[Insider] Halloween Maze (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Happy spooky season! I don't have a good title for this one just yet, so if you have any ideas, feel free to send them my way.

This was a fun little short I put together in between the other stories. Like most of the others, it has potential to continue if it's something we are interested in. Hope you all enjoy. Can't wait to hear your thoughts.

Taylor giggled like a child on Christmas morning as Clint pulled his new Ram truck onto the dirt road leading to Millfield's autumn festival. The headlights swept over hand-painted signs promising "Apple Cider!" and "Pumpkin Everything!" before illuminating rows of cars scattered across the muddy grass being used as a parking lot. They had heard stories about this legendary small-town festival ever since they'd moved to Salem at the beginning of the year. Neighbors, coworkers at Taylor’s dental office, everyone all said the same thing: the corn maze was the highlight, actually magical. Clint had always laughed it off, but Taylor couldn’t be more excited. Back in Houston, fall never came with this kind of small-town lore.

They'd spent their first three years of marriage in the oppressive heat of Texas, where Clint had been an up-and-coming CPA on the fast track to the executive branch at Morrison & Associates. When his boss announced a transfer to their Salem office in Massachusetts, Clint fought it with the same ruthlessness that made him successful. Salem was a dying market. He needed a bigger city where he could learn and grow. The only thing that kept him from outright quitting was the promise of leading an entire department, one step away from being an executive.

Taylor on the other hand, couldn't have been more excited about leaving behind Houston's perpetual summer and washed-out colors. She'd spent that entire evening on her laptop, scrolling through Pinterest boards of New England autumns and Christmas markets, her excitement growing with every mouse click. She hated that in Houston she'd never get to see a white Christmas, hated that Halloween—her favorite holiday—was just a sea of drooping, plastic decorations. She craved crisp air, orange and gold leaves, the promise of real seasons.

"God, I can't believe we're actually here," Taylor said, practically leaping from the car before Clint had a chance to put it in park. She bundled her coat tight, her caramel colored hair blending in with the trees behind her as she took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. "It smells like fall."

Clint wanted to say something about how all he smelled was dirt and car exhaust, but Taylor's happiness was contagious. One look into her big brown doe eyes and he melted. "It's definitely not like back home," he said, buttoning his peacoat and grabbing a beanie from the center console to keep his ears warm.

He smirked, seeing the way she was scolding him with her eyes, the faint sound of laughter drifting through the air as Taylor slipped her arm through his and they walked toward the main entrance. One of the things he hated most about the move was the cold. Despite Taylor's girl-next-door face, she had a body to die for. Back in Houston he’d taken pride in the looks she got walking down the street. Now it was all hidden under jackets and cardigans.

The entrance was crowded, a bottleneck of families wrangling kids while they paid for tickets, teenagers giggling into their phones, and one drunk man in the corner telling anyone who would listen that the place was cursed. Clint instinctively pulled Taylor closer as the man rambled, until a pair of cops finally escorted him away.

Once inside, they stopped to admire the scene in front of them. The area was larger than it looked from the parking lot. Rows of makeshift booths sprawling out in every direction. Hay bales stacked to act as barriers, fairy lights strung overhead to ensure people had more than just the full moon for lighting, and a variety of carved pumpkins along the way, each more elaborate than the last.

"Look at that one," Taylor bemused beside him, pointing toward a particularly elaborate jack-o'-lantern display where a family of gourds had been carved into an entire haunted village. Her cheeks were already pink from the cool air, and she'd wound a cream-colored scarf around her neck, one more layer Clint would have to peel away before he could kiss her there.

As the night moved on, Clint found himself lost in the magic of it all. He laughed at Taylor as she threw a ball at milk bottles, missing by a mile. Only to have his own throw bounce off the front of the platform and nearly come back at hit him. They navigated haunted houses, where the swell of her ass pressed tight against him made it near impossible for him to focus on the "monsters" jumping out at him. They left the house and moved toward the apple cider stand.

"You're having fun," she whispered, pulling his head down to kiss his lips.

