Page 28 of Fed By Fear

The first direction I try is a mirror. I turn right, then left, even behind me. They’re all mirrors. Repeating this action several more times confirms it.I’m in a box.

“This is bullshit.”

Madness holds his hand out again.

“No.”

His laughter prickles my skin. “Suit yourself. We can work around them.”

There’s a subtle screeching as the mirrors begin to move.

Inward. The walls are pushing inward. I turn in circles with my fists banging against the panels, frantically seeking an exit. They continue to close in until I can’t turn anymore.

My palms are flat against the glass as I’m squeezed so tightly I can barely breathe. My cheek is pressed against the mirror, limiting my view of the maze. Out of my peripherals, I see him coming.

“Stuck?” his breath ghosts directly next to my ear.

How the hell is he moving around this maze without getting stopped? The walls trapping me in become more and more transparent until they’re clear glass panes in a sea of hundreds of mirrors.

That laugh of his sets my teeth on edge. “How are you going to get out?” he singsongs, annoyingly amused.

Wiggling shows me just how little room I have.

“Fine, I’ll give you my bra and panties but you have to tell me how to get all the way out this time.” My ribs are starting to ache from the compression.

“Hmmm.” He contemplates this for a moment. “Maybe we’ll just take them.”

Madness toys with the edge of my thong. Panic plowsthrough my stomach, flapping its thousands of wings like a colony of bats. A tingling spreads beneath the fabric he’s touching.

I can’t move. I can’t run away. I’m completely at the mercy of a crazed monster. A jolt of excitement throbs straight to my clit.What the hell, Githany?That is a very fucked-up reaction to this situation.

Wishful thinking brings me back to the ventilation system and the chainsaw dipped in aphrodisiac justification. Maybe I just can’t admit that something about all of this has me hot for a clown.

I learned about a study on fear in one of my college psychology classes. They stopped people who were about to cross a bridge at ground level and asked them to write a short story. The stories were normal, mundane. They repeated the study as people were crossing an incredibly high and rickety bridge. The stories they wrote were almost all sexual. The danger of their circumstances triggered their sexual nature. According to this study, small amounts of controlled danger lead to arousal.

Maybe what Hunt said is true. We do get turned on by fear.

Madness’s fingers dip beneath the fabric, magically finding space between my skin and the mirror to travel down the front of my underwear.

Featherlight fingertips brush across my seam.

“Do you want us to stop?” His silky voice caresses my ear.

He brushes the hood of my clit. My whole body jerks, reminding me just how tightly pressed in I am. Are the walls still moving?

Pain spiders through my bones as they’re further compressed. The only positive sensation is Madness’sswirling touch between my thighs. He stills, awaiting my answer.

“No.” The word is strained but firm.

Laughter bubbles out of him. “We were right about you.”

Slow, lazy circles send warm blood pumping to my clit. I’m lightheaded, as if all the blood in my brain has rushed to meet his fingers. Pleasure gathers, growing in that savory spot deep inside.

The walls are most definitely still shifting. The subtle groan never ceases. I’m being slowly crushed to death. Claustrophobia fights against my growing climax.

“The walls are too tight. I can’t breathe.”

“If you can talk, you can breathe.” Madness can’t hide the humor in his voice.