Page 3 of If I Catch You

“You ready to do this, bunny?” He exhales against my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt under the long sleeves of my leather jacket. I nod, not because I’m thrilled to wander the halls of the house, but because I’m ready to get this night over with. I’m wound up tight, and my body is begging for release. I think back to this morning and hope like hell I remembered to plug in my clit stimulator, because she will be getting a workout tonight.

We cross over the entryway, past a creaky metal door, and darkness encapsulates us. The only light in the room is the glow in the dark strip on our bracelets, so that even in the dark, others know that— much to my chagrin— we are not here to play. Brendon squeezes my hand again as he starts to move, and I follow closely behind him. I love spooky season. To me, it’s the most wonderful time of the year, so I’ve been to my fair share of haunted houses, hayrides, ghost tours, you name it. But the anticipation of being scared at any given moment mixed with the heady scent of Brendon’s skin so near my nose has me shivering.

We take slow steps until we reach the first real room of the house, a kitchen set up to look like a crime scene. An actor in a bloody chef’s coat pops out from behind the counter, and Brendon and I both shriek, then laugh as we baby step through the pools of fake blood and gore on the ground. Next is a children’s playroom. I stare at a doll propped on the shelf, admiring the emptiness behind its glass eyes before it jumps, scaring the life out of me. I shriek, falling backwards into Brendon’s hard body. He steadies me with a hand around my waist as I hold my chest and try to catch my breath.

Okay, so the creepy, dead eyed doll is a creepy, dead eyed actor. The effects in this place are insane, and with each jump scare, Brendon and I find ourselves closer and closer. Blood roars louder in my ears and arousal pools low in my belly.

“I’ve got you, bunny rabbit.” Brendon’s voice is hardly more than a muffled sound amongst the noise, but it sparks my anger anyway. I wish he didn’t have me. I wish he’d let me go so I could lean into what I wanted to come here for. But I can’t say that to him, so I lean into him instead and follow him to the next room.

4

BRENDON

The sound of the eerie music and the screams of the other patrons has me on high alert as I hold my girl’s hand and guide her through this spooky monstrosity. The air in here is cold, a prickly kind of iciness that crawls up your spine and solidifies like frost on a window, but my skin is hot.

I might have been a little annoyed when I realized I’d have to be on ‘Keep Saxon from discovering she inadvertently brought me to a sex club’ duty, but now I’m thankful for the welcome distraction. Between leading her through room after room and fighting the arousal coursing through me, I’ve hardly had time to think about how fucking scary it is in this goddamn house. I’d like to have a nice long talk with the person who decided that getting the piss scared out of you— pun absolutely intended— was a fun late-night activity.

Okay. Apparently, I’m not completely over the fifth-grade hayride incident.

As we maneuver through each creepy scene, my heart races in my chest like I’ve been running a marathon. While I try to keep my eyes forward, my brain swims with all sorts of naughty possibility every time I glance down and notice one of those damned green bracelets. Each time Saxon yelps, screams, squeezes my hand tighter, I fight the urge to pull her even closer. Or better yet, yank her to my front and grind my persistent erection into the globes of her sweet little ass. I’m usually so much better at ignoring my lust for Saxon. I’ve been stuffing it down since I was a teenager, but the heady mixture of fear, anticipation, and the knowledge of what is going on right on the other side of these walls has all my senses on high alert.

Specifically, the senses that tell me to grab her, kiss her, claim her.

I am in for either a very cold shower or an intense lovemaking session with my right hand when I get home tonight. Probably both, if the way my dick is pressing against the zipper of my pants is any indication.

On and on we go, shuffling through a morgue scene, a rundown abandoned church, a nuclear wasteland chock full of zombie actors, one creepy scene after another. I almost forget about the entire reason Saxon wanted to come here tonight in the first place. There are no indications of anything besides the inconspicuous bands on people’s wrists— even some of the actors have them hidden beneath their costumes. The only thing separating us from them is a glowing green line on the bands of the people who are here and ready to play, as opposed to the soft, red glow of the bands on Saxon’s and my wrists.