"Well don't sound so surprised." His arms draped around her shoulders. "I always have fun when I'm with you."

"It's just nice to see you let loose. You've been so pent up since we moved here I thought—"

"Clint? Holy shit, is that you?"

His smile disappeared as he turned and saw Germain Webb coming his way, beer in hand. Germain was part of the acquisitions team and a thorn in Clint's side. He was easily over six foot tall and looked like he could play for the New England Patriots. Women in the office gravitated toward him, and Clint knew why. Before Clint’s transfer, Germain had been the one calling the shots, and he hadn’t given up the reins easily.

“Germain.” Clint gave him a curt nod, noticing the way his colleague’s eyes lingered a little too long on Taylor. “Shouldn’t you be working on the Henderson account? We were more than a little behind—”

“Relax, boss. I got it covered. Who’s this? You never mentioned you were married.”

Clint chewed his lip as Taylor stepped forward with her warmest smile. “I’m Taylor. So you’re Germain? Clint’s told me so much about you.”

Germain took her hand, holding it a moment longer than Clint thought appropriate. “All good things, I hope.” He finally released her fingers, flashing that grin again. “This one’s a real hard-ass. I wouldn’t have thought he knew how to smile if I hadn’t just seen it for myself.”

“Oh, that’s all for show,” Taylor said, poking Clint’s side playfully. “He’s a giant softie once you get to know him. Aren’t you, honey?”

“Is that right?” Germain grinned wider. “Are you just a big softie, Clint?”

Before Clint could answer, the line moved forward. Germain tipped his beer in farewell. “I’ll let you two get back to it. It was nice meeting you, Taylor.”

Clint watched Germain disappear into the crowd, jaw tight, the faint echo of his laugh carrying even after he was gone. It gnawed at him, the way people seemed to light up around Germain, the same way Taylor had just a moment ago. He told himself it was harmless, that she was simply being polite, but the image of Germain’s hand lingering over hers stuck in his mind like a splinter. Taylor barely seemed to notice, too busy wrapping both hands around the steaming cup of cider she’d just bought. She took a sip, then tugged gently at Clint’s arm, eyes bright and eager. “Come on,” she said with a grin. “Let’s go see what this corn maze is all about.”

***

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the end of a winding path. The noise of the festival was a gentle hum in the background now, the atmosphere shifting from small-town charm to something older, spookier. The decorative hay bales and artfully arranged pumpkins were gone, replaced by rusting farm equipment and corn stalks that seemed to stretch endlessly into the dark.

“Spooky,” Taylor whispered, running her hand across the faded wooden sign nailed to a lamppost: Millfield Corn Maze — Est. 1847.

"It definitely gives 80's slasher vibes," Clint responded, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Is my big strong man going to protect me if someone jumps out with a chainsaw?" She ran her fingers across Clint's bicep.

"Nope. You're on your own. It's every man for himself," Clint teased.

“Rude!” She swatted his arm, then leaned closer. “Well, the killing doesn’t usually start in those movies until someone has sex.” Her fingers trailed teasingly across the front of his jeans, making him hiss. “Now, where did Germain run off to?”

She squealed in delight when Clint grabbed her arm. “What the hell, Tay.”

“You started it,” she teased, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Beautiful night." A voice rang out from the darkness making both Clint and Taylor jump. Just beyond the lamppost, sitting in the shadows, was an old man sitting behind a wooden counter.

"Jesus, you about gave us a heart attack," Clint exclaimed, stepping closer to get a better look at the man. He looked to be at least fifty, with a black hooded coat that left only a few strands of silver hair hanging past his brow. Deep lines marked his face, his eyes set so far back in their sockets that they seemed swallowed by shadow. When they lifted to meet Clint’s gaze, their coal-black depths sent an unexpected chill creeping up his spine.

"Apologies, sir." His eyes darted over to Taylor. His lips curling into a smile, exposing his yellowing teeth. "Were you interested in a stroll through the corn maze? It's the last night of the season. Free of charge for such a pretty young lady."

