Page 14 of Maison De Fous

“Thats a good little slut, bleed for me,” he groans with a husky, lust filled ton.

The crowd around her watches, enraptured by the sight, their own hands roaming their bodies as they revel in the show.

“Oh… oh God!” she screams, her voice breaking as she hits her climax, twitching and convulsing in a flood of brutal release. The spikes dig in deeper, drawing more blood, but it only seems to heighten her pleasure. Her masked face tilts toward the ceiling, her mouth open in a soundless scream, her fingers clawing at the inside of the Iron Maiden as she rides out the waves of sensation.

The crowd closes in, their eyes gleaming with hunger as they feed off the scene. Several people start to pant, their own arousal building as they watch her wiggle in the clear tomb, blood dripping from her pale skin. Some reach out to touch the plexiglass, needing to feel the slickness of her warm blood on their fingers.

“She’s fucking loving it,” someone in the crowd mutters, their voice thick with arousal.

Another man, watching with rapt attention, grins and mutters, “Shit, I have a spike that horny bitch can ride, send her my way.”

Bjorn steps back, his painted face twisted into a satisfied grin as he surveys the madness around him. The woman’s climax, her cries, the blood—it’s all part of the spectacle, and the crowd is eating it the fuck up.

From the side, Giselle lets out a wild cackle, clapping her hands in manic glee. “Look at them!” she screeches, her eyes wide with insanity. “They’reallhungry for it! Every last one of them!” She twirls again, hair whipping about as she spins through the carnage, arms wide as though embracing the mayhem.

The woman inside the Iron Maiden trembles one last time, her body spent, slumping against the spikes as her ragged breathing echoes through the chamber.

The chaos unfolds before me like a symphony; every scream, every moan, every twisted expression of pain and pleasure composing a melody only I can hear. The sight of blood glistening under the stage lights, the smell of sweat and fear mixing with raw desire—thisis what I live for.

It’s a carnival of cruelty, and the audience is lost in it, reveling in every sick, depraved moment.

And with my own arousal growing, I can’t stop thinking about Indie.

I close my eyes for a second, letting the image of her tonight flood my mind—the way she looked in that corset, her eyes dark and hungry, knowing exactly how much power she had over the crowd tonight. The way her body felt against mine when I had her earlier. It was good—no, it wasfuckingperfect.

But now? Now, with everything happening, with the anarchy building and the crowd lost in their ecstasy?Fuck, I need her again.

I can already feel the tension coiling in my gut, a dangerous edge growing sharper with every scream and drop of blood my cirkies and I earn tonight.

Fuck, by the way the night is going, the way this crowd is feeding off it all...Christ, I might just be wound up enough to try something a little different.

Johnny’s been watching her, too. I saw it in his eyes tonight when he watched us on the bus. And maybe, just maybe, tonight’s the night I let him have a little taste of his own. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared. And Indie? Hell, she’s not the same girl she was the first night she entered my big top. She’s stronger now.Darker. She’ll take it.

She’ll fuckingloveit.

That is, if the night carries on like this…

A wicked smile pulls at my lips. Goddamn, I can’t fucking wait.

chapter eight

johnny

Unholy Meat Obelisk - Istasha

The spiders skitter around, their tiny legs tapping against the stage floor, moving in perfect sync with the gasps and moans of the fucking freaks in the crowd. Standing off to the side, I let the cirkies do their part as I watch the scene unfold with a manic grin painted across my face. The misfits in the audience eat it up, eyes wide and begging for more as they finally get a taste of the desires they’ve denied themselves.

Like the desire I have been denying.

Indie.

She’s all I’ve thought about since I watched her and Lux on the bus earlier, tangled together in something dark and perfect. The way her body moved and Lux looked at her all proud and possessive—it was like watching her bloom into something I’d been waiting to see since the day she joined us, and fuck if I don’t want to see her pretty poisonous petals open up for me the way they do for him.

Now, every fiber of me wants a taste of her sweet and forbidden nectar, despite knowing who she belongs to, and knowing I can never have her.

I fucking hate wanting what I can’t have.

I can’t touch, but I sure as fuck can look.

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