The House of Terror - part 1

Four girls vanished inside the mystery house ten years ago. A camera left behind is all that remains of them. Two agents watched the footage—frame after frame—sweat beading at the temples as laughter turned into wet moans and finally screams. In every scene, the girls shed clothing and caution, then climbed each other with greedy mouths and slippery fingers until something unseen dragged them from view. The first couple devoured one another against the wall, hips pumping in short savage thrusts, the camera catching slick thighs and bitten lips. The second girl knelt, tongue buried between her friend's spread legs, face glistening while the shadows at the edges of the frame twisted into grasping hands. By the last sequence, the final girl stood naked and obedient, legs parted, nipples stiff under a ghostly caress. Her eyes rolled back as unseen pressure spread her open and claimed her. Now the agents stare at the final, frozen image: her smiling mouth, lips parted around words no one can hear, wet heat still dripping down her inner thigh. They tighten their grip on the table, hearts racing. They both know it isn't over.