New AI Stories - GPT & Grok

[Hand-Holder]

Whole Building Curse !!!

Chapter VI

The giant janitor's face hovered outside the windows of the shrunken Apex Venue like a grotesque moon, his features distorted in the dim garage light—eyes wide and bulging with a lunatic gleam, pupils darting erratically as if possessed by some inner madness, and his mouth twisted into a leering, pervert expression, lips curled in a salacious grin that revealed uneven teeth glistening with anticipation. As he scanned methodically from the ground floor upward to the third, his hot breath fogged the glass panes, creating swirling mists that blurred the terrified faces inside, while the sheer size of his visage blocked out the world beyond, turning each floor into a shadowed prison.

The workers felt an all-consuming terror grip them: hearts pounding like war drums, skin crawling with icy dread as if invisible fingers traced their spines, breaths coming in ragged, hyperventilating gasps that fogged their own sides of the windows. Some collapsed to the floor in fetal positions, whimpering prayers; others backed away slowly, eyes locked on his roving gaze, feeling exposed and hunted like prey in a glass cage, their minds screaming with the primal fear of being seen, selected, and subjected to whatever depraved whims lurked behind that perverted smirk. Screams echoed through the halls, a cacophony of panic that built with each floor he inspected, the building vibrating subtly from the rumble of his exhales, amplifying the sense of impending doom.

Even without spotting her, Elias's voice erupted like thunder, shaking the tower's foundations as he bellowed her name: "Sophia Reed! Where are you, Sophia? Come out, my fiery little executive!" The words boomed through the broken windows, rattling desks and sending papers fluttering, his tone laced with a mix of rage and lust that made the air inside feel heavier, more oppressive. Sophia, the beautiful redhaired executive in her late 20s, was a vision of youthful ambition and allure—her porcelain skin flawless and radiant, freckles dusting her high cheekbones like stars on a pale sky, with piercing green eyes that sparkled with intelligence under arched brows, and full, naturally rosy lips that often curved into a confident smile during presentations. Her hair was a cascade of vibrant auburn waves, thick and lustrous, falling to her mid-back in a style that screamed sophistication yet hinted at wildness.

She was sexy in a way that blended professional poise with subtle provocation: slender yet curvaceous, with a toned figure from pilates classes—pert breasts, a narrow waist flaring into hips that swayed with natural grace, and long legs that seemed endless. Her outfit that day was a teasing masterpiece—a tight red blouse that clung to her curves, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of black lace bra beneath, paired with a high-waisted black leather skirt that hugged her ass and thighs, ending mid-thigh to showcase her sheer black stockings and glossy stiletto heels. But no matter how his lunatic eyes pierced the rooms, he couldn't spot her; she had wedged herself deep into a supply closet on the second floor, curled in the darkness among reams of paper and toner cartridges, her body trembling uncontrollably, heart racing as his shouts pierced her hiding spot like arrows.

Frustrated, Elias's massive hand crashed through another window on the ground floor, glass shattering in a rain of shards that cut the air like tiny daggers. His fingers, thick and unyielding, snatched up two males who were badly hidden—one a portly accountant cowering behind a potted plant, the other a lanky IT guy squeezed under a desk—their screams piercing as he lifted them effortlessly into the open air, dangling them by their collars like limp puppets. "Sophia! If you don't show yourself right now, I'll squash these two like bugs!" he shouted in thunderous fury, his voice echoing off the garage walls, the threat sending a fresh wave of horror through the building. The hostages kicked and flailed futilely in his grip, their faces purple with fear, begging incoherently as his fingers tightened just enough to make their ribs creak, the pressure a constant reminder of their fragility.

Inside, Sophia's resolve crumbled under the weight of guilt and terror. Slowly, terrified beyond words, she emerged from her hiding spot, moving in horror on all fours across the carpeted floor—her knees and palms sinking into the plush weave, body shaking with violent tremors, tears streaming down her flawless cheeks as she crawled toward the window. Each inch felt like an eternity, her mind a storm of dread and self-preservation, the pervert joy blooming on the giant's expression—his eyes lighting up with twisted delight, mouth widening into an even more lecherous grin—only fueling her nausea. She reached the sill, her auburn hair disheveled and matted with sweat, her sexy outfit now rumpled and dirtied from the crawl, but still accentuating her curves in a way that made her feel even more exposed.

