of my lacy white bra. The material of my costume was flimsy, and the tears looked genuine. He chuckled to himself, a low, dark sound that made me want to scream, but the foam ball in my mouth muffled any noise I could make.
Roger stepped back to admire his handiwork, his eyes traveling over my body with a predatory gaze. "Much better," he murmured, his voice thick with something that wasn't quite satisfaction. The way he was looking at me made me feel naked and exposed, and I squirmed in my bonds, trying to pull away from his gaze.
"Now, let's get you into position," he said, his tone business-like once more. He grabbed my shoulders and guided me over to the desk, his grip was firm but not painful as I was forced to bunny hop over to the teacher's desk. Roger's strong hand pushed down on my back until my torso was laying down on the desk, the corner of the desk poking into my crotch. With my torso resting on the scarred wood, the coldness of it sent a shiver down my spine. My feet were still resting on the floor with my legs flush with the sides of the desk. I now realized why there was a clear spot on the desk--it was for me.
Roger grabbed another short rope from the desk and used it to tie my ankles to one of the desk's corner legs, this effectively kept me from moving my legs at all. The ropes were pulled tight, and I felt the burn of the material against my skin as I tested my new restraints. The desk creaked under my weight, and the wooden legs groaned in protest, but held firm. I had really hoped he was done, which is why I grew exponentially more nervous when Roger reached back into the box and pulled out another rope. My breath hitched as I watched him fasten a noose, loop it around my neck loosely, walk around the desk and tie it off to the leg of the desk opposite of my feet.
"There, now the scene is complete," Roger said, his voice low and serious. "Now Melanie, there's a little trick to this room, when the customers come in, they'll step on a pressure plate outside the door. That'll set off our dear headmistress here." He gestured to the looming animatronic. "Her arm will raise up, swing in an arc, and she'll swat her own palm twice, then she'll turn while raising her arm again and it'll come to a stop right above your... well, you know." He nodded towards my ass, which was now sticking out in the air thanks to my bent over position.
My eyes widened in horror, and I attempted to protest, my muffled voice lost in the foam gag. "Don't worry, it's all for the scare," he said, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic spark. "It's all just part of the show." With that, flipped the switch on the headmistress's side and left the room, leaving me alone with the cold, lifeless eyes of the headmistress staring down at me.
As I lay there, bound and exposed, I couldn't help but think about my decision to take this job. It had seemed like a fun and easy way to make some extra cash for college, but now I was beginning to second guess my choice. The ropes bit into my skin, the grime from the soot coated my costume, and the gag was beginning to make it hard to breathe. The excitement I'd felt earlier had morphed into a deep, gnawing fear that twisted in my gut like a knot.
My heart raced as I heard the sound of the warehouse coming to life outside the room. The distant chainsaws roared to life, and the screams of the actors practicing their frightened cries grew closer. The floor beneath the desk trembled as the first groups of customers were led through the haunted house, their footsteps echoing down the corridor like a drum-roll before the main event.
A breeze flowed into the room and I could feel the hemline of my skirt fluttering against my exposed skin. The anticipation grew like a malignant tumor, my body taut with tension as I heard the approaching footsteps and squeals of delight from the customers. The thought of them seeing me in this state was mortifying, my face burning with humiliation. I squirmed against the ropes, trying to free myself, but they held fast, a silent testament to Tony's knot-tying skills.
Then through the open window above the door-frame to the room I heard a crescendo of chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the ominous silence that had filled the room just moments before. Footsteps grew louder, the anticipation of my first customers palpable. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the job at hand. I was the entertainment, the scared schoolgirl who'd be part of their thrilling night out. There was obviously no getting out of this so I might as well do my best to play my part.
Just as the voices neared the doorframe, the sound of running footsteps pierced the air, accompanied by a maniacal laugh and the unmistakable roar of a chainsaw. My eyes shot open and I watched as a crazed figure rushed past the doorframe towards the crowd. The staff member must have accidentally stepped on the pressure plate Roger spoke of, because the next thing I heard was a manic woman's voice emanating from a nearby speaker and the whir of the headmistress behind me.
"SO MISSY, YOU'VE MISSED THE LESSON AGAIN!" The animatronic headmistress's voice boomed through the room, making the dust dance in the air.
The mechanical arm swung down with surprising speed, I flinched, my eyes squeezed shut in terror, expecting the worst. But when the crop didn't make contact with my skin, I cautiously opened my eyes to see the robotic arm had swung the riding crop down into its own palm twice. Remembering what Roger had said I prepared to do my best to act in pain when the headmistress would turn and fake swing towards me next.
But to my horror, the next swing wasn't a fake as I felt the sharp sting of the crop as it connected with my exposed thigh. I couldn't hold back the yelp of pain that escaped my gag, the shock of the impact jolting my body. The sound of the crop against flesh filled the room emanating not only from where the crop had landed against my thigh but from the same speaker the headmistress's voice had come from as well. Panic surged through me, my heart hammering in my chest like a caged animal trying to escape.
I looked over my shoulder to see a red mark rising on my skin, and the realization dawned on me: Roger hadn't positioned me correctly. The robot wasn't supposed to hit me, It was supposed to be a bluff, a scare tactic to keep the customers on their toes. But now, the horror was real, and it was happening to me.
Through the doorframe the first group of visitors stumbled in, their eyes wide with excitement and fear. They were just in time to witness the scene play out again. The headmistress's arm swung down and from the side, the crop connecting with its palm twice before landing on my thigh once more, sending a bolt of pain through my body.
