June 13th, 1959
Despite the scorching heat, the earth beneath his feet retained a chilling dampness. Mother Nature, herself, his accomplice—swallowing his footfalls in suffocating silence.
The forest whispered to him as he stalked through the tangled underbrush. The rustle of leaves and snapping branches, guttural croaks reverberating through the blackness, and a faint rhythmic tapping relentlessly echoed through the trees.
Beneath it all the air was thick with the secrets of the sweltering summer— hushed giggles, clanking teeth, and panting affections intertwined with the haunting chorus of the forest, creating a melody of desire and wild abandon.
Shadows danced at the edge of his vision, cast by the pale glow of the night's full moon. And then, through the darkness, he saw them—two bodies entangled together underneath the twisted branches of an ancient oak tree.
The forest floor bore witness to their feral embrace. Royal blue Camp Cornwall uniforms strewn haphazardly around them—debris from a tempest of passion. From the shadows he watched, eyes burning with hunger.
As he lurched closer a tang of fear lingered in the air, its delicate scent igniting a forbidden desire within him. The heady aroma wrapped around him like a lover's touch, sending shivers down his spine and awakening a primal hunger deep within.
His pulse quickened with each inhale, every beat in agonizing anticipation. The thrill of watching aroused him in a way that could only be hidden by the cloak of night. His cock was throbbing, aching to escape its denim cage.
The lovers, intoxicatingly oblivious to the evil that lurked just beyond the reach of the flickering light of their campfire, lost in the blissful ignorance of youth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Do I snog better than Hope?" Myrtle Warren giggled through hooded eyes, biting her lip as she twirled her pigtails with her fingers.
Lyall couldn't take his eyes off those goddamned pigtails.
He would say just about anything at this point as long as the end result was her on the ground, bent her over with her hair wrapped around his fingers, with his cock buried deep inside her.
Although it was only the first week of Summer, Myrtle already had quite the reputation amongst the counselors— certified slag of Camp Cornwall.
She'd been crowned Moaning Myrtle after the first night of camp when Rubeus Hagrid had her off in the horse stable. The fucking horse stable.
That tosser took those tantalizing pigtails for a proper ride until that screaming cunt of hers was aching and begging for more.
Hagrid had fucked the girl so properly that her agonizing howls were heard echoing throughout the entire camp.
The dead space throughout the four cabins scattering the lake shore were filled with her wailing moans as she was getting railed more than hundred yards away.
When the cabins congregated for breakfast the following morning it had been unanimous decision amongst counselors— she would forever be known as Moaning Myrtle.
Lyall absentmindedly blinked as he tried to remember what exactly the bird had asked him. The blood was traveling rather fast to his hardened cock and left him in a foggy haze.
Oh yes, Hope. The slag was asking if she'd kissed better than my precious Hope. My delicate girlfriend, with her deliciously tight cunt.
No Myrtle, you most certainly do not.
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Not Another 80s Slasher
FanfictionIn an odd turn of events, Remus Lupin has inherited a summer camp. The same summer camp where his father was gruesomely murdered. Determined to honor his father's memory and breathe new life into the camp, Remus recruits his friends to help renovate...