Elias didn't release the male hostages, their tiny forms still pinched between his fingers, nor did he reach for her, savoring the control. Instead, his voice rumbled like an earthquake: "Dance for me, Sophia. Make me hard. Act convincing and hot, or I'll crush these fools right here!" The order hung in the air, perverse and commanding, his lunatic gaze fixed on her with unblinking intensity.

Sophia stood shakily on the other side of the broken window, her green eyes wide with conflict—physically, her body ached from the crawl, limbs quivering, a cold sweat making her blouse cling transparently to her skin, while mentally, she warred with revulsion and desperation: the humiliation of performing like a stripper clashed with the terror of causing deaths, guilt twisting her gut like a knife as she glanced at the dangling men. But survival instincts kicked in; slowly, she began to move, her hips swaying tentatively at first, arms raising above her head in a hesitant undulation, her stilettos clicking softly on the floor.

The dance started awkward and forced, her face flushed with shame, tears blurring her vision as she rolled her shoulders, thrusting her chest forward slightly, the red blouse straining against her breasts. Conflicting emotions raged—disgust at objectifying herself, fear of failure, a spark of defiance that she smothered under necessity—but as seconds ticked by, survival demanded conviction. She forced a seductive smile through her sobs, her movements growing fluid: twirling slowly to let her leather skirt flare, revealing more of her stockings; arching her back to accentuate her curves, hands trailing down her sides in a teasing glide; grinding her hips in rhythmic circles that made her auburn hair whip around her face. By the end, she danced convincingly and hot, her body language screaming allure despite the horror—eyes half-lidded in feigned passion, lips parted as if in ecstasy—her performance a heartbreaking blend of grace and coercion, all to appease the giant's perverse demands while the hostages dangled in peril.

TO BE CONTINEUD SOON - Enough for today !!!

[Hand-Holder]

Whole Building Curse !!!

Chapter VII

With a guttural laugh that rumbled like an approaching storm, Elias leaned closer to the shattered window, his pervert grin widening as Sophia's dance reached its coerced climax. "That's enough, you dancing slut," he boomed, his voice dripping with mocking satisfaction, the words echoing through the office like a slap. "You can go away now—scurry back to your hole." But as she paused, gasping and trembling, he hawked deeply and spat a massive glob of saliva through the broken pane. The spit hurtled toward her like a warm, viscous projectile, splattering across her chest and face in a humiliating spray—sticky and foul-smelling, soaking into her red blouse and dripping down her cleavage, mingling with her tears and sweat.

Physically, Sophia felt the impact like a degrading baptism: the warmth of the spit cooling rapidly on her skin, making her blouse cling transparently to her breasts, the lace bra beneath now visible and sodden, while rivulets trickled down her neck and into her skirt, chilling her despite the flush of exertion from dancing. Her face burned where it landed, the salty residue stinging her eyes and lips, forcing her to wipe it away with shaking hands, only to smear it further across her freckled cheeks. Her body ached from the performance—thighs quivering from the hip grinds, stilettos wobbling on the debris-strewn floor, a nauseating knot twisting in her stomach as the scent of his saliva invaded her nostrils.

Mentally, she shattered under the weight of it all: waves of profound humiliation crashed over her, reducing her from a poised executive to a degraded object, her mind reeling with self-loathing for having performed so convincingly, guilt for the hostages' plight mixing with relief at her temporary reprieve. As she turned and ran from the window—her heels clacking erratically on the carpet, skirt hiking up with each frantic step—she sought any quick refuge, bursting into a nearby conference room and slamming the door behind her. Collapsing against a table, she curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing silently, desperately trying to forget her misery by focusing on shallow breaths, but the memories looped relentlessly: the leering gaze, the forced seduction, the spit marking her like a brand. Denial flickered— "This isn't real, wake up"—but terror anchored her in the nightmare, her thoughts fracturing into fragments of lost dignity and fear of what might come next.

