Rae Writes Fiction

Another pearly bead of pre-cum drips from the flushed tip of his cock, sliding down his throbbing shaft and coating your knuckles. Your hand is merciless, sliding up and down, up and down, wrist twisting meanly each time it reaches the head.

Scud is half laying across your lap as you cradle him, head nestled in the crook of your arm, supporting his head. He presses his face against your chest, nuzzling against your soft skin, your flesh shining with his saliva from where his drool has wiped off onto you.

His cock is so red, practically purple from how hard he is. You've been teasing him for hours, coaxing him to his peak, letting him just grasp it, and then ripping it away. Again and again. Scud sniffles with every move of your hand, the glide so smooth and slick from the amount of pre he's leaking. You never need lube when he's worked up like this; he gets so messy and wet from the slightest of touches.

So sensitive.

"Mommy, please…" he whimpers, eyes fluttering shut. His hands scrabble for purchase, needing something, anything, to hold onto, to ground himself with. His long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, not gripping to make you speed up, not trying to dictate your pace — he would never do that, he knows better — simply resting there.

"Shh, shh, sweetheart, you're doing so perfect for me." His breath hitches when you increase the slow pace of your hand, squeezing on the upstroke. His hips automatically thrust up into your hand, arching off of the bed, desperately searching for more friction.

You tut at him, shaking your head in mock disappointment, looking at Scud with a stern frown. Your hand releases his aching shaft, moving away and delivering a sharp smack to his thigh. He whines from the sting, muscles tensing briefly from the shock of the blow. Fresh tears pool in his pretty eyes, collecting in his waterline before spilling over and down his flushed cheeks.

"Where's my good boy, hmm? I'm disappointed, baby, I thought you knew better."

And just like that, just like you were hoping, he starts to beg, voice shaking as he blurts out desperate plea after plea, whining and begging for forgiveness.

"Mama, mommy, please, please! N-need ya to touch me, mama, hurts so bad, need ya!" His voice cracks as he pleads, eyes wide and shining, so you decide take pity on him. Just a little.

You trail your fingertips, featherlight and gentle, up the vein on the underside of his cock. His dick jumps, the whine that spills from his lips drawn out and filthy, and you giggle at his reaction, cooing down at him. "God, you're just so cute!"

"D-don't—" he stutters, choking on his words, "mama don't call me that…"

"Hmm," you purse your lips, pretending to think about it for a second, "how about… no! I don't think you're in a position to tell me what to do right now, are you sweet boy?" He nods, frantic and oh so obedient, gazing up at you with big, wet eyes.

You stop teasing, for now at least, and smile sweetly down at him. He knows he's done for. "Move again and the next hit is to your dick."

He's really trying, you can tell. When you start to stroke him again, Scud remains still in your arms, frozen like a statue, breathing shakily. The faster you stroke, the harder you can tell he's struggling. His abs tense and flex with every cruel flick of your wrist, thighs beginning to tremble from how hard he's trying not to buck up into your hand.

He turns his face into your chest, whining and drooling against your skin, leaving it smeared in a mix of his tears and spit. Your breasts squish against his cheek when he presses up against them, nipples hardening from the slight friction.

When you look down at Scud, his eyes are glazed over and unfocused, fluttering shut and popping open whenever you switch up your rhythm. A litany of moans and whimpers escape his pretty pink lips, the sounds whiny and sweet, so frequent you don't even think he realises they're coming from him.

Scud's breath ghosts over your nipple and a shudder runs through you, every inch of your body extra sensitive after denying yourself for so long, all of your attention having been on Scud, focusing on teasing him. The first flick of his tongue against your hardened peak has a shaky moan slipping past your lips, the pleasure shooting straight to your core.

Your free hand moves to tangle in his hair, pushing him forwards and practically smothering his face in your tits — not that he minds in the slightest. Soft, pink lips wrap around your nipple, your hand momentarily squeezing his cock at the feeling. Warm, wet heat and suction cloud your mind as Scud sucks like his life depends on it, completely focused on the task at hand.

