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“What’s your favorite scary movie, princess?” An enigmatic, almost mechanical voice purrs through the receiver.
“So original,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “You can stop playing games, Noah.” The idea of your best friend playing games like these with you, just to tease you, wouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Wrong, it’s not Noah,” the voice corrects you, dismissing your assumption, and your heart drops.
“Look, asshole, whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested, okay?” You huff, hanging up and choosing to ignore the strange sensation of being watched that begins to creep in.
A moment later, your phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. Attached to the message is a video. You pause for a moment, contemplating whether to press play on the thumbnail, which features a frame of your face. You could choose to delete the message, pretend you didn’t see it, or even block the number. However, curiosity overpowers you, and you decide to press play.
The video you’re watching features you and your ex. What you’re seeing is something you had presumed to be long erased from the existence of any phone belonging to either of you. Then again, you also know better than to assume anything could be permanently erased from the internet in this modern era.
In the frame, you’re on all fours and facing the camera, while your ex, out of frame—lucky bastard, is pounding into you. Every sound from you is almost as exaggerated as the way your eyes roll back and your tongue hangs freely, playing up for the camera—and for him.
When you close the video, another text appears.
Unknown: Hang up on me again, and this video will be sent to everyone you know.
Your chest tightens, and your mind races with panic and dread. As you try to message your best friend with trembling fingers, an incoming call interrupts you, preventing you from reaching out for help.
“What do you want?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady, though it falters slightly. Fear creeps in, and you can’t help but notice the amusement in the strangers’ mechanical voice.
“You might want to use your manners, unless you want everyone to discover your little home movie.”
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of anyone else seeing that video. The fact that a stranger already has it in their possession sends a sense of dread through you, accompanied by another strange feeling.
“Now, are you going to be a good girl and listen to me?” He poses it as a question, but the cold, unsettling tone of the stranger on the other end suggests it’s more of a command.
You swallow the lump forming in your throat and find your voice as you respond, “Yes.”
“That’s good, or you’ll end up starring in a snuff film for your next movie.”
“Oh god…” the words escape your lips, a choked sob rising within your throat.
There’s a ringing in your ears, and you take a step back. Your eyes dart around the open living room, looking towards the front door. But it’s as if the stranger can sense your thoughts, because his voice interrupts your train of thought.
“Don’t even consider running. We’re going to play a little game called hot and cold.”
“I-please…” A soft plea escapes your lips, followed by a choked sob. Fear has frozen you in your tracks, fear and something else, a subtle thrill that creeps into your mind, suggesting that you might be enjoying this.
Surely not?
The stranger completely disregards your plea for freedom, continuing to explain the rules of his game. “If you manage to find me, then maybe I’ll grant you your wish and leave you be.”
There was something about that “maybe” that you didn’t entirely trust. It hinted at the possibility that he had no intention of letting you go once he had you in his grasp.
Slowly, you begin to walk yourself through the house, one ear attentively listening to your surroundings while keeping the phone firmly pressed to your other ear, listening to him call out the varying degrees of how hot and cold you were.
You’re on the verge of giving up, ready to confront him and call him out on his bluff. He’s not here; he’s been playing you, making you believe he is. But just as you’re about to make your move, a rustling behind you catches your attention. As you turn, you’re met with a towering figure standing above you. He’s dressed in an all-black ensemble and wears a ghostface mask.
“Surprise, princess!” he announces, raising the blade in his hand. As you try to pass him, he swiftly scoops you up with his free arm, capturing you in a tight embrace and pulling your back flush against his front.
“Tsk tsk, sweet little rabbit, where do you think you’re headed? Don’t you want to play?” He smirks beneath the mask, and you hear the sly grin seeping into his voice.
When you feel the cool metal blade against your cheek, you softly whimper, “Please…” desperately hoping to somehow escape this or at least beg this stranger to release you unharmed.
“Please,” he repeats your word back to you, his tone mocking. Before asking, his voice laced with a menacing undertone, “Are you scared, princess?”
He gently caresses the skin of your cheek with the flat side of the knife, causing your heart to quicken in your chest as it trails down your throat. You yearn to say yes, but you can’t bring yourself to admit your fear to him, especially not when you can already sense the intensity of his arousal pressing against your ass.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” he whispers, his mask tipping up slightly to reveal his lips. With a gentle yet firm touch, he presses rough, lingering kisses along your throat, making his first move in asserting his claim over you.
You wish for your body not to betray you as it currently is, feeling the heat rising in your stomach, which gradually spreads throughout. Your thighs press together in your pajama shorts, the fabric giving little cover.
Your mind reels from his words as you suddenly realize that this could be someone you know or someone who knows you, at the very least.