"Mmmphhh!" I squealed as the crop landed.
The sound of the impact echoed through the room, the fake slap of leather on flesh bouncing off the walls and mixing with the cackles of a clown outside.
The crowd gasped, and I felt their eyes on me, watching my bound form squirm and jerk with each hit. It was supposed to be a performance, but now it was a grim reality, my pain a twisted source of entertainment for these strangers. The foam ball in my mouth muffled my cries, turning them into desperate whimpers that only served to enhance the scene.
A flashlight beam danced over the room as a guide began to narrate the horror before them, his voice theatrically ominous. "Welcome to the abandoned classroom of St. Augustine's School for Girls," he intoned, his dramatic flair thick enough to cut through the tension. "As you can see, our dear headmistress here isn't quite as forgiving as she used to be."
The group of visitors, mostly teenagers, chuckled nervously, their eyes glued to me. The guide stepped closer, his boots scraping against the gritty floor. "It seems she's caught one of her naughty students skipping class again. And we all know what happens to little girls who don't obey their headmistresses, don't we?" He winked at the audience, the gesture lost on me as I writhed in pain and embarrassment.
My cheeks flamed red as I heard some of the male teenagers whispering to each other about how they could see my panties. The way Roger had tied me to the desk had pulled my skirt up, exposing the lacy white fabric that was now stained with dirt and sweat. The thought of them getting a cheap thrill from my humiliation made me feel even more vulnerable and violated.
The headmistress's arm swung down again, and the crop connected with my other thigh. The pain was intense, and I could feel a warm trickle of wetness spreading through my panties. I wasn't sure if it was sweat or something else, but the sensation was humiliating. The group's laughter grew bolder, and I could make out a few lewd comments about my predicament.
"Looks like she's enjoying it," one of the teenage boys jeered, his friends snickering in agreement.
Their lewd comments only added to my mortification, and I could feel my cheeks burning with a mix of anger and embarrassment. The foam ball in my mouth felt like it was expanding, the pressure making it hard to breathe as the headmistress's robotic arm swung down again, the crop striking my thigh with a stinging blow. The pain was real, and the sobs I was trying to hold back were turning into whimpers that grew louder with each hit. The crowd's reaction had gone from shock to amusement, and their callousness was like salt in my wounds.
Finally, the headmistress's arm fell still, and the room grew quiet. The group's footsteps retreated, their laughter fading into the distance. I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the ache in my throat from being gagged. My eyes remained squeezed shut, not wanting to face the reality of what had just happened. The room was silent except for the faint sound of the animatronic's machinery winding down, the ghostly echo of the headmistress's final words hanging in the air.
As I lay there, I felt a sudden jolt of determination. I couldn't just wait here, enduring this humiliation for the entire night. With the room empty, I began to wriggle my body, trying to shift my weight, sliding my torso down the desk a few inches. Hopefully if I laid flatter, the crop would hit the fabric of my skirt instead of my bare flesh. I gritted my teeth against the foam gag, trying to ignore the way the ropes dug into my skin with every movement.
More sounds of another group approaching alerted me to the next wave of visitors. My heart raced as the floor vibrated with their steps. The headmistress's arm wound up again, and I braced for the pain. But this time, the crop didn't connect with my thigh. It hit the lower cleft of my asscheek right where the hem of my skirt lay and to my horror when the headmistress's arm rose the riding crop got caught on the edge of my skirt. The color of my face must have matched my skirt when the next group of customers walked in to see me bent over the desk with half my skirt flipped up.
The gasps from the new crowd were immediate, and I could feel their eyes on me like a hundred laser pointers. Even worse when the scene repeated the riding crop landed smack dab in the middle of my left cheek, the force of it causing my whole body to jerk. My humiliation was complete as the group of teenagers who had just walked in were now getting a show that was definitely not in the script.
The males in the group let out a few whoops and cheers, while the females looked on with a mix of shock and confusion. The guide tried to play it off, saying something about the headmistress's "new disciplinary measures," but his voice wavered with uncertainty. My eyes searched the room, pleading for someone to help me, but all I found were the leering faces of the audience.
The group moved on much quicker than the first, the guide clearly eager to get them away from the unexpected new development in the scene. Their footsteps faded, and the room was once again filled with the heavy silence of anticipation. I took a moment to catch my breath, the fabric of my costume sticking to my sweat-drenched skin. The sting of the crop lingered, a painful reminder of the twisted game I'd been thrust into.
And then, a flash of red. A familiar face poked into the room, and my eyes widened in a mix of hope and horror. It was Harley, the clown I'd met earlier. She took one look at me, bound and exposed, and burst into laughter. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, grating against my already frayed nerves. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in the sight of my skirt hiked up, the ropes digging into my flesh, and the soot-covered mess that was once my pristine schoolgirl uniform.
"Well, well, well," she chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. "Looks like someone's in a bit of a pickle."
Her laughter was like a punch to the gut, but I couldn't muster the energy to be angry. I was too busy trying to figure out how to fix my costume and get out of this mess before the next group found me. I squirmed against the ropes, trying to pull my skirt down, but it was stuck on one of the coarse ropes tied around my wrists. Harley's eyes danced with amusement as she took in the scene, her laughter subsiding into a wicked grin.
"Looks like Tony had a bit too much fun with the knots," she said, her voice a mix of mock concern and delight. "But don't worry, I'm here to help."
