👀🔪

You stopped in the dusty street, raising your eyes skyward in awe as you admired the beautiful swirling galaxies and twinkling stars, brighter and more defined than you had ever seen them before. You allowed yourself only a moment to enjoy the sight before hurrying along, side-eyeing a wayward buzzard as it screeched its displeasure from an overturned cart in the street.

You climbed the steps leading to the saloon’s main entrance, eager to get off the street and find somewhere a little less out in the open, your eyes scanning the establishment quickly as you crossed the threshold.

The inside of the old building was a scattering of overturned furniture, tables and chairs covered in a fine layer of dust and pockmarked by bullet holes.

You cast a cursory glance over the dead bodies, frozen permanently in the entity’s snapshot, no longer human bodies but now props to set a stage.

Your eyes lingered on the bar before passing over it quickly, knowing from experience that nothing of value would be found there. You had conducted a thorough investigation the first time you were here -a search for resources of course, nothing more- finding only shattered glass and a single unmarked bottle, the lone swig of alcohol inside burning your mouth in a way that had you tasting it for the rest of the trial no matter how many times you spit.

But off to one side rested the shining star of the old saloon, an old piano that had completely enthralled you the first time you saw it and every time since.

The instrument in question was the oldest piano you’d ever seen, exciting but not all that much of a surprise given the setting. You dragged the rickety chair from its place under the keybed and took a seat, ignoring the small screech of the chair legs on the old floor as you did so.

You spread your fingers over the keys, your touch feather-light, unbothered by the accumulated dust and grime on your pristine gloves as the piano banged out its own discordant tune.

There was the light creaking of worn floorboards behind you paired with the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps as they approached. Boots, you parsed easily. Definitely boots.

You felt a flash of fear, the feeling lasting only a handful of seconds before you forced yourself to settle again. You took a moment to think of the other survivors that had entered the trial with you. Too loud to be Ace’s loafers, the wrong sound altogether to be Yui’s sandals.

Jeff then.

You straightened in your chair, casting an excited glance over your shoulder. “Jeff,” you beamed. “Check this out-“

“Not Jeff,” the tall man rasped behind you.

Your blood ran cold, all traces of your smile vanishing and eyes widening in dawning horror as your entire body went rigid with fear.

The gunslinger’s hand was on your shoulder suddenly, his grip punishing, and you spun, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of the man towering over you. Your mouth dropped dumbly in surprise as you moved immediately to stand, to run maybe, a startled noise instead tearing itself from your throat as the cowboy shoved you backwards so hard that the old wooden chair groaned in protest.

You noticed his grin before anything else, crooked and unkind as he looked at you. His eyes were intense, sharp and predatory, alight with the thrill of having caught you off guard.

‘My heartbeat,’ your brain supplied unhelpfully, gloved hand flying to your chest as your heartbeat suddenly roared to life behind your ribs. “Why...” you trailed off, tongue darting out nervously to wet your bottom lip. “Why didn’t I hear-“

His grin widened, strange eyes dragging leisurely and without shame from your face to trail the length of your body. “Reckon you just weren’t listening, girlie.”

You followed his gaze, puzzled briefly.

You could instantly feel the blood rush to your cheeks, fear pushed aside and replaced with embarrassment to find that your skirt had ridden up when he shoved you backwards, the already short hem pushed back enough to reveal the tops of your lacy stockings and garters, decorated with small, intricate bows.

You shifted in your chair, moving instinctively to press your thighs together and smooth the fabric back into place before you stopped yourself, a piece of advice given to you by another survivor ringing clear as a bell in your ears.

“Try to catch them off guard."

‘Sure,’ you thought. ‘Why not?’

You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to compose yourself under the man’s sharp gaze, lashes fanning against your flushed cheeks as you closed your eyes. When you opened them again, you tilted your head slightly, allowing a strand of loose hair to slip free from behind your ear and teasingly brush the tops of your breasts. You shifted forward in your seat, pleased to note the obvious way that the gunslinger’s eyes drifted to your chest again. You spread your fingers over your collarbone, making a show of it as you arched your back to give the man a better view.

“Ain’t above fightin’ dirty, I see,” the tall man scoffed.

You ignored the comment in favor of action. You reached towards him, willing your hands to steady themselves as you hooked pseudo-confident fingers behind the man’s belt and tugged him playfully towards you. “Reckon we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mister,” you drawled, tongue darting out to wet your lips in a way that you hoped read more sultry than nervous.

There was a moment where the man simply looked at you, head tilting slightly as if mulling the phrase over. He seemed to come to his conclusion quickly enough, perhaps deciding that your sudden exaggerated southern drawl wasn’t meant to offend or that this wasn’t some kind of trap he was about to fall into.