"There's no chainsaws back there are there?" She nudged Clint's side, already walking toward the entrance.

"No, no. Nothing like that." The man seemed to grow as the couple neared the start of the maze, his words more animated. "The only thing to fear once inside is your own subconscious."

Clint shot him a confused look. "What does that mean?"

"Ah... you're not from around here are you?"

"We just moved here a few months ago. This is our first Halloween." Taylor peered around the corner of the first turn. It looked harmless enough.

"This cornfield was built on an old witch burial ground after the trials." The man's voice dropped, his eyes seeming to catch a glint of red that made Taylor pause mid-step. "Legend has it that once you reach the center of the maze, you'll see things that no one else can."

"Ghosts?" Taylor asked in a whisper.

"No, not ghosts. What you see are your truest desires. Not what you think you want, or what you say you want. What lies in the deepest, darkest part of yourself." His eyes shifted, the red glint fading to murky gray. "Some truths are better left hidden."

Clint gave a short, sharp laugh. "That's it? That's the big spooky payoff? The cornfield tells you what you want?"

The man's smile never wavered, but something about his gaze made Clint's heart race. "Careful what you dismiss so quickly, young man. The maze has a way of... humbling those who think they know themselves."

Taylor laughed. "You're being very dramatic. I like it, adds to the atmosphere."

He bowed his head, placing his arm toward the entrance. "When you're ready to leave, the exit will find you."

Clint hesitated, his eyes still locked with the strange man's gaze. Something in those dark depths seemed to be laughing at him, as if the man knew a joke that Clint was only beginning to understand. A nervous energy coiled inside him as he grabbed Taylor's hand possessively.

Despite every warning bell in his mind, Clint found himself following Taylor toward the maze entrance. As they reached the threshold where the cornstalks rose like walls on either side of the narrow path, he heard a crow cry in the distance.

"I can't wait to see what he was talking about," Taylor said, even as Clint gave one final look over his shoulder contemplating leaving.

Then the stalks seemed to close behind them with a whispered rush, and they were swallowed by shadow and the rustle of the wind.

***

The path into the maze started innocently enough, the dirt trails were wide and bordered by corn stalks that looked to be at least eight feet tall. Taylor rushed ahead of Clint, her giggles fading into the October breeze as she navigated the first few turns.

"Come on, slow poke," she teased. "Let's get to the middle and see what all the fuss is about." Clint picked up his pace, trying to shake off the uneasiness he'd felt earlier as he raced toward his wife. The path seemed to get narrower, and as Taylor turned the corner Clint had to practically turn sidewise to keep to it.

"Tay, hold up a second. The path is really narrow."

"Hurry up," she called over her shoulder, the flashlight from her phone disappearing around another corner.

By the time Clint made it to where the corn stalks opened back up, Taylor was nowhere to be seen. He called out to her, but was answered by the squawking of a crow. A cool breeze swept through the maze and Clint pulled his jacket tighter to his body, suddenly missing the Texas heat.

He stood at a fork in the road, no sign of Taylor or the light of her phone anywhere in sight.

"Taylor! Where'd you go? This isn't funny!" He was just about to throw up his hands and give up when he heard her voice.

"Clint? Clint, where are you? I can't find my way back." Her voice was faint, and he couldn't tell which direction it had come from, but he was sure it was Taylor.

From somewhere in the maze—impossible to tell which direction—he heard her voice, faint but clear: "Clint? Where are you? I can't find the way back!"

He took off in a sprint, toward the right side of the stalks. "Just stay where you are. I'll find you." Leaves crashed into his face, and loose rocks on the path nearly made him fall on more than one occasion, but he kept running. He made a left, a right, and then another left. Fear and anxiety prickled his skin for reasons he couldn't understand. This was a stupid maze, none of it was real. Yet, he kept running, even as his lungs began to burn.

"Clint? Baby, are you close?" Taylor's voice sounded closer this time. Clint slowed his pace to a jog, trying to get his bearing.