I nodded frantically, my eyes pleading with her to untie me from this degrading setup. Harley sauntered over, her red nose and painted smile seemingly stretching with her grin. She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. "But first," she whispered, "let's make sure you're really selling it."
With that, she reached up and yanked on the ropes around my wrists, tightening them further until I could feel the blood pulsing against the restraints. I squealed in pain, the sound coming out as a muffled whine through the gag. She giggled and gave the ropes a final tug before stepping back to survey her work. "Perfect," she said, clapping her hands together. "Now, let's get your skirt sorted."
Harley walked behind the desk, her eyes traveling over my bound body with a predatory glint. She leaned down, her breasts pressing against my back as she worked to free my skirt from the rope. I could feel her breath on my neck, hot and moist, as she whispered, "You're really quite pretty, you know." Her words sent a shiver down my spine, and I was torn between fear and a strange, unwelcome thrill.
With a quick jerk, she pulled the rope free, and my skirt dropped back into place. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping that my ordeal was over. But Harley had other plans. She reached up and grabbed the headmistress's crop, manually pushing the arm down to see where it landed.
"Ah, I see," she said, her voice low and contemplative. "Tony really didn't get the hang of this, did he?"
Her hand slid down my back, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the sadistic glint in her eyes. She helped me adjust my position, shifting my hips slightly so that the crop would land in the right spot. The touch was intimate, and I felt a strange mix of revulsion and gratitude as she made sure I was in the correct pose for the scene. Her fingers lingered for a moment too long, and I could feel her breath on my neck as she leaned in. "Remember, you're just part of the show," she murmured, her tone a mix of reassurance and warning.
The next group of customers entered, and the cycle began anew. The headmistress's arm swung down, and this time, the crop landed precisely where it was supposed to--on the fabric of my skirt. The sound was still loud and dramatic, but the pain was muted. I let out a forced gasp, playing along with the scene, trying to ignore the way Harley's eyes never left my face, watching me with a strange fascination.
As the crowd moved on, she leaned in close again. "It seems like you're going to be a hit tonight," she whispered, her voice a dark caress. "But I'm afraid we're going to have to make some adjustments. You see, you're a bit more... blessed in the backside department than the previous girls we've had here. The crop's going to keep hitting you until we can get that arm fixed."
My eyes went wide with horror. "But... but it hurts!" I tried to protest through the gag, but she just chuckled. "That's the point, darling," she said, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "The customers love a good scream. And if it's too much for you, well, you can always quit. We've got plenty of eager applicants waiting in the wings."
The thought of quitting made my stomach drop. I needed this job, it was too late in the season to find another, so no matter how degrading it had become I'd need to stick it out. I nodded frantically, trying to convey my willingness to endure the pain for the sake of keeping my job. Harley's smile grew even wider. "Good girl," she cooed, patting my head like I was a pet. "Now, let's get back to it, shall we?"
The next group shuffled in, their eyes immediately drawn to my bound form. The headmistress's arm swung down, the crop smacking against my skirt instead of my bare skin. The pain was sharp, but I managed to keep my screams to a minimum, not wanting to give Harley the satisfaction of seeing me break. The crowd gasped and took a collective step back, the scene playing out as it was meant to.
But as the night went on, the pain grew more intense, and the humiliation more unbearable. Each time the crop hit my backside, I could feel the sting of the leather, the force of the blow echoing through my body. The headmistress's arm was programmed to hit with precision, but it was clear that my plumper rear end was throwing off the calibration. With every hit, I bit down harder on the gag, the foam squishing between my teeth as I fought back tears. With every lewd comment and snicker from the audience, I felt my dignity slipping away, like sand through my bound fingers.
This was not how I had envisioned my first night at the haunted house attraction. The sting from the riding crop was a constant reminder of my predicament, each smack a grim echo of the twisted reality I was now a part of. Harley's words, whispered into my ear like a dark secret, haunted me with every group that passed through. The previous girls must have been much smaller, I thought, bitterness coating my mind like the soot on my costume. I had a nice shapely figure and I knew most men liked that, but here it was being used against me in this twisted game of terror.
As the second hour approached, the groups grew more frequent and the warehouse outside grew louder with the crescendo of screams and laughter. A group consisting of mostly teenage boys stumbled into the room, their eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of me, bound and gagged. The headmistress's arm swung down with a whip-crack sound, and the crop bit into my flesh once more. I tried to keep my screams muffled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as the boys' laughter grew louder.
And then, as if the universe had decided to add a twist to this already hellish evening, a hidden door in the wall slammed open, and a wild-eyed man dressed in a tattered straightjacket burst into the room. His entrance was so sudden and chaotic that it scared both the group and me, breaking the tension like a shattered mirror. The teenagers' laughter turned to startled yelps, and their faces paled as the man dressed like an escaped psych patient leered at them, his teeth bared in a manic grin from behind a plastic spit mask.
"Who's next for a little one-on-one with the headmistress?" he cackled, his eyes darting around the room like a predator searching for prey. His gaze finally fell upon me, tied to the desk like a sacrificial lamb. I watched in horror as his grin grew wider, his eyes lingering on my exposed skin, and the bulge in his pants grew obvious. The headmistress's arm swung down again, and this time the crop hit me square in the center of my ass, the pain blossoming like a dark flower, and I couldn't help but let out a genuine cry of agony.