“That so?” The man grinned. He stepped forward into your space obligingly, seeming to humor the invitation of closeness. His eyes still held that unsettling glint to them, too bright and too shiny. Unnatural. Inhuman.

Regardless, you were pleased when he dropped his gaze again, his strange eyes focusing on the slight rustle of your heavy skirt as you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him.

This was easy. This was something you could do.

You felt your heart rate spike again when he shifted his weapon in his hands, your shoddily crafted facade dangerously close to slipping as you fought the urge to flinch. You allowed your eyes to linger on the gun for only a moment before sliding your gaze instead to his face, forcing an air of casualness. “I bet if you put that gun down, we could find a better use for those hands of yours, cowboy.”

You knew the gunslinger could end this little game right now if he wanted, could pick you up and carry you to a hook and there would be nothing you could do about it. But the thought of escaping the situation (or the trial, for that matter) was no longer at the forefront of your mind, a concept that emboldened but -more importantly- thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite articulate.

That’s all this entire scenario was; just one big trust fall.

The gunslinger made a small noise at the offer, over exaggerated as if mulling it over. “Hmmm…” he said, stretching the sound long enough that you had to tamp down your fear again. After a brief pause,  there was the dull sound of steel meeting wood as the man reached past you to prop his gun in the corner where the piano met the wall.

All at once the tension seemed to leave your chest, like a bubble that had burst behind your rib cage. You exhaled softly through your nose, breathing a silent sigh of relief as you cast your eyes upwards to see now that the large man’s expression truly had shifted from ‘firmly murderous’ to ‘more than slightly amused.’

With his hands now free, the gunslinger reached down to cup your jaw, calloused thumb passing idly over your lips as if inspecting you.

“My, you certainly are a pretty thing, aren’t ya,” he mused. “Never woulda guessed what with all the blood yer always covered in.”

Without the immediate threat of death looming over your head, you allowed your shoulders to loosen. You shifted forward in your seat, one hand sliding from his belt to linger now on his thigh. Time to really go for it. “Maybe we could work out some kind of...trade.”

“Oh?” He asked, smug. “And what could you possibly offer me that I couldn’t just take?”

“Been told I’m pretty good with my mouth,” you said matter of factly, purposely ignoring the second half of the question. You tilted your chin upwards slightly, both hands coming up now to catch the gunslinger’s hand as his thumb lingered by your mouth. You parted your lips slightly, taking the tip of the aforementioned digit into your mouth and closing your teeth playfully around it.

The taste that hit your tongue wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought it might be, all dust and faded tobacco and some sort of bitter machine oil. Certainly not a deterrent. “Just say the word, cowboy, and I’ll get on my knees and take you for one hell of a ride.”

The gunslinger said nothing at first, as if processing the information he was given. Finally after a moment he spoke.

“I’ll do you one better, girlie,” he grinned. He moved quickly then, giving you only a few seconds to process what was said before he was lifting you out of your chair, settling you with ease on the dusty piano top. “Won’t even have to get on your knees for it.”

You froze at the suddenness with which he moved you, reminiscent of a deer in headlights. You regained your bravado quickly however,  lifting one thigh and then the other as you freed your dress from where it had become trapped beneath you. “Is that so?” You asked.

He watched the movement of the fabric with hungry eyes, his calloused hands moving from their resting position at your waist downwards, trailing your hips before settling firmly on your closed thighs.

Your heart leapt into your throat as exploratory fingers dipped below your skirt to find the top of one stocking, hooking a finger beneath the garter and snapping it lightly against your thigh. You squirmed, your eyes glued helplessly on his long fingers as he began to push the fabric up and out of the way.

“Reckon you’ll have to pardon my eagerness,” the man said, though the crooked grin on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t as apologetic as he tried to appear. “Suppose if I was a gentleman I might be takin’ this a little slower,” he mused, meeting your eyes before continuing. “But it’s been a long time since I was a gentleman…and I’m in a mighty big hurry to get started.”

From here the gunslinger made quick work of your garter clasps, his deft fingers moving immediately upwards to catch the edge of your delicate ruffled bloomers.

You could feel yourself blushing heavily in anticipation, too warm, almost dizzying as the heat crept further into your chest and face.

The man paused, his predatory gaze finally straying from your lower half to meet your eyes. His lopsided smirk widened further as he seemed to catch sight of your frazzled expression. “You pick these out?” He asked teasingly, tugging playfully at the fabric.

You opened your mouth to speak, your long overheated brain struggling and failing to churn out a suitable answer. “No,” you said instead, decidedly less than intelligent.