He looked around the maze more confused than ever before. The paths he took seemed to shift around him. Routes he was certain he had taken before now appeared to be dead ends with new ones appearing before his eyes.

"Tay? Keep talking, baby. Where'd you go?"

With his hands on his knees he waited for her response, but once again all he heard was his own gasping for air. He decided to take the path straight ahead, one that he was almost certain he'd taken before. But as he walked the familiar trail, it curved around into the thickest stalks he'd seen.

As he pushed his way around the corn, the path in front of him began to clear. An old lantern hung on a beat up wooden post, dancing back and forth in the breeze. He tried to make his way to it, but it was like the stalks had wrapped around his legs. He could barely move. Every time he tore his foot free and took a step it would just get tangled again. He was about to turn around and try to climb out the other way when he saw Taylor approaching the clearing.

"Taylor! Taylor, I'm here. I'm just caught in some vines or something can you—"

His words died in his throat, as Germain walked into the clearing behind her.

"I was wondering when I'd get you alone."

"Oh yeah? And why is that?" Taylor bit her lip, moving toward Germain like they were the closest of friends. Clint's chest tightened with unease as he watched his co-worker's dark hands wrap around her slender body, cupping her ass.

"Taylor! Taylor, what the hell?" He screamed, but it was no use. It was like they couldn't hear him at all. He tugged his legs free, moving another inch before finding himself stuck again. The more he struggled, the tighter the ivy coiled, fingers of green twining higher with every frantic kick, as if the maze itself meant to hold him there.

"A beautiful woman like you shouldn't be wandering out here all alone. Your husband doesn't seem to appreciate what he has."

Clint looked back up, his face red with anger, but Germain was gone. In his place stood the old man from the entrance of the maze. Clint whipped his head around panicked. Germain was just there. There was no way he could have left that quickly without Clint noticing. How did he...

Taylor's laugh broke his train of thought. Despite this complete stranger, a man who was old enough to be her father, groping her, she seemed to be having the time of her life. She kicked her head back, her teeth sparking in the moonlight. "Oh he appreciates me just fine. He just has a lot on his plate right now. You know how it is." As she spoke, she ran her hands across the old man's chest her fingers dipping into the crease of his robe.

"Of course," the man said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Perhaps then I can be of service while your husband is... preoccupied."

"Get away from her you son-of-a-bitch. I swear to, God!"

Neither of them seemed to hear him. The old man reached out, running his thumb across Taylor's cheek. To Clint's horror, when he got to her lips, she opened her mouth, sucking the dirty, wrinkled finger into her mouth.

"You want that, don't you? Some one to take care of you while your husband is tied up?" The man looked directly at Clint, a smirk playing on his lips as Clint thrashed helplessly against the vines.

"Mmmhmm," Taylor moaned around the thumb, her hands helping to shrug off the loosely tied robe around the man.

The old man let his thumb slip from her lips with a pop, the wet sheen of her saliva glistening in the light. "Some men like to watch," he whispered, grabbing Taylor's shoulders and turning her toward Clint. "They like seeing their sweet wives turn into sluts right in front of them."

Clint's stomach dropped, and rage burned in his chest. The vines constricted tighter, nearly cutting off the circulation in his legs. That's when he felt it. His cock throbbed in his pants, his erection so hard it hurt. Despite all his anger, he was more aroused than ever before. The thought of it all made him so sick his vision went blurry.

"Is that true, Clint? You want to see me lose control?"

She was looking right at him, but her eyes were glossy, her words slurred as if she were drunk. He thought back to the apple cider stand. Did someone slip something in her drink? Was Germain close enough to...

"Oh my," Taylor giggled making Clint refocus. "I guess it’s true what they say about Black men."

Clint blinked, and the old man was gone. In his place stood Germain, tall and grinning, his dark hands guiding her down to the dirt. Taylor sank obediently to her knees, fingers curling around his thick shaft as her tongue slid out.

