9. Conflicted Desire
[ Meeting 40; Yamaoka Estate. ]
As they set to work on the first generator of the trial, Meg and Ash were completely silent - which was extremely disconcerting, at least on his part. Ash was a loud-mouth who always had some sort of sassy comment - or a flirtatious one - for any situation; so the fact that he seemed just as introspective as she… well, that was strange. She had half a mind to ask the older man just what the hell was up, when Kate snuck up to them, eyes wide with fear. Ash perked up at the sight of the beautiful blonde. "Is it just me or do you get more leggy every time I see you?" he asked with a suggestive grin.
Ah, there he is. Meg rolled her eyes, continuing her work. "What's the matter, Kate?" she asked, noting the songbird's expression.
"Found one o' them bear traps over by the shack," she said, voice wavering. "I-I'm guessin' we've got the Trapper on our hands, folks."
Meg's fingers fumbled on a gear, causing the generator to blow up - and the gear to rip into her skin as it ground to a halt. Hissing in pain, the red-head yanked her hand out of the contraption and all three of them scattered to the tall grass for cover. Suddenly the trio heard the CLAP of a trap accompanied by the ear-splitting scream of Claudette, and fear burned through them. Ash was the first to move; always so bold, so brave, so arrogant. "I'll get her," he said confidently. "This will be cake. That asshole won't know what hit him."
"Ash!" Kate scolded from the bushes. "Don't be a fool! You need to be careful. This isn't just a game!"
He glanced back at her, all salt and pepper and swagger. A smirk curled his lips. "That's some swell pillow-talk, baby," he said, earning an embarrassed blush from the blonde. "But this is a game - and I aim to win."
Then he departed, leaving both women shaking their heads. No matter how many times he won OR lost, Ash Williams was always a fighter, always over-confident, and somehow always inspirational. "Did you know that apparently where he comes from he fought demons? With a chainsaw?" Kate said.
Meg rolled her eyes. "He's so full of it. There's no way. Demons aren't even real."
Kate frowned slightly. "Well… I'd always assumed evil Japanese spirits weren't real, either, and yet here we are," she muttered.
"Point taken," Meg sighed.
The match had run into the ground fairly quickly. Though Ash's bravado boosted morale for the rest of them, they were eventually picked off one by one. Meg thought she'd never forget the way he looked the Trapper right in the eyes before he died, spit on him, and said "Kiss my grits, Screwhead."
That would have to go down as one of the boldest survivor moves in Fog history, Meg thought even as she snuck around a corner, looking for the hatch. Despite being in awe at Ash's antics, she was also currently afraid. Very, very afraid. Being the last one left of the motley crew, the hatch was her safest bet - but she couldn't seem to find the damn thing.
Coming around the side of the center shrine, Meg glimpsed the cold metal hiding in the tall grass - and around the opposite corner came the Trapper, 7 feet of imposing, horrifying muscle, wielding that bloody cleaver. She was fast - but he was closer. His foot slammed the door down just as she skidded to a halt in front of it; even as Meg back-pedaled, trying to get away as quickly as possible, she didn't fail to notice how even though he could have taken a swing at her and made a successful hit, he didn't.
Instead, the killer gave chase, marching after her with thundering footsteps and bear-like pants, that ever-grinning mask staring right at her. Veering around the building and fleeing up the steps, Meg glanced back to see him right on her tail, fear arcing through her like fire. Come on! She screamed desperately at herself. MOVE YOUR LEGS!
Darting over to a railing, she grabbed on and hopped it - and as she went over, a hand roughly grabbed the back of her hoodie, yanking her right back into the shrine area. Immediately Meg began flailing, wailing, trying anything she could to get away - but he held her firmly, dragging her over to the center altar in the shrine and throwing her down on it. A cry escaped her throat as her back hit the cold, hard stone - and she stared up at him in shock as he loomed over her. "Just KILL ME, then!" she growled. Ever brave. Ever stupid.
"No," he said simply, his voice a low, ragged bass. Like the growling of a bear combined with melted chocolate. Dropping his cleaver to the wooden floor with a clatter, he took a step closer to her, still staring down at her through that eerie white mask. Meg attempted to scoot back, scurry away, but the Trapper caught her by the ankle and yanked her into him - both pain and… something else jolted through her at the contact, leaving the red-head bewildered. What the hell was all this? Killers killed. That was what they did. Some of them took particular pleasure in it, like the Clown or the Shape, but she hadn't remembered something like this ever happening before.
Not that she remembered many specific details about the trials, anyways.
But the Trapper did, apparently, because he narrowed those cold pearly eyes down at her, satisfaction in his voice at the whimper that had come out of her. "You whimpered like that last time, too," he murmured. His body felt impossibly hot against her as he used her ankle to tug her in tightly against his hips, and Meg had to stifle more sounds down by biting harshly on her lip. Fear raced through her, palpitating her heart, but for some reason… some reason she couldn't quite comprehend… she felt a hot little ball of warmth in her belly at the contact. Maybe it was the way his hard, muscled body felt against her or the fact that he didn't seem at all interested in killing her… but the thought that this actually felt good made the girl feel nauseated.