The psycho's eyes lit up like Christmas lights, and he took a step closer to the group, his wild gaze boring into them. "Looks like we've got a fresh batch of naughty students for the headmistress to discipline!" he cackled, his voice a gravelly parody of insanity. He strutted around the room, his tattered straightjacket flapping open to reveal a chest stained with what looked like fake blood. His act was so convincing that I almost believed he'd escaped from a nearby asylum.
Then his eyes locked onto me, "ooooh looks like she's already busy with a student though!" He giggles like a schoolgirl with a secret before stomping over to me, his heavy boots echoing through the room. I tried to shrink away, but the ropes bit into my skin, holding me firmly in place. "I think the headmistress needs some help so she can get to the rest of... YOU!"
The psycho then turned back to me and started to use the long sleeves of his straightjacket like a whip as he started to flick them at my exposed skin, the fabric stinging like a thousand bees as it connected with my thighs and backside. I couldn't help but yelp, my legs jumping with nowhere to go and my eyes watering with each smack. The crowd watched in a mix of horror and fascination, not knowing if this was part of the act or if I was genuinely being assaulted before their very eyes.
The man in the straightjacket seemed to feed off my pain, his crazed laughter grew with each smack of his sleeves against my skin. I was on the brink of tears, my body trembling with each hit. I tried to scream for help, but the foam gag turned my pleas into muffled sounds that only added to the macabre atmosphere. He was enjoying this, I could tell. The way his eyes gleamed and his tongue darted out to lick his dry, cracked lips, savoring every moment of my torment.
Finally, he stopped, panting heavily as if he'd just run a marathon. Then in a flash he turned towards the crowd and let out a guttural scream and leaped towards them. The crowd ran, heading for the door and he chased them out, not stopping until he'd reached the doorframe.
Then I watched with widening eyes as he turned around, his gait was a disturbing blend of swagger and menace. He sauntered my way, his every step deliberate and taunting. The plastic spit mask distorted his features, making his smile look more like a snarl, and his eyes gleamed with a dark excitement that sent a shiver down my spine. With each step closer, the sting of the sobs I've been holding back turned into a storm of tears that streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
He stopped in front of me, leaning over the desk, his breath hot on my face. "You must be the new girl," he said, his voice low and gruff, the plastic muffling his words. "And quite the kinky one at that, letting yourself get tied up like a little present for the headmistress." His words were like a punch to the gut, but I couldn't even summon the energy to be offended. All I could do was stare, my eyes pleading with him to just leave me alone.
But he had other ideas. With a swift move, he pulled his hands through the long sleeves of the straightjacket, then he reached forward, his touch like a serpent slithering across my skin. I flinched, my heart racing as his hands began to explore my body, feeling up my breasts and thighs. His eyes never left mine, watching the fear and helplessness swirl in them like a storm in a teacup.
As one of his hands kneaded my right breast, I bucked my hips, trying to throw him off balance. My muffled pleas grew more desperate, the foam gag doing little to mask the horror in my voice. His touch was rough, almost painful, and his nails scraped against my skin through the fabric of my costume. The look in his eyes was predatory, like he was savoring every twitch and whimper I made.
He leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against my cheek. "Such a naughty little slut," he murmured, his hand moving to my left breast, giving it a squeeze that made me wince. "If you really enjoy this kind of thing there are better ways you know." His other hand slid down my body, his fingers brushing against the crotch of my panties. I thrashed against the ropes, my body fighting against the intrusion, but the knots held firm.
The room was spinning, and the multiple feelings were a dull roar in my ears. I shook my head frantically, trying to convey my protest without the ability to speak. But the man in the straightjacket didn't seem to care. His hand continued to roam, his thumb brushing against my clit through the thin fabric of my costume. The sensation was both terrifying and arousing, a confusing mix of emotions that only added to the horror of the situation.
My body began to respond, my nipples hardening into tight peaks beneath his touch. I was horrified to feel a warmth spreading through my belly, a betrayal of my own flesh. I hadn't had an orgasm in weeks, and the sudden, unwanted pleasure was like a slap in the face. My hips jerked upward, my legs straining against the ropes that held me in place. He noticed, his eyes lighting up with victory. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" he said, his voice a gruff purr. "You're going to make this so much fun."
But before he could do anything else, the sound of shuffling feet and murmurs grew louder outside the classroom door. The psycho's head snapped up, his expression changing from lustful to frantic in an instant. He knew he'd be caught, if he didn't stop so with a final, lingering squeeze of my breast, he stepped back, his hands retreating from my body like a tide retreating from the shore. He walked back over to the wall with the hidden door, his movements now more like a prowling cat than a wild beast and slipped into the shadows.
I watched as the door closed leaving me laying there with my thoughts racing. The group outside was getting closer, their murmurs and footsteps signaling the next round of the horror show. My chest heaved with panic, my nipples swollen and sensitive from the psycho's touch, and I could feel the wetness spreading between my legs, a treacherous response to the fear and arousal that had taken over my body. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, my clit throbbing in time with the pounding of my heart.
Then it happened, I heard the pressure plate activate, and the headmistress's arm swung again. I must have shifted quite a bit when the psycho was feeling me up because this time, the crop hit me in a way that it hadn't before--right between my legs, slapping against my clit with a shocking force. The pain was intense, but it also sent a jolt of pure, unwanted pleasure through my body. My eyes rolled back in my head and I let out a muffled scream that was half pain, half climax. The room spun around me, and I could feel my body convulsing, my bound limbs straining against the ropes. This all happened right as the next group of customers stumbled into the room, their eyes going wide with shock and excitement.
