“Damn, she’s creepy good!” someone yelled from the crowd, their voice echoing through the foggy room. I lunged forward, the rope noose swinging wildly, and let out a shrill scream that clawed its way up my throat. But this scream—this one wasn’t fake. His fingers were deep inside me, curling, stroking, pumping like he owned me. My knees wobbled, and I gripped the gnarled wooden post harder, my nails digging into the splintered wood. My ripped white lingerie clung to my sweaty skin, the fake blood streaking my cleavage feeling tacky under his touch.“A bride needs a husband, right?” his voice rumbled low in my ear, hot and wet against my neck. His free hand yanked my thong down in one fierce motion, the fabric tearing at the seams. I hissed, “Fuck off,” but my body betrayed me, my pussy already slick, already begging for him. He felt it, of course he did, and that smirk—God, that smirk—made my stomach clench.His fingers didn’t stop. They worked me faster, deeper, twisting inside me until my moan sliced through the air, raw and real. The crowd erupted in applause, thinking it was all part of the act. ---It had started like any other night. The haunted house was packed, a labyrinth of fog machines, strobe lights, and screams. My corner was the pièce de résistance—a foggy nook with a wooden post, a rope noose, and me, the “hanged bride.” The costume was a mess of torn lace and fake blood, designed to look as if I’d died on my wedding night. The thick black curtain behind me was my hiding spot, my launching point. I’d lunge out, screeching, and the crowd would lose their minds.But he was different.I’d seen him earlier, lingering with his crew. Tatted arms peeked out from his leather jacket, and his smirk was sharp, dangerous. He looked at me like he knew something I didn’t—like he’d already decided how this night would go. I’d ignored him, focusing on my job, lunging and screaming like a pro. But when his group approached, he peeled off, slipping behind the curtain like he belonged there.I was about to lunge when his hands were on me, pulling me half-back. My legs and hips disappeared behind the curtain, but my upper body was still visible to the crowd. His breath hit my neck, and I froze, my heart pounding.“A bride needs a husband, right?” he’d whispered, his fingers already sliding under the lace of my thong. I’d hissed at him, tried to twist away, but he was faster. His hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my protest, while his other hand tore the thong down. I’d been ready to knee him, to scream for help, but then his fingers were there, sliding through my wetness, and I hated how my body responded.---Now, his fingers were gone, and I heard the sound of his zipper. His cock pressed against me, hot and heavy. I braced against the post, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The crowd was loud, oblivious, their cheers blending with the music and the hum of the fog machine.“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “Knew you’d be a good little bride for me.”I wanted to argue, to tell him to stop, but then he thrust into me, hard and deep, and the words died in my throat. My pussy clenched around him, greedy, and I let out a moan that was almost a scream. The crowd erupted again, thinking it was part of the act. “That’s insane!” someone shouted.He didn’t stop. He fucked me with a steady, relentless rhythm, his groans low and guttural against my ear. My hands scrabbled at the post, my body rocking forward with each thrust. I lunged again, the rope slack, my clawed hands reaching for the crowd. They cheered, clapping, completely clueless.“Best one yet!” a voice rang out.He chuckled, his breath hot on my neck. “You hear that, little bride? They love you.” His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto him harder, deeper. My moans were louder now, raw and unfiltered, but the crowd just ate it up.“More,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it. He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his cock slamming into me with a force that made my toes curl. The curtain rustled around us, the fog swirling thicker, and I clawed at the post, my nails leaving marks in the wood. My body was on fire, every nerve alive, every sensation magnified. The crowd was still there, still cheering, but they faded into the background. All I could focus on was him—his cock, his hands, his smirk. He was everywhere, inescapable, and I was drowning in him.“Fuck,” I gasped, arching my back. “Don’t stop.”He didn’t. His hand slid around my waist, fingers finding my clit, and I shattered. My pussy clenched around him, pulsing, and I bit down on my lip to stifle the scream. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath hitching, and then he was coming, his cock throbbing inside me.The crowd roared, their cheers deafening. He pulled out slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of my ass. “Best fucking haunted house I’ve ever been to,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.I turned to face him, my chest heaving, my face flushed. He was already zipping up, that damn smirk still in place. “See you around, little bride,” he said, before disappearing into the fog.

“Damn, she’s creepy good!” someone yelled from the crowd, their voice echoing through the foggy room. 