“Aww, listen to you whimper. Are your legs shaking too?” He teases, and you realize just how unsteady you are on your feet. His arm is the only thing keeping you firmly in place, as his twitching arousal rubs against you, and his hips rut in a way that provides him with a semblance of relief, even though he’s already fantasizing about how you’d feel wrapped around him.
You hadn’t even realized you were whimpering until he pointed it out. Now, you could barely silence yourself, only soft pleas falling between the quiet sounds. But you no longer knew what exactly you were pleading for—to be let go, to have something more. Especially now that a growing ache was forming between your thighs.
“I bet if I reach down, you’ll be soaked.” You shake your head in denial, but deep down, you know he’s right. No matter how hard you try to pull away or squirm against him, his hand won’t stop descending into the front of your shorts. His gloved fingers glide over the fabric of your lace panties, sending shivers down your spine.
He doesn’t stop there; instead, he pushes aside the fabric and presses a finger between your folds, applying a pressure you didn’t realize you needed to your clit. The pressure makes your hips buck, and instead of a whimper, a needy whine escapes your throat. His dark chuckle in response washes over you, and you feel a wave of shame for genuinely enjoying this.
The delightful sensation of his leather glove is so pleasurable that when he starts withdrawing his hand, it makes you whine, your hips instinctively moving to follow him.
“Look at you, you enjoy this, don’t you? Desperate slut.” His words are confirmed when he raises his hand, reveling in the wetness that coats his gloved fingers. To your surprise, he pushes them into your mouth, making you clean them off with a low growl of an order against your ear.
Beneath the mask he reveals in the sight of you and continues his mocking as he glides the blade of the knife along the front of your sleep shirt, just scraping the fabric. “Mm, you’re making this too easy. I had anticipated a fight. But no, you’re just a twitching mess.”
You despise yourself for loving it so much, for the gentle sounds emanating around his fingers and the way your cunt throbs with need, your arousal intensifying with his degrading words.
“Now, it’s time for some real fun.” He delights, pressing the tip of the blade against the fabric of your shirt. He twists it slightly before pulling it to tear, slicing it all the way up until the fabric is reduced to two hanging pieces at your chest. You gasp, feeling the cool air against your hardened nipples as he spreads the fabric further apart, intensifying your arousal.
Before you have a chance to comprehend what’s happening, he starts dragging you backward down the hallway and towards your bedroom.
-
When you reached the bedroom, he ordered you to strip completely. Now, he has your hands tied behind your back while you rub your soaking, wet cunt against the thick, black leather of his boot.
You want so intensely to hate this, to vehemently protest against him, yet every sound you make, every desperate shift of your hips, contradicts those thoughts.
Honestly, you’re enjoying this more than you’d ever dare admit.
“I knew you’d be a good little slut, just like you are in that video.” The mention of the video from him sends a wave of embarrassment across your already flushed skin, causing your eyes to dart away from him before he suddenly grabs your chin with a harsh grip, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at you, you’re gasping like a whimpering, bitch in heat. What’s got you so worked up? Is it me or the knife?”
From the corner of your eye, you catch the glint of silver from the blade, the one he’s been taunting you with. He traces it over your collarbone and throat, but not with enough force to cause any damage. The weight of it emphasizes the threat behind his words each time he promises to ‘slit your pretty little throat’ if you don’t follow his instructions. It’s what led you into this position, yet you find yourself desperate and needy, pleading for him to let you cum and even give you more because you’re aware of how far gone you are.
“Are you going to cum all over my boot like a good little slut?” he teases, and when you try to look away once more, you feel the unforgiving grip of his fingers in your hair, forcing your head back as he compels you to gaze upon him. “Do you need a reminder about not answering me, princess?”
You gasp when you feel the sharp, cutting sensation of the blade against your skin, at your collarbone. This time he’s applied enough pressure to create a small cut, a pool of blood forming. As he lifts the blade to show you the blood, he offers it towards your mouth.
“Lick it,” he commands, and you obey, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and lust. You watch him, fixated on the mask, as you roll your tongue over the flat edge of the blade. The warm metallic taste of your blood coats your tongue.
A moment later, he advances just enough to tilt his mask and press his lips against yours in a passionate exchange. His tongue forcefully enters your mouth, stealing and sharing the lingering taste of your blood, and you moan into his mouth in response. The taste of him is both familiar and electrifying, reminiscent of sweet watermelon halls.
When he breaks away, the mask is swiftly pulled back into place, thwarting any chance of catching a glimpse of your tormentor, but that concern becomes pushed aside when your mind grows clouded by the tight coil forming in your stomach as you careen closer to your climax. You almost don’t want to reach it, fearing the consequences of its end, yet also it being an acknowledgement of your enjoyment and present desire.
There’s no escaping the moment you start to crumble before him, not when you’re trembling and your moans are intensifying in volume.