Clint's throat tightened as he watched her slowly run her tongue over the crown of his head. He heard her exhale, a soft moan, as her delicate fingers straining to close around the thickness in her hand. Her hair fell around her face, but never seemed to block her eyes. She looked... radiant, feral, like the sexiest woman alive and the very thought made Clint's chest feel like it was going to explode. Every inch of her body screamed sexuality, her lips parting, her eyes bright and eager, it was a look he'd never seen before. It was a look that made him unconsciously rub the front of his pants.

“Tay, please,” he croaked. Her eyes flicked toward him, locking dead on his, and for one dizzy second he thought she’d heard. “Baby, don’t—please, don’t do this.”

But the moment shattered. She smiled dreamily, lashes fluttering as if in response to some unheard voice, not his. Her gaze pierced straight through him, yet there was no recognition, no anchor back to the man bound helpless just feet away. It was like shouting through glass, his words bouncing back at him while she plunged forward.

"Fuuuck," Germain groaned, his head tipping back. Clint could only watch, transfixed, as inch after inch vanished past her lips. He thought she couldn’t possibly take more, the thought itself humiliatingly erotic, but then she relaxed her throat and proved him wrong.

Taylor was a version of herself, he'd never known. She choked marginally, her eyes beginning to water. Then, went right back to work. Clint couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even in her most passionate moments with him, she'd never acted like that. It was like she was starved for it, desperate for his release.

"She's beautiful isn't she, Clint? I can see how much you're enjoying the show."

He gasped, yanking his hand away from the bulge in his pants like he'd touched fire. The old man was there again, weathered hands tangled in Taylor’s golden hair as he threw his head back in pleasure.

The old man's warning at the start of the maze rang in his ears. What you see are your truest desires. Not what you think you want, or what you say you want. What lies in the deepest, darkest part of yourself.

Clint’s stomach lurched. That couldn’t be true. He didn’t want this. He hated it. Yet the ache in his cock betrayed him, every nerve begging him to touch, every instinct screaming to move his hand back down.

"He's close baby, I can feel it. This is what you wanted isn't it? This is what you always wanted." She was grinning at Clint, her big beautiful doe eyes, dancing with excitement.

Spit was dripping from her chin, and both hands pumped the thick shaft in front of her, her playful smile transformed into something far more sexual. She blew Clint a kiss, then slipped one hand lower to fondle his heavy sac, her giggle muffled around the cock in her throat.

The old man’s roar shattered the clearing. Clint froze, unable to look away as thick ropes of cum filled her mouth. She swallowed greedily, lips sealed tight around him until she had taken it all. Clint’s hand had slipped into his pants without him realizing, his palm pressed against the aching bulge. The chill of his skin did nothing to soothe the fire building inside him. Shame crashed through him as hard as the arousal itself, and still, he couldn’t stop.

Clint staggered against the vines, chest heaving, his legs trembling as though he’d run miles. He couldn’t tell if the fire in his body came from anger, fear, or the unbearable ache in his cock. He had just watched the impossible, and worse, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, part of him loved what he saw.

The lantern swung on its post, capturing Clint's attention as the shadows from the stalks seemed to grow and transform around him. He blinked, trying to refocus his eyes, and when he looked back to Taylor, the old man was already pulling her up into his arms. They shared a kiss, one that was hot and full of passion. One that was reserved for lovers. Her hands explored his body, undeterred by the soft flesh and wrinkled skin.

It was then that Clint noticed the old man's cock. It glistened in the light, drops of spit and cum flying off it as it hung like a tree trunk between his legs. He wasn't fully hard anymore, but it was clear he could go another round if needed.

"You're wearing too many clothes, my dear," he whispered, his lips against her cheek. Taylor just giggled, swaying closer to him as she began to undo the first buttons of her coat.

Everything became a blur after that. The old man reached out, tugging on the knot of her scarf, as she shrugged her coat from her shoulders, oblivious to the cold. Her sweater came next, followed quickly by her jeans. Clint's pulse hammered in his ears as he looked out at his wife. Now, wearing nothing but a very expensive, and very small, black bra and matching lace panties. He’d bought the set for her just that afternoon. She’d teased him all day about how he wouldn’t get to see her in them until after the festival. And now here she was, giving the first look, the first taste, to another man.