They watched, frozen in place, as my body shook with the aftermath of the unexpected orgasm. The headmistress's arm retreated, and for a brief, terrifying moment, the room was silent. Then, as if on cue, the crop swung down again, hitting the same spot with a sickening thwack. My body responded before my mind could even process what was happening--I came again, my hips bucking against the desk. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, thinking it was all part of the show. But it was all too real, and I was trapped in a hell of my own making, my body betraying me with each swing of the crop.
When the headmistress's whirring finally ceased after sixty seconds of mechanical fury, the crowd, though visibly shaken, didn't move. They stood there, transfixed by the scene they had just witnessed and I was left, a trembling mess of ropes and lust, unsure of what to do next. When the group finally moved on, I, despite feeling like a mess of jelly, did my best to wiggle back into the position Harley had put me in earlier.
It took a few agonizing minutes and several groups of wide-eyed customers before I managed to wriggle back into the "correct" position that Harley had set for me. Each time the headmistress's crop hit my skirt instead of my bare flesh, I felt a twisted sense of relief and defeat. The pain was still there, but it was a pain that I could hide, a pain that didn't betray my own unwanted arousal and at least this way I wouldn't add more scenes of me orgasming in front of a live audience to my list of horrors for the evening.
As the night dragged on, the groups grew less frequent, their laughter and gasps echoing down the corridor like the ghosts of a forgotten party. The haunted house had started to feel eerier than ever, not just because of the fake cobwebs and glowing eyes peeking out from the shadows, but because of the real fear and pain I was experiencing. The strobe lights flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting a sickly glow over my bound form, making me feel like a creature of the night, trapped in a never-ending cycle of terror.
The headmistress's arm grew heavier with each passing hour, the crop's leather biting into my skin with a ferocity that seemed to match the dwindling energy of the haunted house's patrons. I found myself praying for the sweet release of the end of my shift, my body aching and my spirit bruised from the constant barrage of pain and humiliation. Yet, with each new group that stumbled through the door, I had to muster the strength to perform, to give them the show they paid for, even if it meant enduring more of the sadistic delight of the animatronic's whip.
Finally as another group trickled out of the room, one of the guides leaned in and whispered the sweetest words I had heard all night. "We're almost done," he said, his voice a gentle caress against the cacophony of screams and laughter from the other rooms. "Only twenty minutes left until we shut down for the night." Twenty minutes. That's all I had to hold on. Twenty minutes to survive this nightmare.
The strobe lights above flickered in time with my racing heart, casting a strobe effect that painted the room in a jarring rhythm of light and dark. I took deep, shuddering breaths, willing my body to calm down, to ignore the sting of the crop that had left in the ache on my posterior. The one nice part about the classroom was the ticking clock on the wall so I was acutely aware of every second that passed, especially as the end of my shift grew nearer. But as the hands of the clock inched closer to the promised time of my release, the stream of customers thinned to a trickle, and then, to nothing.
The haunted house grew eerily quiet, the only sounds being the distant wails and mechanical groans of the other scenes. Soon however those too went silent, leaving only the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall to keep me company. Twenty minutes had come and gone, and still, I remained bound and gagged under the watchful gaze of the animatronic headmistress. My heart hammered in my chest, a drumbeat of dread that grew louder with every second that ticked away.
Another ten minutes dragged by, and my hope began to flicker like a candle in the wind. Panic set in, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I tried to quell the rising tide of fear. The anticipation of freedom had turned into a desperate hope that someone would come to release me from this twisted game. And then, just as I thought I couldn't take another moment, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The door to the classroom creaked open, and in the dim light, I saw the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway. My heart skipped a beat, and I strained against the ropes, trying to make out who it was. And then, like a cruel joke, the lights in the room flickered back to life, revealing Harley's smug grin as she leaned against the doorframe. She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on the wet spot between my legs, and I felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over me.
"Ah, the star of the show," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Looks like you've been having a bit too much fun, huh?" She sauntered over, her clown shoes clopping against the floor, and I could feel the anticipation in the air thicken like fog. "I was supposed to come in and untie you," she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. "But I thought, why should I? Girls like you always think you're above everyone else. I saw the car you pulled up in, rich little bitch playing slummer for the night. So, I've decided to leave you here for a couple more hours. Maybe that'll teach you a lesson."
At my horrified yet confused face she continued, "Oh come on Melanie, the way you talked to me on the phone when you applied, I could tell you thought you were too good for this place. Now look at you, tied up and begging for it." She reached out a gloved hand to caress my cheek, the coldness of the latex making me shiver. This didn't make any sense, when I'd called about the job I'd only talked to roger... She had the wrong girl! "Maybe if you're a good little slut and scream for me when I return, I'll think about letting you go."
'No! This isn't fair!' I thought, my mind racing, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape. 'I'm Melody, not Melanie!' I didn't know how she'd gotten it wrong, but the thought of being left here, misunderstood and abused, was too much to bear. I struggled against the ropes, my eyes pleading with hers, trying to convey my desperation through the gag.
"What's wrong, Melanie?" she taunted, leaning closer to my face. "Cat got your tongue?" I could see the glint of triumph in her eyes, the sadistic joy at my predicament. Yet, deep down, I knew she had made a mistake. She didn't know the truth, didn't know who I truly was. I was Melody, not this Melanie she assumed me to be. The thought of being trapped here, being subjected to this horror because of someone else's actions, fueled my desperation.