His free hand comes up to paw at your other breast, rolling and pinching the sensitive bud between his calloused fingertips. To reward him, you pay extra attention to the throbbing head on your next upstroke, dipping your thumb into the slit and smirking as more pre spurts out, gathering it on the pad of your thumb before moving it down to tease the sensitive underside.

You lean your head down and whisper your next words directly into his ear, nibbling the lobe before speaking.

"Cum, sweetheart, make a mess for me."

His lips release your nipple with a soft pop, Scud's head tipping back, lips parting as the bliss of his peak washes over him. Hot spurts erupt from him, his cries becoming breathier and more desperate, body shaking from the intensity. His warm, thick spend coats your knuckles, easing the way further as you work him through his orgasm.

"Such a good boy, my good boy, you did so well, sweet thing."

Scud's body trembles as he comes down from his high, teary eyes blinking open slowly. He gazes up at you, a dopey smile spreading across his flushed face, hand coming up to trace the contours of your jaw, your cheekbones, his touch reverent and soft.

"Thank you, mommy," he whispers, boneless and pliant in your arms.

"Anything for my sweet boy." You press gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from his face when you lean back up. "Now, I think it's time to return the favour, don't you?"

First, he had you up against the wall, wrists pinned over your head, driving into you with his thumb pressed to your clit. Then, you were bent over the bed, face-down-ass-up while he pulled your hair and whispered the filthiest praises in your ear. Now, you were pinned on your back, your man caged between your legs, only a breath between your bodies as he hit spots inside you you could never reach on your own.

All because of a Ghostface mask.

You’d found the “silly thing”, as you called it, when you were helping your partner clean out his closet. The two of you had finally secured your dream home after months of spending evenings on Zillow, attending open houses, and having every offer beaten by rich couples who offered cash up front. You finished your packing early, excited to finally escape your prick of a landlord and be able to come home to your man every night, and given that your partner was far more disorganized than you, you agreed to provide some help.

One afternoon, you were throwing a myriad of non-essentials into boxes—clothes that’d fallen off of hangers, random bits he’d accumulated as part of the ADHD habit of collecting hobbies, and whatever was too big for the junk drawer. Something in the far back corner of his closet caught your eye, its bright white surface a juxtaposition to the dark grey blanket concealing it. Pulling it out, a smile crept across your face as you immediately recognized the mask of the iconic Scream franchise killer.

“Josh? What the hell is this?”

He peered back over his shoulder just in time to see you hold it up to your face, tilting your head like you were studying him. He practically snorted trying not to laugh. “Cool, right? Got that thing ages ago.”

You rotated it in your hands, fingertips gliding along its smooth curves. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, tossing an unfolded t-shirt into a plastic storage bin. “Can’t find it for the life of me.”

You cocked an eyebrow, biting your tongue to stifle the giggle that demanded to slip past your lips. “Why not throw it away, then? No sense in keeping the silly thing otherwise.”

“You never know, babygirl,” he quipped. “That 'silly thing' could come in handy one day.”

With a disgruntled sigh, you tossed the mask to the side. It collided with a box with a soft thud, fabric lying in a heap with the rubber face down, making its home somewhere amongst ripped jeans and forgotten hobbies. Every free moment you’d had over the last few months had been dedicated to house hunting, committing real estate jargon to memory, and finalizing all of the logistics. There wasn’t a single scrap of energy you could spare to argue with him on the matter. 

“If you say so.”

While in the beginning stages of unpacking on your first day in your new home–searching for something you couldn’t even recall by now–you’d found it again. But when you showed Scud, he surprised you with a proposition you simply couldn’t refuse. One that lit a roaring fire in your gut and sparked a flutter between your legs. You’d been discussing wanting to be more experimental in the bedroom, so one conversation and an established safe word later, here you were, your partner donning the mask and pounding into you with a bruising grip on your hips.

Come in handy it certainly did.

