“Is this some sort of game?” Tiffany’s voice was strangely distorted. No, Tiffany, it’s not a game, Max whispered inside her head.
In the video, no one answered. Tiffany continued, as if she was the one in control. “I demand to know what the hell you people think you’re doing.” Tinny and mechanical, her voice had been altered for the tape, but the haughty, imperious tone was unmistakable. “And I demand to know now.”
A figure stepped on-screen, lurching as if someone had pushed him. He wore gray sweat pants and a matching sweatshirt, but there, normalcy ended and the nightmare began. His head and hands were covered with fur. At right angles to the camera position, his snout appeared long and narrow, his teeth huge, sharp.
A costume. The Wolfman?
Tiffany’s gaze traveled the length of the chest in front of her. “What the hell is going on?”
The Wolfman glanced off camera, then shuffled forward until he stood right before her. He fisted his furry hand in her blonde hair, then pulled down the front of his gray sweats.
Tiffany’s eyes widened.
So did Max’s. She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, and squirmed in her seat next to Witt. The Wolfman had the most massive ... male appendage she’d ever seen.
Max stole a glance at Witt. He looked at her. Her cheeks flamed. A sex video. Damnation, she’d gotten herself into a fine fix, watching a porno flick with Witt.
The corners of his mouth crooked, and his eyes turned back to the X-rated material in progress.
“So,” Tiffany murmured, “that’s what this is all about.” She gazed up at him with half-closed eyelids. Her eyelashes seemed fuller, more lush. Seductive. “Why didn’t you just say so? Come to Momma, big boy.”
With the come-on, he thrust himself at her. She opened her mouth, taking it all. She moaned; he groaned. Her cheeks pulled as she sucked. Her eyes never closed. She watched, almost greedy for his every reaction. His hips moved, ramming home, but she stayed with him. Amazingly. He was so ... big.
Max should have looked away. She should have told Witt to turn it off. Instead, she stared, fascinated, as some horrible, prurient being came to life inside her. She blamed it all on Tiffany. The woman was a star now, and she loved every second of it.
The scene seemed to go on and on, but it could only have been a matter of minutes. The Wolfman grabbed the back of Tiffany’s head with both hands, pumped inside her mouth, then he came. Muffled cries exploded from beneath his mask. He came forever, his body jerking, his thigh muscles beneath the sweats contracting and rippling with the effort. Semen dribbled from Tiffany’s lips.
Max wanted to die. Or, at least cover up her bright red cheeks so Witt couldn’t see.
Finally, Tiffany let him fall from her mouth, then stared up and slightly to her left, somewhere off camera. She licked her lips. Her tongue reached down her chin to catch the part she’d missed. Then she smiled. She was in control and had the power. Tiffany was not afraid. “Now, if you’d like to undo these handcuffs, I’ll show you how it’s really done.”
“No.” A strident cry, the word was recognizable despite the altered sound track.
The camera blipped. Scene change. Tiffany was alone on screen. Her expression remained triumphant. “Now what?” she asked.
A black-robed shape entered the frame. Dracula this time. Raising an arm, the vampire back-handed Tiffany. Her head jerked sideways, the blow almost toppling the chair.
Her victorious smile vanished, but Tiffany came back fighting. Her teeth bared, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, she said, “You’ll pay big time for that.”
Laughter sounded off-camera. There was something inhuman about it, something beyond the sterility of digitized sound. “And who’s going to make us pay, Tiffany?”
Dracula grabbed hanks of her blonde hair and whipped the locks across Tiffany’s face. For the first time, Tiffany faltered.
The robed figure, hand twisted in Tiffany’s hair, dragged her head back. The camera moved in for a close-up. Tears of pain, outrage, and fear gathered at the corners of her eyes, then trickled back into the hair at her temples. But it wasn’t in Tiffany’s mindset to just give up. “Fuck you,” she choked out.
“Shut up, bitch.” The creature shoved the rag back into Tiffany’s mouth.
Max tasted it, felt a trickle of mucus down her gagged throat with its lingering tang of semen, and dug her fingers into the arm of the sofa.
Genderless, and all the more frightening for its monotonous tone, the voice went on, “You don’t order anyone around here. You’d do better to plead, beg, and grovel.” With a cruel yank, the monster released Tiffany’s golden tresses.
Her face drained of color, her lips bloodless around the rag, her pupils dilated, Tiffany sagged in the chair. Her gaze riveted on something off-screen, her eyes grew wider. A sound rose, indistinguishable, yet terrifying.
Max knew it was the sound of wood slapping an open, gloved hand.