I mewled through my gag, my eyes wide with panic, trying to form words that would explain, that would make her understand. But the foam was thick and unyielding, turning my protests into a series of muffled sounds that only seemed to entertain her further. "Oh, I love it when you make those little noises," she cooed, her gloved hand tracing a line from my neck to my chest. "It's like you're begging for more."
With a malicious smirk, she pulled out her phone, the screen casting a cold, blue light over her face. She held it up, the camera lens staring at me like the eye of a cyclops ready to devour me whole. She leaned in, framing the shot perfectly--my tear-stained face, my trembling body, the wetness between my legs. I thrashed against the ropes, but she only laughed, her hand steady as she took the picture.
"Now, now," she chastised, her voice a sweet, sticky poison. "This is for insurance, you see. If you decide to tell anyone about this little... lesson, I'll make sure the whole town knows what a naughty girl you really are." She said as she stood up and headed for the door, the clop of her clown shoes retreating into the darkness of the hallway.
Five minutes later, the lights around the building audibly turned off one by one, the sound echoing through the corridors like the final notes of a twisted lullaby. My heart was in my throat, pounding so loudly I was sure it would be heard even above the distant sounds of the haunted house settling into silence. Finally the classroom was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the emergency exit sign that pulsed like a warning beacon in the gloom.
The red pulsing light bathed the room in a crimson glow, casting eerie shadows that danced across the floor and walls. The headmistress's figure loomed over me, made even more terrifying by the intermittent light. Each pulse painted her in a new pose of menace, the crop in her hand seemingly coming to life with each beat. I couldn't help but feel that she was watching me, waiting for me to make a move, to give her an excuse to come back to life and continue her punishment.
The darkness grew heavier with each passing minute, the silence pressing in like a thick fog that clung to my skin. The only sounds were the distant creaks and groans of the old building, the occasional rustle of something unseen, and the muffled sounds of my own ragged breathing. The isolation was suffocating, and the knowledge that Harley had left me here, bound and helpless, only added to the fear.
And then, I heard it--the distant rumble of an engine, faint at first but growing louder, resonating through the quiet night. My heart leapt into my throat as the sound grew fainter and I realized it was Harley's car coming to life. The headlights painted the walls of the haunted house briefly before they vanished into the night. With each second that passed, the noise of the car grew fainter until all that remained was the oppressive silence of the abandoned attraction.
The only company I had now was the mournful groan of the ancient building around me, a symphony of creaks and pops that seemed to carry the whispers of ghosts long forgotten. The sound of the traffic outside grew occasionally louder, a distant reminder of the world beyond the hell I was trapped in. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of life, any hint that someone might stumble upon me. But all I could hear was the steady, unchanging rhythm of the cars passing by, a world that was oblivious to my plight.
And then, amidst the cacophony of silence, there it was--a faint, persistent scratching noise. At first, I dismissed it as a figment of my overactive imagination, a trick of the darkness playing games with my fraught nerves. But as the minutes ticked by, the sound grew clearer, more insistent. It was definitely there, a soft yet persistent scraping that seemed to be coming from somewhere within the room. I held my breath, my heart thundering in my chest, trying to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.
The noise grew a little louder, a little closer, and I realized with a jolt of terror that it was coming from the wall behind the headmistress's desk. The very thought of a rat trapped in here with me was almost too much to bear. I thrashed against my bonds, trying to free myself from the clutches of the ropes that held me in this twisted tableau. But the knots were too tight, the rope biting into my skin with every desperate move I made.
And then, just as I was about to scream through my gag, the sound stopped. The silence was sudden and absolute, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought the creature had found me. But then, as if by some divine intervention, I heard the scurrying noises again, moving away from me, retreating into the depths of the wall. Relief flooded through me, and I slumped back onto the desk, my body trembling with the aftershocks of fear. The darkness was still oppressive, the silence still thick with menace, but at least I wasn't alone with something that could potentially harm me.
Suddenly I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, a shadow darker than the black around it seemed to be moving from one side of the room to the other. It felt like it was moving around me, then as if I imagined it it was gone. For a good thirty seconds, nothing. Then I jerked on the desk as scattered notebook pages on the floor to my left swirled like someone had blown at them.
My heart raced as a desk at the far end of the room seemed to vibrate and jiggle for no reason. This couldn't be happening I thought to myself, then to my horror I saw the headmistress's head turn in my direction. Her eyes almost seemed to glow as her arm pulled back, I began to shake and closed my eyes in fear. When nothing happened I opened them to see the headmistress back in its original position... I must have imagined it.. I must have.
Then just as I started to breathe easier, a faint metallic clicking echoed through the stillness, sending a fresh wave of panic through my veins. Was it just the building settling or something more sinister? I held my breath, straining to listen, my ears tuned to the tapestry of the quiet that surrounded me. As the minutes ticked by, the scraping grew more distant, and I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I had imagined it all. The stress of the night had surely gotten to me, playing tricks on my eyes and ears. But then, as I laid there, the sound returned, louder and closer this time. It was definitely coming from the wall behind me, the unmistakable sound of metal on metal and I swore I could feel small vibrations through the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to figure out what could be making that noise. Was it a loose pipe? Or someone...or something, trying to get in?
When the sound of the hidden door finally creaked open, I thought my heart had stopped and I gasped as a red beam of light swept around the room before landing on me. A figure stepped through the opening, backlit by the dim glow of a flashlight. The beam danced over my bound form, and for a moment, I was hopeful. Maybe it was a janitor, a stray employee, or even the manager coming back to do a sweep of the building.