The squeals of the oak bed frame and your sweat-slicked bodies slapping in sync echoed off the drywall. Every ridge, every pulsating vein felt like heaven against your walls as he stretched you again and again. The delicious, tingling burn from earlier was long gone, fading into something far sweeter, far more delectable. While your body remained anchored beneath him, your mind was in the clouds, flying high, your entire world reduced to nothing but him, his sultry words, and his cock.

Normally, sexy time with your man was giggly, sweet, hot all at the same time, and you never walked away anything less than fully satisfied. But this was different. Different in a way you didn’t know you’d been craving. Putting on the mask seemed to give him the confidence to devour you in ways he’d only ever fantasized about. It unleashed something, a side of him that you’d never seen and he’d never explored. A ravenous side that made you clamp down around him so hard that it bordered on pleasure and pain. One that’d already gotten two orgasms out of you and still wasn’t finished.

This was far from lovemaking.

Your nails dug into his back, crescent-shaped imprints forming in his skin as you clung to him like you were afraid you’d fall. Stray tears seeped between your lashes, and a string of soft whimpers dripped off your tongue, sweet as honey.

He may have been muffled behind the mask, but his words of praise were no less sexy. “Takin’ me so good.”

Deft fingers wandered up your side, his featherlight, almost ticklish touch a stark contrast to the way he jackhammered into you. When you attempted to wriggle away from the overstimulation, he responded with a sharp snap of his hips, an unspoken reminder of how much you’d begged for this, said you wanted it, needed it. Scud knew you’d use your safe word if it truly were too much. But regardless of how sensitive, how overwhelmed and wrecked you felt, it was blissful all the same. He chuckled at your desperation before snaking his hand into your hair and tugging, tilting your head back to encourage you to look in the mirror propped up on the wall behind you. If you weren’t already overstimulated, you’d be mortified at the mess staring back at you.

Tears streaked from your lash line to your jaw, leaving dark trails of mascara in their wake. Your perfect curls from before were disheveled beyond comprehension, and the lipstick you’d worn at your man’s request was everywhere but where it should be, the cherry hue coating your chin and cheeks. He met your gaze in the mirror, and you could practically feel the smirk hidden beneath the Ghostface hovering over you.

“See how beautiful you look?” His hips snapped against yours, and the gush that followed was obscene, borderline humiliating. He pulled out, his pace achingly slow, dragging his tip over that spongy spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. “All wrecked?” A dark chuckle reverberated from his throat, watching you squirm and grit your teeth below him, and he snapped his hips again, pulling a pathetic whine from your lips. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

The mask’s hollow black eyes remained locked on you, admiring the way your mouth fell open and your cheeks flushed fire-engine red. But behind those empty pools of darkness were his somber ocean eyes—the ones that saw you at your worst and loved you through it, that scanned every crowded room for you, that found you beautiful whether you were all dolled up for a night out or fresh out of bed with morning breath. And that flicker of realization wound the coil in your lower abdomen even tighter.

He released his grip on your hair, his skilled digits slithering between your bodies and dipping between your folds. You bucked involuntarily at the sensation, unbridled ecstasy shooting straight to your core with the friction of little figure-eights over that sensitive bundle of nerves. His voice was thick, raspy, and the words fell from his tongue like a prayer, a plea, as if he needed to feel you unravel. “C’mon, sweetheart. Gimme one more.”

Your thighs constricted him, heels pressing into the small of his back. You weren’t sure you had it in you—you were already worn out from two—but as the coil in your lower abdomen twisted tighter, it became clear your body had other plans. Your breasts bounced in tandem with his thrusts, and the friction of your nipples grazing his chest was the final bit of stimulation needed to push you over the edge.

“Oh my god, Josh—oh—fuck—fuckfuckfuck—”

Pure, unadulterated bliss ripped through you, every cell in your body singing his praises as you came undone. Your whole frame shook, clinging to him for dear life as your walls spasmed around him, desperate to pull him deeper. Your sweet nectar seeped out around him, soaking his length, eyes screwed shut to allow yourself to drown every wave crashing over you. All you could muster up were broken moans and shattered cries of his name, the combination of his tip nudging that magic spot inside you and his thumb mercilessly working your clit almost too much to bear.