“Come on, pretty little thing. Give me what I want. Make a mess for me.” He murmurs his encouragement, his eyes fixed on you behind the mask, locked onto the way your hips buck and you desperately grind against his boot, coating it with your arousal. He can sense that you’re restraining yourself and his fingers in your hair tug harshly, drawing your attention to him. “There’s no shame in it. No one’s watching except me. So cum for me, baby.”
It’s as if, on command, you follow his words and let go, feeling your body quiver as your release surges through you with a roaring heat, strained whimpers escaping your lips. You quickly feel yourself growing limp, your body exhausted as the adrenaline wears off, but you know that he hasn’t finished with you yet.
It’s as if you’re a doll, and he’s treating you like one, placing you on the bed and positioning you just the way he desires. You willingly submit, no longer resisting now because you don’t want to. You want this. Even after your recent orgasm, you feel yourself tightening around nothing, the overwhelming desire to be filled consuming you, and you’re certain that’s precisely what he’s going to do.
“Keep your legs spread wide for me, princess.” He says, pushing you down against the mattress as he shifts behind you. When you try to look up, you spot the mirror facing the bed and glance at your reflection. What a mess you are spread out for him—your ass pulled up and presented while your upper half is pressed to the mattress. In that moment, you realize he’s mimicking the position you were in, in the video.
“Please…” you whine, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel his gloved fingers gently stroke your wet folds.
“Hush, you’ll get exactly what we both know you want.” With his other hand, he strokes his cock, positioning himself behind you. His eyes scan your exposed body, taking in the way you tremble under his touch. “Oh, you’re soaking.”
Another whine escapes your lips, and you instinctively try to conceal your face with the flush of embarrassment. However, his gloved hand forcefully slaps between your thighs, right against your clit, causing you to yelp and lift your head.
“No hiding. I want to see you,” he warns, and your eyes dart to the mirror, where you catch a glimpse of his head turned. He’s watching you, and he wants to watch you while he’s fucking you. That sick bastard, you think, but perhaps you’re the sick one because you feel a strange thrill coursing through your body, your clit throbbing with anticipation at the thought of what's to come.
“So fucking wet,” he murmurs softly beneath his breath. As you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, your hips shift, trying to push back against him and you feel his harsh grip holding you firmly in place. “God, you’re such a desperate little slut,” he taunts, chuckling darkly.
The tip of him feels so big against you, yet you crave more, yearning for him to fill you up, despite the pain it’s already causing to feel him pressing into you.
There’s nothing gentle about the way he forcefully slides you, your walls stretching around him, struggling to accommodate him. A tear escapes and rolls down your cheek from the immense pressure he brings as he slides into you until he’s deeply buried, asserting his claim on you.
“God, you should see how well your pretty pussy is taking my cock.” He growls, gripping your hip firmly with one hand and the back of your neck with the other, pinning you down. He starts thrusting into you, his pace quickening with each stroke inside your tight walls.
The intense movement of his hips makes you cry out, sobs bubbling up your throat from the overwhelming pleasure as you feel him pounding deep into your stomach. “Please…” you choke out once more, unable to find any coherent words.
Did it hurt? Did it feel too good? Was it a delicious combination of both? Regardless, it already felt like too much for you to handle, and your fingers curl into your hands, still tied behind your back. It only makes it easier for him to grip onto you, forcing your entire body down onto the mattress as he slammed his hips against your ass.
“You feel so fucking good.” He groans, and you whimper, your body trembling from the intensity of another climax building within you. You can’t stop the tears that continue to fall; your sobs slip out between your moans, something he’s quick to notice. “That’s it, baby—keep crying for me. I want to feel those beautiful sobs as you come undone.”
That’s precisely what he experiences when you squeeze around him every time another sob rises in your throat, his cock throbbing within you. However, it’s just as he teeters over the edge that you follow, feeling him thrust himself deep into you as his cock twitches with the release of his warm cum, filling you—completely claiming you as his.
No amount of protest could have stopped him, especially since he never gave you any warning. Despite your whining and attempts to throw him off somehow, you’re pinned beneath him as he leans over you, caging your smaller frame beneath him. “Just take it,” he growls, making you feel even smaller as you tremble, unable to deny the way your own body falls apart with the knowledge that he’s cum inside you, filling you deeply, feeling the bulge of him in your stomach.
He remains buried inside you, twitching and throbbing as you squeeze him, as if holding him there, unwilling to let him go.
Neither of you moves, frozen in this moment. There’s a part of you that secretly doesn’t want to.
For a fleeting moment, your eyelids flutter, and your body succumbs to exhaustion. However, you’re jolted to your senses when you notice him raising his hand to remove his mask.
In the mirror opposite, you’re greeted by a familiar face that makes your stomach flip and your eyes widen. “Noah…” you breathe out, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers,
“Surprise, princess.”