Elias, still clutching the two male hostages in his massive fist—their tiny bodies now limp and bruised, faces contorted in agony—didn't release them, his fingers maintaining a vice-like grip that made their ribs creak audibly. Instead, he shifted his lunatic gaze back to the building, shouting for two more ladies from the firm: "Emma Clarke! And you, Margaret Voss! Get up here now—the young one and the mature one! I know you're in there!" His thunderous demands shook the tower, vibrating through walls and floors, sending fresh panic rippling among the hidden workers as his breath fogged more windows.

When no immediate response came, Elias tightened his hold on the hostages, squeezing with deliberate, increasing pressure—his fingers compressing their torsos like accordions, eliciting choked gasps and pleas from the men as their faces turned beet-red, veins bulging, eyes popping in near-asphyxiation. He almost killed them, holding just short of crushing their ribs entirely, the accountant wheezing desperately while the IT guy let out a strangled scream, their legs kicking futilely in the air. "Come out, or these two are paste!" he roared, the threat finally drawing the women out of hiding. Slowly, they ascended the stairs to the second floor—Emma from the intern lounge below, Margaret from an executive hideaway above—drawn by the hostages' cries and the giant's unyielding bellows, their faces pale with dread as they approached the window, standing side by side in trembling solidarity.

Emma Clarke, the young one at 24, was a fresh-faced marketing assistant with an innocent yet alluring beauty—petite and athletic from college sports, her skin a warm tan with a smattering of sun-kissed freckles across her nose, wide hazel eyes now rimmed with fear, and soft brunette curls bouncing loosely to her shoulders. She had a lithe, toned figure: small but perky breasts, a flat stomach, and slender hips that gave her a youthful, energetic vibe. Her outfit was casual-professional with a sexy edge—a fitted pastel blue button-up shirt tucked into high-waisted skinny jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin, accentuating her firm ass and thighs, paired with low-heeled ankle boots and a simple silver necklace that drew the eye to her subtle cleavage.

Margaret Voss, the mature one in her early 50s, exuded seasoned elegance and sensuality—a HR manager with a voluptuous, hourglass build from years of confident living, her skin smooth and lightly lined with experience, sharp gray eyes shadowed by mascara, and silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a sophisticated updo. She was curvaceous and commanding: full, heavy breasts straining against her clothing, a soft waist curving into wide hips and thick thighs that spoke of maturity's allure. Her outfit screamed power with a provocative twist—a deep navy pantsuit tailored to her form, the blazer open over a low-cut cream camisole that revealed ample cleavage and a hint of black satin bra, matched with wide-leg trousers that swished elegantly and polished black pumps that added height to her already imposing presence.

Elias, satisfied with Sophia's degrading retreat, promptly opened his fist and deposited the two male hostages onto the cold, unforgiving expanse of the garage floor. The men tumbled out like discarded rags, landing with pained grunts on the oil-stained concrete—chilled and rough against their skin, the impact jarring their bruised bodies and leaving them sprawled in disorientation, gasping for air as the giant's shadow loomed over them.

Without a moment's pause, Elias's hands—massive and swift as striking serpents—smashed through the already fractured window, glass shards cascading like glittering rain. His left hand snatched Emma, the young marketing assistant, his fingers curling around her petite frame from waist to ankles with unyielding pressure, pinning her legs together and compressing her skinny jeans against her toned thighs, the fabric creaking under the strain. Simultaneously, his right hand engulfed Margaret, the mature HR manager, enveloping her voluptuous form in a similar grip, her wide-leg trousers bunching up as his palm pressed into her soft waist and thick legs, the tailored material straining at the seams.

He raised them effortlessly, transporting the wriggling women across the broken office windows into the open garage air—the sudden ascent whipping wind through their hair, Emma's brunette curls tangling wildly while Margaret's updo loosened into silver-streaked strands. He held them both close to his face, their tiny bodies dangling mere inches from his lunatic grin and hot breath, but positioned strategically near the office venue so the terrified onlookers inside could watch every moment through the shattered panes. The workers peered out in abject horror, hearts hammering, breaths frozen—some vomiting from the stress, others clawing at their faces in denial—as the giant's new punishments unfolded like a macabre theater, the women's screams echoing faintly against the garage's vast emptiness.