"Yeah?" she managed, mustering up her dirtiest scowl. "Did I do THIS, too?"
With that, she moved her free leg to kick him as hard as she could - but a fast, strong hand grabbed her other ankle before she could make contact and suddenly the Trapper had a grip on both of her legs and Meg fully realized just how vulnerable she was. More of that white-hot energy zipped down her spine as he spread her legs by the ankles, his hips pressing down against her almost painfully rough. The sounds that escaped her throat were embarrassingly wanton, and Meg felt a painful clench in her chest. This wasn't right. She didn't want this. She couldn't want this. He was a killer, she a survivor, and the lines weren't meant to be blurred.
The thought that he might've done something like this before was equally distressing. Had she liked it then, too? Or was this just some sick side of her she'd never known existed? His voice broke her out of her panicked thoughts: "brave Little Rabbit. Brave… or stupid."
"Not as stupid as you," she ground out, choking back another cry as he bucked his hips against her, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through her core. Meg felt her body responding to him, dampness accumulating down below while stiffening nipples strained against her sports bra. A gasp left her as the material brushed over the sensitive buds. "No!" she protested, not sure whether it was directed at him or herself.
But of course he didn't listen. One hand released an ankle to move up her body, ripping off her jacket, then her jersey, then the bra. Once exposed to the cold air her pink nipples distended completely and Meg found herself gasping for breath as a large hand came up to grasp one of the squishy globes, kneading it surprisingly less roughly than she could've imagined. Once two calloused fingers pinched and tugged at the peak, she found her sanity slipping away, tipping her head back against the stone beneath her and feeling her body grow increasingly restless.
The Trapper's hand lingered on the other breast, giving it the same attention as its twin, low primal growls coming from him that shot through her, making her insides feel like liquid. Once again her brain tried to remind her that this wasn't right, that she should not want this, but the singing of her body was hard to ignore. The other hand on her ankle released it to join the first in sliding down her now naked torso, rough hands leaving a trail of absolute fire on her skin, making her back arch wantonly; they came to her jogging pants and wasted no time in viciously ripping them off, leaving nasty red marks on her pale skin with their violent removal. It was only when she felt achingly cold air on another very heated part of her body that Meg realized…
… she was naked. Completely.
He'd ripped her panties away along with her pants, and it was only at that exposure that the red-head somewhat came to her senses, lifting her head and staring up at him with panicked blue-gray eyes. He matched her gaze with one of his own, heat and hunger and cruel satisfaction twisting his face beneath the mask. "You couldn't stop me from exposing you even if you wanted to," the brute growled lowly, hands coming up to smooth over her knees, clutching them almost possessively. "But you don't want to, do you, Little Rabbit…?"
Meg opened her mouth to retort but her protests, insults, pleas, they all died in the back of her throat, only shuddering breaths coming out. The killer used the opportunity to move a hand up her body, coming through the valley of her breaths, and before she could stop him, he stuck a finger into her mouth, the pad of the digit tasting of salt and iron on her tongue. Blood. She gagged, trying to shake her head, but his finger dug down on her tongue almost painfully, his jaw clenching behind his mask. "Suck." he commanded, his voice so dangerous that she immediately obeyed, closing her lips on the digit and rolling her tongue around it. The ball of energy in her abdomen coiled so tight it felt like it was about to burst when he growled long and low in his throat, watching her suck his finger with unabashed lust in his milky white eyes. Suddenly she felt another jolt against her body; his hips smacking against her own, sending lightning through her.
Meg was suddenly aware just how swollen her clit had become, how painfully her entrance puckered and clenched with need; tears pricked the corners of her eyes as her brain gave one more feeble attempt at waking her up from this nightmare. This isn't right. He is a killer. You don't want him. You can't want him. This isn't you.
That final urging of her mind allowed Meg to attempt to fully squeeze shut her legs; the Trapper pulled his finger from her mouth to join the other hand in grabbing her ankles once more. Clad in nothing but her shoes at this point, the red-head found her tender body fully exposed to him as the killer painstakingly pulled apart her legs inch by inch, gaze moving down her body to watch. A feral sound came from him as her pink womanhood bloomed before him - that alone was enough to pucker her painfully and she let out a small, choked whimper. She tried to close her legs once more but the effort was that of a mouse fighting a lion; it was no use whatsoever. Laughable, even.
One hand finally released its bruising grip on her ankle to slide slowly down the inside of her leg until it rested right near the crevice between her thigh and her aching slit; a rough thumb came up to brush deceptively gently up and down her outer lips, extracting a shuddering whimper from the red-head. "Mewl for me, Little Rabbit," the Trapper rumbled hungrily. "You hate yourself for it. The greatest torture you could ever know is the confliction you feel right now… because you want it."