However when I heard a deep chuckle resonating from the beam of light, I knew it wasn't rescue. The figure stepped closer and the beam of the flashlight grew brighter, revealing a tall, burly man dressed in a hoodie, cargo pants and combat boots. Because of how dark it was I couldn't make out his face and the light was blinding me, but I could see his eyes, gleaming with a disturbing interest. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice deep and gravely. "What do we have here?"
He strolled over to me, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, the flashlight's beam bobbing up and down with each step. He didn't seem surprised to find me in my compromised position, almost as if he had been expecting it. My mind raced with fear, trying to come up with a way to explain, to get out of this mess. But the words remained lodged in my throat, trapped by the gag.
"I've been watching you all night," he said, his voice low and menacing.
It sent a shiver down my spine, the kind that you get when you know you're in deep trouble.
"You put on quite the show, Melody."
The way he said my name, with a hint of familiarity, made a pit form in my stomach, especially when he dropped my purse on the floor in front of me. He leaned in close, the light from his flashlight throwing harsh shadows across his face.
"Do you have any idea how lucky I am?" He chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the classroom. "First, I get to spend some quality time with you all alone, then to find out that you're not even who everyone thought you were and then to top it off, Harley left you here as a little gift for me. Not that she knows that, still It's like all my Halloween wishes came true." His eyes raked over my body, lingering on the ropes that held me in place, and I felt a cold knot of fear tighten in my stomach as I realized he was the psycho in the straightjacket!
He then reached out a hand and began to run his rough fingers over my exposed flesh, his grin widening as he saw the revulsion in my eyes. "The best part," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, "Is that when I plant your purse in Harley's locker, everyone will think she's the reason you won't be making it home tonight."
My mind reeled as he spoke, trying to process the horror of what he was saying. Panic clawed at me, desperation making my body thrash wildly against the ropes. But he was too strong, his grip too firm, and all I could do was make muffled sounds of protest as he touched me, his hands exploring my curves with a possessive confidence that made my skin crawl.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice a soothing rumble that only served to terrify me more. "You're going to come live with me. I'll take good care of you, Melody." His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape despite the gag. "You'll get to experience all those naughty things you liked so much earlier. I saw how your body responded, how wet you got when I whipped you. You're a natural, a little masochistic slut even if you don't know it yet."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his leering face, but the darkness behind my lids only made his words echo louder in my mind. The thought of being taken away, of being subjected to his twisted desires for who knows how long, was almost too much to bear. I struggled anew against the ropes, trying to find a way to escape, to scream, to do anything to prevent this nightmare from becoming reality.
But he was unfazed by my resistance, his chuckles growing deeper as he continued to explore my body with his disgusting touch. "You're really quite the catch," he murmured, his breath hot and moist against my ear. "I can't wait to see what other sounds I can get you to make." His hand slid down my side, under the short skirt of my costume, and I felt his calloused fingers trace the curve of my hip before sliding further up my thigh.
The room spun as he began to lift the skirt, exposing my panties to the cold air. I could feel the wetness that had soaked through the fabric, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over me. He groaned in approval, his excitement palpable as he touched the damp material. "You're just begging for it, aren't you?" he said, his voice thick with lust. "It's okay, baby. I'll give you what you want."
I felt his fingers hook underneath my panties then torturously slow, he pulled them over my hips and down my thighs. The cold air of the abandoned classroom brushed against my exposed skin, sending a fresh shiver down my spine. I couldn't help but squirm under his touch, the anticipation of his cruel intentions making me nauseous and aroused all at once.
"Look at you," he said, his voice filled with amusement as he took in the sight of my bare ass and thighs. "You're just as pretty as a picture." His hand left my panties, lingering for a moment before it trailed up my thigh, his fingertips skimming over my wetness. He chuckled again, the sound low and dark. "I knew you'd be a good little slut."
The gag in my mouth muffled my screams as he pushed two fingers inside me without warning, roughly invading my most intimate space. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and unwanted pleasure that made my eyes water. "You know," he said, his voice a sadistic purr, "You're going to love it at my place. I've got a whole wardrobe of costumes for you to play dress-up in. Every day will be like Halloween, baby."
He pumped his fingers in and out, his knuckles brushing against my clit with each thrust. Despite the horror of the situation, my body responded, betraying me with every twitch and gasp. The fear and arousal coiled together, creating a toxic cocktail that had me trembling uncontrollably. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying to focus on anything other than the violation happening to me.
The man's grunts grew louder, his breath coming in heavy pants against my neck. His other hand reached around to fondle my breast, his rough grip twisting my nipple painfully.
"You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice a sick parody of tenderness. "You're going to be my little plaything."
As his fingers continued to probe and torment me, the reality of my situation crashed down like a ton of bricks. I was trapped, at the mercy of this monster, with no hope of rescue. My body was responding against my will, my traitorous arousal mixing with the fear and disgust. I felt my orgasm building, despite my desperate mental protests, and I knew he could feel it too. The smugness in his touch grew as he sensed my inevitable climax approaching.
And then, just as I thought I couldn't take anymore, he stopped. I let out a muffled groan of frustration, my body begging for release, even as my mind screamed for him to leave me alone. But his grin only widened as he stepped back, pulling a condom from his pocket with a flourish. He tore the packet open with his teeth, the sound echoing in the silence like a gunshot.