I lunged forward, the rope noose swinging wildly, and let out a shrill scream that clawed its way up my throat. But *this* scream—this one wasn’t fake. His fingers were deep inside me, curling, stroking, *pumping* like he owned me. My knees wobbled, and I gripped the gnarled wooden post harder, my nails digging into the splintered wood. My ripped white lingerie clung to my sweaty skin, the fake blood streaking my cleavage feeling tacky under his touch.

“A bride needs a husband, right?” his voice rumbled low in my ear, hot and wet against my neck. His free hand yanked my thong down in one fierce motion, the fabric tearing at the seams. I hissed, “Fuck off,” but my body betrayed me, my pussy already slick, already *begging* for him. He felt it, of course he did, and that smirk—God, that *smirk*—made my stomach clench.

His fingers didn’t stop. They worked me faster, deeper, twisting inside me until my moan sliced through the air, raw and real. The crowd erupted in applause, thinking it was all part of the act. 

---

It had started like any other night. The haunted house was packed, a labyrinth of fog machines, strobe lights, and screams. My corner was the pièce de résistance—a foggy nook with a wooden post, a rope noose, and me, the “hanged bride.” The costume was a mess of torn lace and fake blood, designed to look as if I’d died on my wedding night. The thick black curtain behind me was my hiding spot, my launching point. I’d lunge out, screeching, and the crowd would lose their minds.

But *he* was different.

I’d seen him earlier, lingering with his crew. Tatted arms peeked out from his leather jacket, and his smirk was sharp, dangerous. He looked at me like he knew something I didn’t—like he’d already decided how this night would go. I’d ignored him, focusing on my job, lunging and screaming like a pro. But when his group approached, he peeled off, slipping behind the curtain like he belonged there.

I was about to lunge when his hands were on me, pulling me half-back. My legs and hips disappeared behind the curtain, but my upper body was still visible to the crowd. His breath hit my neck, and I froze, my heart pounding.

“A bride needs a husband, right?” he’d whispered, his fingers already sliding under the lace of my thong. I’d hissed at him, tried to twist away, but he was faster. His hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my protest, while his other hand tore the thong down. I’d been ready to knee him, to scream for help, but then his fingers were there, sliding through my wetness, and I *hated* how my body responded.

---

Now, his fingers were gone, and I heard the sound of his zipper. His cock pressed against me, hot and heavy. I braced against the post, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The crowd was loud, oblivious, their cheers blending with the music and the hum of the fog machine.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “Knew you’d be a good little bride for me.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him to *stop*, but then he thrust into me, hard and deep, and the words died in my throat. My pussy clenched around him, greedy, and I let out a moan that was almost a scream. The crowd erupted again, thinking it was part of the act. “That’s insane!” someone shouted.

He didn’t stop. He fucked me with a steady, relentless rhythm, his groans low and guttural against my ear. My hands scrabbled at the post, my body rocking forward with each thrust. I lunged again, the rope slack, my clawed hands reaching for the crowd. They cheered, clapping, completely clueless.

“Best one yet!” a voice rang out.

He chuckled, his breath hot on my neck. “You hear that, little bride? They love you.” His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto him harder, deeper. My moans were louder now, raw and unfiltered, but the crowd just ate it up.

“More,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his cock slamming into me with a force that made my toes curl. The curtain rustled around us, the fog swirling thicker, and I clawed at the post, my nails leaving marks in the wood. My body was on fire, every nerve alive, every sensation magnified. 

The crowd was still there, still cheering, but they faded into the background. All I could focus on was him—his cock, his hands, his *smirk*. He was everywhere, inescapable, and I was drowning in him.

“Fuck,” I gasped, arching my back. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hand slid around my waist, fingers finding my clit, and I *shattered*. My pussy clenched around him, pulsing, and I bit down on my lip to stifle the scream. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath hitching, and then he was coming, his cock throbbing inside me.

The crowd roared, their cheers deafening. He pulled out slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of my ass. “Best fucking haunted house I’ve ever been to,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

I turned to face him, my chest heaving, my face flushed. He was already zipping up, that damn smirk still in place. “See you around, little bride,” he said, before disappearing into the fog.

In a haunted house attraction, a performer playing a "hanged bride" is seduced by a stranger who turns her job into a thrilling and dangerous sexual encounter.

The stranger surprises her by pulling her behind a curtain, exposing her partially to the crowd while he begins to finger her, and then proceeds to have sex with her while the crowd cheers, thinking it's all part of the performance.

The performer struggles to maintain the facade of her role as the stranger relentlessly pleasures her, ultimately leading to a climax that leaves her breathless and the crowd cheering for more.

I got fucked by a stranger in a hunted house and people thought it was part of performance

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