Meg clamped her mouth shut, muffling the sounds that rose up in her throat as the thumb spread her open, exposing her velvety pink folds, throbbing clit, and leaking pink hole. The growl that came from him had her entrance spasming; he watched it, unwilling to look away, lowering the thumb to finally press it inward, probing. Prodding at the clenching hole torturously. A near-squeal came from her and her back arched instinctively, every inch of her body feeling like it was on fire; Meg didn't know how much more of it she could take. He was right, she thought miserably as tears trailed down her temples into her hair. It felt so good, so impossibly good, and she hated herself for wanting it. For wanting him. It would have been far less painful to be put on a hook and taken back to the safety of the campfire.
His finger stopped its prodding and she shifted restlessly, hips moving slightly, aching for more friction. Those animalistic eyes shifted up to her face, his jaw clenching. Possibly with the effort of not ravaging her then and there. No, he was taking his time; the cruel, sadistic bastard wanted to hurt her.
"Tell me you want it," he commanded harshly.
Meg's jaw locked and though she still squirmed, her body betraying her need, she refused to answer. Those cruel eyes narrowed on her and he withdrew his thumb completely. "If you deny me, and yourself, this pain will go on longer than you could imagine, girl," the brute warned with a growl.
Meg parted her lips, feeling more tears come. "I… I want it," she whispered, nauseated by her own words. Feeling sick to her core at the fact that she'd just said that to the Trapper of all people.
Hating herself for the simple fact that all of her sexual encounters in high school, all the fumbling hands, trysts in the locker rooms, wandering eyes, quick bouts of lust; none of it could come close to a single brush of this killer's finger.
It seemed even his cruelty had limits, because he finally moved his hand back in, the other still gripping onto her ankle, keeping her legs forcefully spread; but instead of inserting his thumb into her tight, aching entrance, he slid it up between her outer lips, coating it in her warm, sticky juices, and made its way up to the throbbing, swollen button above the entrance, brushing the rough pad of the digit over it. Fire raced through Meg and she tipped her head back to let out a cry much louder than any of the previous ones. A fresh wave of spasms contracted her inner walls and that ball of energy became painful as he began slicking his thumb over the pearl rhythmically; his low sounds of satisfaction only stirring up her insides even more. By the time his thumb pulled back, Meg's entire core felt like molten liquid; and she was sure that the slightest touch, the slightest pressure might make her simply crumble away in the wind.
Both of his hands retracted. Run, her brain urged her desperately, but the red-head could do nothing but lay there, pant, tremble, hoping and hating that there might be more in store for her. The rustle of clothing brought her attention to her captor and her eyes widened drastically at the sight of the Trapper's naked body in front of her. He'd dropped his overalls and his length was now standing proud, hovering just over her mound; not touching her skin, but so close she could feel his heat blazing against her. Just the thought of it had her quivering with both anticipation and immense guilt.
As he moved back in, the base of his cock pressed against her, eliciting a cry from the red-head. His hands latched firmly back onto her ankles, spreading her legs as wide as her lithe body would allow, spreading her open for his own delight; her cheeks flushed with arousal, shame, and embarrassment as the Trapper unabashedly stared down at her flowery sex. Pressing against her firmly, he began moving his hips in a slow, rhythmic motion, gliding the underside of his shaft between her outer lips and coating himself with her juices. The most primal sounds escaped him as he moved, mingling with her strangled mewls of utter pleasure as her hips did their best to grind up against him. Was this it? Was this really how things were going to? Was she really going to have sex with a killer?
Was she really going to enjoy it?
She could feel his own self-control waning, being taken over by the animal desire to ravage her insides as he ground against her roughly, his entire pelvis now covered in her juices.
As the Trapper moved his hips back, tip sliding down between her folds to lodge itself just at her entrance, Meg felt her entire body tense with anticipation and fear. It was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do about it. She felt the Trapper's hips shift just slightly, prodding at her tight hole with the tip, and she knew he did it just to make her squirm a little more - and it worked. Her hips restlessly moved against him, pussy spasming painfully with need, and the frustrated little grunt that came from her must've amused him. He stopped, cocked his head at her, and she could see his jaw clench behind that infernal mask, eyes narrowing. "You're desperate. Look where I have you now, Little Rabbit… this is more satisfying than even the most challenging kill."
"S-Shut up," Meg stammered, unable to even manage a glare his way; only able to tip her head back against the altar, eyes closing as she prepared for the exquisite - and torturous penetration of the killer's thick length.
But it never came.
Moments later, Meg found herself being lifted upwards by spidery claws, and she disappeared into the sky… vaguely hearing the enraged roaring of the Trapper down below.