Only when the orgasm begins to drift, do I sag against the rocking chair, my body utterly spent. Timothy pulls away, smacking his red-painted lips like he just had the best meal of his life. I smile in appreciation.
He’s so cute.
Glancing up, Mortis already has his pants around his ankles and his cock gripped firmly in his fist. I lick my lips, salivating at the sight before me. Mortis doesn’t bother painting the rest of his body red, just his face. My henchman is a very tall man, though extremely skinny. He has no meat to his body, but I don’t mind—not when he carries all the meat between his legs.
Timothy moves aside, letting Mortis step forward, pick me up and sink in the chair beneath me. He settles me on his lap, his hard ridge cocooned perfectly in my pussy. Timothy prepared me plenty, leaving me dripping wet. I grind my hips, sliding my center up and down his shaft and pulling deep moans from both of us.
Having enough of the torture, he lifts me just enough to pose the crown of his head at my entrance, and then slams me down, lifting his bony hips in tandem.
My head falls back, a long moan releasing from my throat, much like a wolf would howl at the moon. I let Mortis do all the work, basking in his attention and need to take control. Loving the way he owns my body as he pounds into me. The sound of skin slapping, and grunts fill the room as Timothy leaves to dispose of the trash.
I tip my head back, a long moan releasing from my throat. The coil in my stomach tightens. It feels like a rope fraying at the seams, a heavy weight pulling it apart until it just… snaps.
I let loose a scream as another orgasm crashes through me. Mortis grunts from below me, pistoning his hips faster, sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. Soon, he finds what he’s searching for, stilling beneath me and letting out a long groan as his cum fills me up.
A wide smile breaks across my pale face.
I don’t do the jump scares like my henchmen, but I still dress the part in the case I’m seen. I make my face up to look like a dolly with a broken face, cracks and fissures running through my skin. Only at night, do I wipe the makeup clean.
Without it, I’m just a plain jane. Brown hair, brown eyes and an unremarkable face. I’m not ugly, but I won’t be featured on any magazines in my lifetime.
That’s okay. I don’t need to be beautiful when I’m doing exactly what I was created to do.
Not a single soul passes through the threshold of this house without me casting judgment—determining if evil resides in their soul. As they make their way through the maze of my dollhouse, I watch from inside the walls.
They’re all judged. Every single one of them.
If one fails, I sing my songs and my henchmen will lead them away—separate them from family or friends. And when they’re well and truly alone, I strike.
They’re never to be seen again, and I’ve cleansed this world of one less demon.
“Mortis, shush!” I reprimand, slapping away his hand. His hand retreats, but I know it’s going to come creeping back up my thigh in just a moment.
Mortis is the neediest out of the bunch, though you wouldn’t know it unless he wanted you to. It’s because he has severe Mommy issues. She was a crack addict when pregnant with him, and when he was born, she ignored his existence almost completely. Up until she overdosed, and he got put in the system at a young age.
The other four have similar childhoods. All with fucked up parents that abused them in one way or another. Baine was abused sexually—his father had a penchant for oral sex. He’s never said it, but I think that’s why he starves himself. He has a weird relationship with putting anything in his mouth, even if it’s food. He’s the only one out of the bunch that won’t go down on me, and I’ve never pushed him to.
Considering Cronus is mute, I’ve never heard his story from him. I know he’s capable of speaking—he just refuses to. I looked into him once before and saw that his mother locked him in a closet when he was young and refused to let him out for months. He went silent after screaming for his mother until he lost his voice and hasn’t spoken since.
Jackal and Timothy grew up in the foster care system since as long as they could remember. Moving from house to house—one abuser to the next. They’ve told me stories about their experiences in some of the foster homes, and they nearly brought me to tears.
We’ve all been deprived of love and find plenty of it in each other.
My dollhouse has been settled into its new resting spot in Houston, Texas, and the fair will open soon. Mortis has been feeling me up all fucking day, trying to fuck me when I’m trying to focus. I have the feeling he’s going to call the rest of my henchmen in soon to try and relax me. They know when they gang up on me, all their cocks surrounding me—I can’t resist.
I don’t need that distraction right now. What I need is to focus.
There’s been times I’ve come to a city and haven’t been able to sense evil at all in the guests who arrive. I know they’re out there, but something kept them away from me. Kept them from walking into their deserved fate.
Those days are the worst. It’s a day wasted, no walking evil to be rid of. Still tainting this Earth with their rot. I always plead to our creator, why did you let them get away? Why let scum continue to live and breathe another day?
It feels like parasites are crawling beneath my skin when those days come to pass. Which is why I’ve made it my mission to make sure the evil comes to me. I can’t risk letting the demons slip away. If I do, they’ll continue to taint this world with their filth.
I think back to the latest demon I killed, how his girlfriend was hanging on him when they walked through my house. Her roses would’ve wilted and crumbled from the tar he surely would’ve spread on her petals.
Just like Mommy’s did when Daddy tainted her with his sins.
I need to prevent that. This world deserves to be pure. Mommy deserved to stay pure, too. And even though she’ll never get to experience it, her flowers wilted so I could be born into this world and create a new world—one without evil.