A second later and the old man was Germain again, dark hands roaming her bare skin, lips crushing against her neck. He lifted her easily, laying her across the coat like she weightless, fingers already working at the clasp of her bra. But even in the lamplight, Clint swore he could still see the old man’s grin.

Clint had always loved Taylor's breasts. They were the perfect size for his hands, soft and warm, the part of her body that had felt like it was made exactly for him. But in Germain’s grip they looked different, smaller against his broad palms, her nipples straining harder than Clint had ever seen, stiff peaks glistening in the lantern glow. Taylor arched into his mouth as he took one between his lips, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. Clint’s stomach twisted. She had never reacted like that with him. Not once. Watching her writhe, her body trembling with every flick of Germain’s tongue, Clint’s resistance finally cracked. He dragged his zipper down with trembling fingers and wrapped his hand around his cock, groaning at the rush of relief as his palm closed over the painful ache.

"I always knew that tough guy routine at the office was just an act. You can't wait for me to breed your wife, can you?" Germain's gaze was now fully on Clint even as Taylor dug her fingernails into his scalp.

Her eyes drifted open, her gaze falling to Clint, a smirk appearing on her face. "Is that true, baby? You want to watch me get my first taste of big, black cock… ahhh" Germain dragged the length of his shaft across her lips, the fabric of her panties already beginning to bunch because of how wet she was.

“That’s not—” Clint choked, his breath ragged as his fist pumped faster. “I don’t, God…” His denial melted into a groan, his eyes wide, unable to look away as he held his breath waiting for the inevitable.

"Look at your husband and tell him what you want." Germain flexed his hips, grinding his girth against the soaked fabric again and sending Taylor into a frenzy.

Clint’s stomach clenched as his stroking faltered. Taylor never broke eye contact with him, her lips parting slowly, like she was so worked up she couldn't find the words. The world tilted, and then with a lick of her lips she whispered it: “I want you to fuck me.”

"Take off your panties."

The order sent a spike of adrenaline through Clint. He opened his mouth to tell Taylor no, to threaten Germain, but all that came out was a soft gasp as Taylor lifted her long legs and hooked her thumbs into the waistband.

"Very sexy," Germain murmured, his eyes fixated on the thin strip of hair just above her glistening slit. "I usually prefer my women smooth. I suppose we’ll fix that before next time."

Next time. The words ripped through Clint, but he barely heard them over the rush in his ears. All he could see was Taylor’s face as she pulled Germain down into a hungry kiss, then looked back at him, her eyes blazing. Her lips brushed Germain’s ear, but her words were for Clint alone: "Do it. Fuck my married pussy."

The words shattered him. His entire body coiled like a spring, the shame and humiliation was a dangerous cocktail mixed with his already growing arousal and before he even realized all that building pressure exploded into the biggest orgasm of his life. For a moment, all Clint saw were stars, his palm warm and sticky as he sagged against the vines.

When his vision cleared, Taylor was looking right at him. A gentle smile tugged her lips, as she looked at the mess he'd made. A light laugh escaped her, but was quickly broken into a gasp as Germain thrust forward burying himself inside her in one, powerful stroke.

"Ohhh fuuuuck," Taylor gasped, her nails digging so deep into Germain's flesh that they drew blood. She threw her head back, finally breaking eye contact with her husband as her entire body shuddered and she arched her chest toward Germain's waiting lips.

"She cums almost as fast as you," Germain taunted, unsheathing all but the tip of his cock before plunging it into her again. "Let's see how many times I can get her off. Pay attention, you may learn something."

Taylor’s eyes fluttered open, her lips forming a silent scream as he stretched her again. "He's so... big, baby. So... fucking... big." Each gasp was more breathless than the last as her thighs clamped around Germain's hip, pulling him deeper. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop," she begged lifting her hips to meet his thrusts.

