Fatal Frame (MahiruXGenocider PWP)

	The mad cackling echoed through the abandoned halls, chilling her to the bone. Fumbling fingers sought refuge on the priceless camera; cool metal comfortably familiar. Blood pounded in her ears with every slow step. Every slight scratch or scrape sent another ripple of goosebumps across her skin as pricked ears searched for the tell-tale sound of silvery steel. Another round of mocking laughter stopped the red-head’s heart; slender body shaking with cold and fright. A gust of wind- or the flight of a phantom- rustled leaves and scattered litter in the dark night. The dusting of freckles across her face stood starkly against pallid skin; drained of blood. Mahiru peered around the corner. She dashed across empty hallways that stank of cleanliness and bleach. Her foot falls thundered around her, punctuated by shallow breath. A hundred yards. Fifty. Thirty.

	A flash of steel embedded itself in front of her; bony fingers still wrapped around the loops. She squeaked in terror, stumbling backwards as the lean and inelegant mess turned its head to meet her gaze, tongue still lolling out of its mouth. The grin broadened. “Found you.” Jack said, slowly removing the scissors from the damaged concrete. She stalked forward, hips swaying seductively as her tongue ran along the razor-sharp edges of the beautifully wrought implement. “Aw, what’s the matter; need another head start?” She threw her head back, cackling gleefully as Mahiru dove back along the dim corridor. The photographer screamed as she ran, whirling round corners blindly. Confused memories and mental maps failed to give her directions as she hurtled past classrooms and stairwells; she didn’t care if she was lost. She just wanted to get away.

	A black uniform streaked past her, a stocking covered leg slammed into her side and her vision filled with stars as her back cracked against a solid wall. Mahiru could barely draw a breath as a strong grip yanked her arms overhead; the strap of her camera commandeered as a binding. A dull thud sounded as Jack sheathed her scissors into the wall, pinning the improvised hand cuffs. And so Mahiru stood there, arms pinned above her like some prisoner of war, as the legendary serial killer sized her up. A pale, bony hand gripped her cheek and forced her to look into the mad eyes behind the round glasses. “Better luck next time.” Genocide Jack licked her own lips, running the second set of scissors gently along the photographer’s neck. She pressed herself against the red-head, bony body and unwashed stench digging deep, and slathered her tongue across the cloud of brown dots. Mahiru recoiled, shuddering in disgust. Jack’s smirk turned cruel, one hand roughly pointing the hanging camera towards them as she slammed her lips against her victim’s.

	Mahiru’s eyes grew wide and panicked as Jack’s impossibly long tongue forced its way into her throat. She struggled against the braided bitch, her screams muffled by the invasive muscle. She could faintly hear the click of her camera as amateurish evidence flooded her film. She could feel the fiend’s heartbeat against her own. The soft, warm body ground her against the cool wall, a slender thigh slowly rubbing in exactly the wrong place. Finally Jack withdrew, leaving the red-head gasping for breath as the tongue resumed its lolling. The maniac giggled to herself as Mahiru spat the taste from her mouth.

	“Such innocence! Such inexperience! Could it be…? Was I your first?” Jack clapped her hands together with a melodramatic gasp. A flush of red grew in Mahiru’s freckled cheeks and the killer applauded herself. “If I had known I would’ve made it a little more special! What a tragedy…” She tapped her scissors against her cheek, looking the captive girl up and down. “I do hate to disappoint. But I can’t give you another first kiss, can I?” Her grin turned cruel. “So… I wonder what other firsts I can take from you!”

	“W-wait!” Mahiru began. The silvery scissors flashed through the air, snipping and slicing until her shirt and skirt fluttered to the floor as tatters. Ivory white skin shivered in the cool air. The red-head’s eyes slammed shut, tears beginning to well. More sharp clicking echoed down the empty hall as the photographer squirmed beneath her captor’s gaze. “S-stop it!” She shouted as blood rushed to her face. Unbidden thoughts creeped into her mind, a fearful throb growing inside her.

	“What’s the matter, red? Afraid you’ll enjoy it?” Jack cooed, snapping a few more candid shots.

	“I-I’m not… that kind of girl…” Mahiru replied.

	“Is that so?” Jack said, pressing back against the captive girl. Her fingers forcefully rubbed against Mahiru’s black panties, eliciting short squeaks and harsh shudders. The long tongue slithered over neck and collarbone. “Then why do you taste like you’re lying?”

	Jack ground her fingers harder, smirking as the photographer’s face contorted in unwanted pleasure. A couple of extra snips and the cups of the matching bra dropped to the floor, exposing the perky breasts beneath. Jack’s tongue wrapped about and slathered the scant handfuls till they glistened; pink nipples standing shamefully. She popped her mouth over one, suckling the quivering flesh as her hand roughly tugged the other. Mahiru bit her lip, desperately trying to deny the moan that was building within her throat. Toes curled and hips bucked against her will as her body betrayed her to the murderer’s ministrations. The murderous fiend drew away, leaving the soaked breast with a disgusting pop. The red-head unwittingly whimpered as the hands pulled from her; her body begging for more despite her mind.

	“You know, I’ve been wondering…” Jack began, leaning in close to her shivering prisoner. “Does your carpet match your drapes?” A half formed protest turned to a cry of indignation as the scissors cut away the last of Mahiru’s dignity. “Shaved!?” The murderer cried, clapping her hands to the side of her flushed face. “Even I’m not that dirty!”

	“It’s not dirty!” The photographer blushed brightly.

	“Oh, please.” Jack knelt before the smooth skin, fingers busily working themselves along moist folds. “It’s like an open invitation, telling all the cute little boys to dig right in! Or girls, if you’re into that sort of thing.” She added with a dismissive wave. The scissors clattered to the floor, abandoned as the fiend groped and squeezed Mahiru’s pale legs and petite behind. She gave her captive a sweet little smile, tongue lolling before she drove it inside the tight hole.

	Mahiru screamed as the gluttonous tongue writhed and wriggled inside her; her thighs tightening around the fiend’s head. The insidious heat grew as the impossible muscle slithered deeper and deeper, relentlessly assaulting her most sensitive spots. She twitched and bucked and ground against her attacker, simultaneously begging for more and for none. Harsh screams and low moans filled the empty halls as she was wracked with pulses of tainted pleasure. The leather strap bit into her wrists; the bony fingers slid round to brush her clit; her bruised body ached as she flopped against the wall. All the while more and more unwanted lust filled her mind. Her screams of anguish turned to ecstasy as the assault continued; the murderous fiend’s muffled laughter resounding in her ears. Finally, with a soft whimper, she reached her crescendo. She tensed and shuddered, twitching helplessly as the aftershocks filled her mind with wonderful white haze. Yet still it did not relent; she could feel a second climax brewing behind the first, spurred on by the continued assault of Genocide Jack. She tried to beg, but her voice could only catch and gasp breathlessly as another round of spasms rocked her limbs.

	She lost track after a while. All she could remember was the end of it; her sweaty frame dropping to the floor as the scissors holding her bindings were removed. She had faintly heard the footsteps disappear down the corridor as she lay twitching in a pool of her own juices. At some point she must have fallen asleep for she had awoken to alarmed voices and concerned hands gently shaking her. No one could get an answer; not for a few days at least. She never spoke of the incident. But she thought about it often; the embarrassment, the shame, the loss of control...

	Secretly, she knew she’d enjoyed it. And that terrified her.