“Good—shit…good girl,” he groaned, voice wavering. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock.”

He was teetering right on the edge, evident in the way he twitched inside you and the strain between his words. In the rapid heaving of his chest and his relentless pace. But he held on with whatever thread of composure remained, waiting for you to say the magic word that would drag him straight to paradise.

You had barely anything left, aftershocks still wracking your body and your lungs still crying out for air. But between sharp inhales, you whispered the one word that would give him the relief he desperately craved.

“Please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

With one final sheath and a moan of your name, he emptied into your deepest point, thick ropes of hot release coating your walls. His rhythmic precision faltered, turned erratic and sloppy as he tried to fuck you through his own high. His muscles rippled under your touch, grunts growing breathy as he buried his face in your neck, the mask’s fabric hood tickling your skin. He was a man possessed, refusing to let up until he’d been milked for every last drop.

After another one, two, three lazy thrusts, he crashed on top of you, your chests heaving in harmony as you both fought to catch your breath. You didn’t move, didn’t say anything at first, knowing no amount of words could do such a session justice. You simply held each other, basking in the afterglow of a mind-numbing high. The scent of arousal and musk swirled thick and heavy around you, settling into the silence between inhales.

Your declaration was the first to permeate the still air, voice trembling as you still fought for air. “I’ve…never seen you that…intense before.”

He reached up to pull the mask off, but before he could, you lifted your head just enough to place one tender, lingering kiss to the mask’s clothed mouth. It was just meant to be that—a chaste ‘thank you’ for the wildest ride of your life. But then his lips moved against yours, his tongue darting out to feel you through the fabric. The soft, surprised hitch of your breath was quickly swallowed by his open mouth, and despite having nothing left to give, you fought to kiss back. It was sloppy, messy, tongues trying to tangle through the sopping barrier between you. If you weren’t already fully spent, muscles now turned to jelly, that would’ve lit that fire in you all over again.

Only once your head lulled back did he remove the mask, tugging it off and blindly tossing it onto the floor behind him. Now, you could properly take in the sight of him blissed out above you, coming down from the highest high he’d ever hit. Could drink in the sight of his pupils swallowing the color of his irises, the stray strands of hair sticking to the sweat dotting his hairline, and the silly, languid grin tugging at his lips. And you’d be damned if you didn’t say it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever laid eyes on.

“Seein’ how you reacted…I don’t know. It did somethin’ to me.” His kiss to your jaw was delicate, tender, a gentle outreach to soothe you and bring you back down to Earth. One turned into two, then a series of pecks that traveled down your neck. “Brought somethin’ out.”

“Well…whatever it brought out,” you croaked between gasps, “tell it…it can come back again.” Your eyelids felt weighed down, heavy like lead, fighting to close in spite of your best efforts. “But maybe not…for a while.”

His kisses trailed back up, taking the same path, pressing a final one to the sweet spot just below your ear that lingered a little longer than the rest. He cupped your face with one hand, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb and smearing mascara up your cheekbone. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah,” you affirmed with a weak nod, the rapid rise and fall of your chest finally beginning to steady out. “I’m…fucking fantastic, actually .”

He nodded in the general direction of the mask, a playful glint in his baby blues. “Still think it’s silly?”

You swallowed hard, throat parched, feeling tongue-tied as you tried to meet his sass with equal snark. But your rebuttal came out slurred, almost drunken despite being stone-cold sober. “Not…even’a lllllil’ bit.”

“Still with me, beautiful?” he teased, gently patting your cheek.

All you could do was hum in response, letting your eyes finally flutter closed and your body go limp, unable to resist its demand for rest.

He pulled out of you slowly, eyeing between your bodies to watch the mess you’d created spill from your center onto the sheets, pooling beneath you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” With an equally amused and exhausted chuckle, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, smiling softly as a familiar flush crept up your neck. “And then, we’re takin’ a nap. Think we both need one after that.”

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