I wasn't a prude by any means, so it wasn't like this mad man was about to steal my virginity, but still, the thought of him taking me here, like this, was beyond my comprehension. He stepped back, and I took in the sight of him with a mix of fear and revulsion as he unzipped his pants. The condom was like a mockery, a twisted formality in this hellish scene, but it was a small mercy that he had the decency to use it. He rolled it on with a practiced ease, his eyes never leaving mine, watching me as if he enjoyed the fear dancing in my pupils.
My body was still quivering from his touch, my skin hypersensitive, my core aching for the release he had so cruelly denied me. And now, as he stepped closer, his erection bobbing with each step, I felt a fresh wave of terror mixed with an unwelcome thrill. He paused just out of reach, watching me with a hunger that was almost tangible. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the way his eyes raked over my exposed body, and it made me feel more vulnerable than ever.
Then in the tableau of horrors and the scene that felt like a nightmare made flesh, the man claimed me. His fingers, once an instrument of torment, had retreated, and in their stead was something far more intrusive, far more terrifying. He positioned himself, his grin a grotesque caricature of pleasure in the pulsing red light of the exit sign. I felt his erection sliding against my wetness, and for a brief, terrible moment, I almost begged for his touch again, for the illusion of control that came with the pain.
But then he was inside me, and the scream that ripped from my throat was a cacophony of fear, disgust, and an unwelcome, primal pleasure. The gag transformed the sound into a muffled moan, a twisted echo that blended in well with my surroundings. His hips ground into me, each thrust a declaration of ownership that I couldn't escape, no matter how much I writhed and struggled against the unforgiving ropes. The fake headmistress above us seemed to nod in approval, her plastic eyes gleaming in the dark.
He was rough, his movements punctuated by the grunts of a man claiming what he believed to be his prize. The coldness of the wooden desk beneath me was the only grounding force in this world of darkness and pain. His weight pushed down on my back, his hands bruising my thighs as he held them apart, exposing me to his brutal whims. I felt every inch of him, every twitch and pulse, as if my body had been turned into an instrument of his sick pleasure.
Given how riled up he had just gotten me it didn't take long before I was screaming around the gag again, but this time it was a scream of raw, unbridled ecstasy as he hit that spot deep within me that I never even knew existed. My body betrayed me, responding to his cruel ministrations with a fervor that disgusted me, my hips bucking against him in time with his thrusts. The ropes dug into my skin, leaving me with a pain that was almost a relief compared to the tumult of emotions raging inside me. Each time he filled me, I felt myself getting closer to the edge, the orgasm that he had denied me earlier now a terrifying inevitability.
And then, without warning, it crashed over me like a tidal wave, ripping through my body like a tempest. My eyes rolled back in my head, and the world went white for a brief, blissful moment. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, and all the more devastating for being forced from me by this monster's touch. I felt him tense, his grip on my thighs tightening almost painfully, and then he was coming too, his grunts of release mixing with my wailing as I came a second time. The feeling was so intense, so all-consuming, that for a brief moment, I almost forgot the horror of my situation.
As my body finally began to calm, the man pulled out of me, his breathing heavy and ragged. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine as he zipped up his pants. The condom, now a sad, limp testament to what had just occurred, was tied off and tucked inside one of his pants pockets. I could feel the sticky wetness between my legs and the hum from my lower core both harsh reminders of what had just happened. He leaned over me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder in a gesture that was almost affectionate.
"Now that we've got that one out of the way," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, "It's time to go."
With an ease that made my stomach turn, he cut the ropes tethering me to the desk and hoisted me over his shoulder. My bound body felt as light as a ragdoll in his grip as he bent over to retrieve my purse. The ropes bit into my skin as he adjusted his hold, his hand squeezing my thigh, sending a jolt up my leg. I couldn't help but let out a muffled squeal as he turned, which only made him chuckle. As we neared the doorway I looked up just in time to see the headmistress's head turn, her eyes seeming to follow us as we exited the room.
The journey back through the haunted house was a blur of shadows and horrors that seemed to lean in closer, as if eager to witness my humiliation. The animatronic figures that had once seemed so lifelike now paled in comparison to the monster that carried me. Each step he took echoed through the warehouse, the only sound in the otherwise deafening silence.
He moved with surprising grace for his size, navigating the twisted corridors with ease, despite the awkward weight of my body. The fake cobwebs brushed against my bare skin, sending goosebumps rising in a sadistic dance of terror and discomfort. Each step he took felt like a mile, the darkness pressing in around us, the only guide his flashlight's red beam which preserved the macabre theater of the haunted house.
The air grew colder as we approached the staff area, the fake fog machines long since turned off. The room that once bustled with costumed employees now lay still, the costumes hanging lifelessly on their hooks. He paused outside Harley's locker, his chuckle a low rumble in the silence. With a dramatic flourish, he tossed my purse inside, ensuring it was visible enough to be found, but not so much that it screamed of foul play. "There you go, sweetheart," he murmured in my ear, his breath hot and heavy. "A little surprise for your 'friend'."
The knowledge that that bitch Harley would be framed for my disappearance was a small consolation as he carried me out through the staff exit. Each step took us further from the hellish classroom and into the cold embrace of the haunted house's parking lot. There was only one car, mine and we walked right past it into a small trail in the woods behind the parking lot. A few minutes later, we arrived at a break in the path right next to a dirt road where a van was parked. It was old, beaten up, and looked like it hadn't seen the inside of a garage in years. The side door was slid open with a screech, revealing the blackness within.
He tossed me inside without ceremony, and just before he slammed the door shut said, "I guess I'm not getting a trick this year, just one hell of a treat."
End.