Clint’s nails dug into his palm where his release still coated his hand. His chest burned, his vision blurred, and his cock slowly began to rise again.

"Fuck, she's tight. I guess you're not able to hit the same spots as me." His pace increased, the wet slapping of their flesh echoed through the maze as Taylor's moans grew louder.

"Mmm yes, right there. Don't stop. Ah, Please. Uhhh." Taylor clayed at his forearms, her body thrashing as her mouth hung agape, her firm breasts bouncing as another orgasm began to rise.

"Hear that, bud? She's already begging for it. Already about to blow again." Germain's nostrils flared, a bead of sweat dropping from his forehead as his thrusts grew harsher.He grunted, feeling her tighten around him, then grabbed her hair, craning her neck back and ripping a cry from the young married woman.

"Cum for me. Show your husband how much you love this dick." His hand cracked across her ass and Taylor came unglued.

“Oh God—oh fuck—Ooooo!” she wailed, clinging to him with trembling arms as her orgasm tore her apart. Her thighs quivered, her chest heaved, every sound raw and unfiltered in a way Clint had never heard from her before.

Clint was short of breath, his entire world crumbling around him. Taylor had never been like this before. So passionate, so vocal, so... sexy. The humiliation scalded him, yet his cock throbbed painfully back to life, harder than before.

Once Taylor recovered, Germain slowed his grind before pulling out completely with a loud pop. Taylor whimpered in protest, her hips still rocking. "I'm tired of doing all the work," Germain taunted, glancing at Clint and giving him a sinister wink. "It's time to show your husband how much you love riding this big black cock."

Clint’s whole body trembled as his hand drifted to his cock. He watched with baited breath as Taylor eagerly straddled Germain, fisting his cock in a way that made the diamond on her hand catch the moonlight as she guided it toward her greedy pussy. Inch by inch she sank down on the monstrous shaft, her slick folds stretching obscenely in plain view of Clint.

When she had him fully sheathed, she let out a satisfied sigh, her hips already beginning to rock. "Mmm I feel so full, baby. It's hitting me so, deep." Her eyes began to flutter closed, her tongue snaking out across her lips. Germain leaned forward, whispering something in her ear that made her smile then look over at her husband who was once again stroking his cock to the pace of her thrusts.

“No touching, baby.” Her voice cracked into a moan as Germain pawed roughly at her chest, pinching her nipple until she gasped. “Only… men who can make me cum… get to cum themselves.”

She leaned back having barely gotten the words out, bracing her hands on Germain’s thighs, riding him with frantic, bouncing thrusts. Germain snickered, then leaned up biting her neck hard enough to make her hiss in pain. Her cries of pain quickly turned into ones of pleasure however as she brought her hand to her free breast, pinching it with the same force that Germain had, her entire body feeling like a live wire about to explode.

“Fuck, yes,” Germain growled, his hips slamming upward to meet her. "Your pussy feels so good, I'm going to fill it."

Clint was frozen, throughout the entire fucked-up experience he hadn't even notice that Germain didn't put on a condom. "No!" he yelled, a sudden burst of energy coursing through him as the vines held him in place.

Taylor threw her head back. "Yes. Yes, baby. I want it so bad. Fill me!" Her entire body seized violently as a final climax ripped through her. Clint’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the pulsing of Germain’s cock inside her, spilling his seed raw into her unprotected pussy. Taylor’s voice broke into sobbing moans, wracked by the most powerful orgasm of her life, trembling around the cock she was milking for every drop.

***

Then, in an instant, the lantern began to flicker. Clint squinted against the sudden flare, nearly blinded by the light. When his vision cleared, the shadows had vanished. The vines were gone. He was alone in the clearing, his hand still pressed against his hardness.

"Clint?" Taylor's voice called out, closer than before. "Clint, where are you?"

He yanked his hand away, wiping it frantically on his jeans shame burning in his throat. He couldn't let her see him like this, couldn't let her know what had him so turned on.

"I'm here!" he called back, his voice cracking. "I'm coming!"