" Kiss each other!" Elias shouted, his voice a booming command that vibrated through their bones, making their ears ring and the building tremble. "I will hold you both tight from the waist down—that's my job. But your torsos and faces are free. Start kissing with hunger, passion, and tease. Make it last, or I'll make you regret it!" His giant hands brought them closer, forcing the women to be pressed face to face together with inexorable pressure—Emma's lithe chest pressing firmly against Margaret's full, heaving breasts, their faces inches apart, noses nearly brushing. The grip was inescapable: his fingers like iron bars around their lower bodies, squeezing their waists and legs in a vice that left no room for escape, their outfits rumpling—Emma's blue shirt riding up to expose her midriff, Margaret's camisole shifting to reveal more cleavage—as they were mashed chest to chest and face to face, the heat of their bodies mingling in forced intimacy, breaths intermingling in panicked gasps.

At first, they hesitated—Emma's hazel eyes wide with shock and revulsion, her young face flushing crimson as she turned her head away, whispering "No, please..." under her breath; Margaret, with her experienced gray eyes narrowed in defiance mixed with fear, pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head subtly, her mind racing with humiliation at being reduced to this spectacle in front of her colleagues. Physically, Emma felt a surge of nausea, her stomach churning as Margaret's softer, more ample form compressed against her firmness, the warmth unwelcome and invasive; mentally, she was torn between terror of the giant's wrath and the violation of her boundaries, her innocent allure shattered by the coercion.

Margaret felt a deep ache in her compressed hips, the pressure bruising her curves, while mentally she grappled with outrage— a woman of authority now puppeted like a doll— mingled with protective instincts toward the younger Emma, her thoughts flashing to her own dignity evaporating.
But Elias brooked no delay; on their slight hesitation, he squeezed each hand tighter—fingers digging in like clamps, eliciting sharp cries from both as pain shot through their waists and legs, Emma's jeans tearing slightly at the seams, Margaret's trousers creaking audibly, the compression making their lower bodies throb and their breaths hitch in agony. He pressed them even harder against each other, mashing their chests until breathing became labored, faces so close that their lips brushed accidentally, his lunatic eyes gleaming with perverse delight.

"Do it now!" he growled, the threat implicit in his tightening grip, forcing them to understand there was no choice but compliance or crushing pain.
Reluctantly, they began—the kiss starting tentative and forced, Emma's soft lips pressing hesitantly against Margaret's fuller ones in a closed-mouth peck, both women's eyes squeezed shut in denial. But as Elias squeezed again on a momentary pause— a warning pulse that made their ribs ache and legs go numb—they deepened it, understanding the escalation.

Emma, feeling waves of conflicting shame and survival instinct, parted her lips first, her tongue darting out timidly in a tease, exploring Margaret's mouth with growing hunger born of desperation; physically, she felt the warmth and wetness of the kiss spread through her, a flush creeping down her neck despite the horror, her perky breasts heaving against Margaret's heavier ones in rhythmic friction. Mentally, she fractured—disgust at the act warring with a twisted relief at avoiding worse, her youth making the violation feel like a theft of innocence.

Margaret responded with passion coerced into authenticity, her experienced lips capturing Emma's in a slow, teasing swirl, sucking gently on the younger woman's lower lip before delving deeper with her tongue, making the kiss last as ordered—wet and lingering, breaths mingling in hot pants. Physically, she felt the electric tingle of the contact amid the pain of the grip, her voluptuous body responding involuntarily with a shiver, nipples hardening under her camisole from the chest-to-chest pressure; mentally, she burned with humiliation, her maturity amplifying the degradation—feeling like a betrayer to her own principles and to Emma—yet channeling it into convincing fervor to appease the giant, her thoughts a whirlwind of "Just survive" amid flashes of unwanted arousal from the forced intimacy.

On each slight hesitation—a pause for breath or a faltering tease—Elias forced their play onward, squeezing his hands in rhythmic pulses that sent jolts of pain through their lower halves, pressing them tighter to reignite the kiss, his pervert grin widening as he watched the spectacle up close, ensuring the hunger and passion persisted in a prolonged, teasing display that left the women exhausted and the office watchers in deeper terror.


TO BE CONTINEUD SOON - Enough for today !!!