That is, until we reach a hall of mirrors.

5

SAXON

In the darkness, the reflections of the mirrors that line the walls, ceiling, even the floor, are dizzying. They’re aligned at different angles, some sporting small lights to give a glimmer of visibility, some not. The room feels like it’s spinning on its axis. I think it’s just an illusion, but for all I know, the room could be moving around us. Brendon takes a step and I follow, huddling in close to his body as my stomach starts to flutter in excited anticipation once again.

Our movement in the reflections of the mirrors makes it seem like there are hundreds of us coming and going in every direction, and it’s unnerving. Even more unnerving than the actors in the previous room that were portraying a scene on a St. Andrew’s Cross gone terribly wrong.

I’d really like to know the special effects artist who made it look like that woman’s arms were truly hanging on by tendons.

My eyes can’t settle on where to look, not when I can barely tell the difference between which Brendon is real and which one is a reflection. He’s got his free arm outstretched, eyes pointed straight forward as he guides us through the hall, on a mission to get us the hell out of here.

A flash of light catches my attention, and as I turn, the world seems to slow down. The pumping music roars in my ears and my eyes glaze over as I watch as a glowing green bracelet maneuvers a mirror to the side, revealing one of the hidden corridors of this kink speakeasy. It’s only a second before the mirrored door begins to swing close. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. Right there, on the other side of this creepy ass hallway under the glow of a twitching Edison bulb, is the shadowed outline of someone on their knees, ass propped up and hands held behind their back while someone rams into them so rapidly, I can hear the slap of flesh over the pounding in my ears.

Maybe my eyes are playing a trick on me. It’s probably just actors playing out some sort of torture scene for scares. Maybe there’s no one on the other side of the mirror at all. I can’t be sure. All I know is what my mind wanted to see, and that is someone being fucked within an inch of their life in a dark, scary place. It’s raw, animalistic, exactly how I’d hoped to be spending my night when I booked my ticket in the first place.

I feel stuck, rooted in place even as the mirrored door closes, and I’m left staring at nothing but my own dark reflection. An actor coated in demon clown makeup places themselves between me and the mirror, yelling something about moving along and keeping my eyes to myself. It isn’t until Brendon realizes that I haven’t followed him and tugs on my hand that I feel like I can move my feet again.

“C’mon, Sax. Let’s get the hell out of here and get a drink,” he shouts over the music, and I reluctantly fall in step behind him once again.

The image of that person on their knees is burned into my pupils, and even as we move through the last room— an open-air conservatory made up to resemble an eighteenth-century graveyard, complete with floating votive candles dripping wax suspended from the vine-laced bars above us— I can no longer tamp down the overwhelming annoyance in my gut. I don’t scream when a faux maggot covered body erupts from one of the gravesites, nor do I join Brendon in breathing a sigh of relief when we finally reach the exit and step back into the chilly October night.

My best friend starts to chatter away, already reminiscing about the experience and making jokes about how brave he is for keeping all his urine inside of his body this time as he heads towards the bar, but I don’t follow him. I stand near the exit of the house, looking longingly at the people around me, many of them affixed with green glowing wristbands, flushed and clearly seeking a brief reprieve from the salacious depravity happening in the house behind us.

Resentment knits up my spine. Anger burns in my lungs and before I know it, I have my arms crossed over my chest as I stomp away from the house, away from Brendon, towards the woods like a petulant child being denied their favorite dessert. The wind whips in my hair and the chill bites at my nose as irritated tears begin to prick at the corners of my eyes. I’m hell bent on getting home and forgetting all about my lost opportunity to explore my desires when a large, warm hand lands on my shoulder, yanking me back.

Even in my pissed off frustration, the move sends a wave of lust rolling down my spine.

“Sax, what the hell? I drop your hand for two seconds and suddenly you’re storming away from me?” Brendon says, gripping my shoulder just this side of too tight. I can feel the imprint of his fingers on my skin, even through the faux leather of my jacket. I shrug him off and start to walk a little more briskly this time.

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