He stumbled through the clearing, pushing past large stalks and turning around the bend where Taylor's voice had come from. He expected to be met with more twists and turns. Instead, he nearly crashed into her standing at the exit of the maze.

"Oh thank God," she breathed, throwing her arms around him. "I got so turned around. I kept hearing you but I couldn't find you and then suddenly I was just... here."

Clint held her, perhaps too tightly, his heart hammering against his ribs. She felt small in his arms, fragile, real. Nothing like the woman he'd just watched in the clearing. Nothing like the version of her that had—

He pushed the thought away, pulling his face away from her scarf but not releasing her arms.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes puffy with tears. Had she experienced it too? Had she been crying because she thought that was the sort of thing he was into? "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," he managed, though he wasn't sure how convincing he sounded. "Just got disoriented. It felt like the paths kept changing."

Taylor laughed, and Clint's skin prickled with the thought of her taunting him. "I know, right? It was so spooky. I think this place may actually be magical."

Clint's lip began to tremble, his hands shaking as he turned back toward the mouth of the maze behind him now covered in darkness. "What... what did you see?" He could barely get the words out afraid of what her answer would be.

"Oh, baby. It was perfect. The most wonderful thing ever." Her eyes began to water again as she thought back on her vision.

His mouth went dry, it felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn't believe it. She had enjoyed it.

Her expression softened, and a dreamy smile crossed her face. "I saw us. In this big house with a yard. We had kids." She gave an excited laugh, her hands sliding up her arms as a tear of happiness slid down her cheek. "A boy and a girl, I think. They had your eyes." She squeezed his hand. "We looked so happy, Clint. Like we'd built this perfect little family."

For a moment, the words filled him with warmth. A weight had been lifted from his chest and he could finally breathe. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Seeing Taylor like that had all just been some sick... All at once, the dread had started to creep back. Her deepest desire was to start a family, with him. While his was... he shook his head to try to clear the thought. It couldn't have been true. It had to be some sort of mind fuck. He didn't want to see his wife with another man? What kind of husband would want that?

"What about you?" Taylor asked, her smile fading slightly at whatever she saw in his face. "What did you see?"

Clint opened his mouth, but the words didn't come out. "Was it a ghost?” Her teasing lilt echoed the old man’s tale at the entrance. She bumped against him, and her leg brushed his rigid cock through his jeans. She froze for half a heartbeat, then smirked. “Ohhh. Was it a sexy ghost?”

His cheeks turned pink. "I um..." He stared at the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes.

The sound of kids laughing in the distance caught Taylor's attention and allowed Clint the distraction he needed to try to calm his racing heart. "I didn't see anything," he lied, hating how her face lost its glow. "I mean, I got so turned around. I don't even think I made it to the center. Then I heard you calling and well... you know the rest."

Taylor's disappointment was palpable. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked back toward the maze entrance as if trying to understand how they could have had such different experiences. "Oh," she said quietly. "I guess... I guess it doesn't work for everyone."

The silence stretched between them, and Clint rocked onto his heels trying to think of something to say to break the awkwardness. But his mind kept flashing to what he saw in the clearing. The way her body bounced with passion, the bright smile on her face as Germain impaled her. Her voice saying things she'd never said to him. The way she'd looked when she—

"Well," Taylor started, breaking Clint from his torment. "Let's get back home and maybe we can get started on trying to make the vision I saw come true." She stroked the front of his pants playfully still intrigued by what had him so worked up.

Clint’s stomach knotted at her words, only men who can make me cum get to cum themselves. He swallowed it down, smiling weakly, letting her tug him toward the parking lot.

As they passed the entrance, Clint glanced back. The booth was empty. The old man was gone. A cold wind stirred the corn behind them, and Clint swore he heard laughter riding on the breeze.

Taylor kept talking as they walked, something about the names of the kids in her vision, but Clint barely heard her. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the clearing, replaying Germain's hands on her body, replaying his own shameful response.

Tomorrow, he’d see Germain at the office. And he had no idea how he’d look him in the eye without seeing everything from the maze.