He chuckled at this, seemingly amused as he worked the undergarments down your thighs and then over your boots with ease.

You inhaled sharply at the experimental prodding of his fingers at your entrance, the almost gentle way he pressed forward before withdrawing, spreading your growing slick in his wake.

The sounds of your wetness were already audible -embarrassingly so- even over your shaky breathing and the screech of the buzzards outside. You closed your eyes, attempting to ignore the lewdness of the sound but finding this only served to deepen your blush and make you wetter.

“This doin’ somethin’ for you, sweetheart?” The cowboy asked, entirely too self-satisfied for your liking. “Or are you just easily excited?”

You chose to remain silent, a futile attempt to preserve the small amount of dignity you had left.

When he placed his hand on your middle and guided you back gently, you took the hint, supporting your weight with your arms as you leaned backwards to give him better access. From here he bent forward to get a better look at you, large hands forcing your thighs wide, grunting in annoyance when the brim of his large hat bumped against your stomach.

“Damn hat,” he muttered, his tone edging on irritated as he all but snatched the offending accessory from his head and placed it swiftly on top of your own. “Hold this for me, would you?”

You reached up reflexively, grabbing the brim of the old hat and lifting it slightly where it had fallen into your eyes.

You jolted at the first touch of his lips, sudden and bold, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his harsh stubble on your delicate inner thighs.

“Christ,” you said, too caught off guard to say anything else.

“We’re just gettin’ started.”

His mouth was hot against you, impossibly wet, the movements of his tongue languid and unhurried, thorough as if he planned to explore every inch of you and thought himself to have all the time in the world. The gunslinger’s hands were fire where they met your skin, his calloused fingertips tracing the edges of your stockings with teasing almost feather-light touches.

You lost yourself in a sea of heat, nerve endings alight with pleasure as he really set to work. In the distance you heard a generator roar to life, so far away that you weren’t entirely sure you had heard it at all. How many was that now? Two? Three?

He flattened his tongue against you, the pressure suddenly merciless when combined with the chapped lips and the barest hint of the man’s teeth. You began to squirm, the noises now slipping freely from your lips before you could stop them. You reached for him, your shaking fingers grasping desperately at his coat collar to drag him in closer before you could think better of it.

The gunslinger shifted his weight from one leg and then the other, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the piano top and closer still to his mouth. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder, grinning against your inner thigh as he found a new angle that seemed to please him.

You made a small noise when he pressed one of his long fingers inside of you unexpectedly, a whine slipping from between parted lips as he twisted the digit this way and that. Your hips jolted involuntarily, the action surprising you in its abruptness. Your roving hands flew from the uncomfortable hold on his collar to scrabble uselessly at whatever else you could find, settling eventually on the cowboy’s hat as it rested on your head.

You grabbed the brim with both hands, pulling it down to hide your embarrassment as the gunslinger worked you open with all the experience of a man who had done this many times.

“Now, now,” he chastised, one arm moving from where it curled around your thigh to reach up, pulling the hat from your hands easily and replacing it atop your head in its original position. He flicked the brim teasingly, knocking it upwards and away from your eyes. “No hidin’, girlie.”

You gasped when he added a second finger alongside the first, your body suddenly overwhelmed entirely by the sensation. You twisted in his hold, thighs quaking and toes curling in your boots as the man continued his onslaught.

He chuckled then, a deep rumbling sound that sent another wave of liquid fire to your lower abdomen.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya? So warm and welcomin’ for me...squeezing my fingers like you ain’t got no desire to ever see me go,” he teased. His cheeks were flushed, obvious now where you weren’t entirely sure before, sun damaged face ruddy even beneath the thin layer of dirt that coated him. His breath was hot where it fanned against your inner thighs, something you were acutely aware of as he went on. “…and wetter than a goddamn thunderstorm already,” he continued with a grin, seeming to revel in your squirming. “You sure don’t disappoint, do ya?”

You could feel your face heat impossibly further under the scrutiny, shaking legs attempting and failing to squeeze shut subconsciously as the man’s words began to register in your delayed brain.

He gave another raspy laugh, as if amused by the halfhearted attempt.

“Aww, now don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he grinned, turning his head to deliver a playful nip to your inner thigh. You could feel his large hands on your trembling knees, spreading them to their previous positions and then a little beyond that, exposing you obscenely to his hungry gaze.

As he brought his mouth back to your heated flesh, you realized you had never felt like this before, so entirely overwhelmed and thoroughly devoured.

This was going to ruin you.

There was movement to your right, a flash of pink just beyond the window, and you shifted your eyes to it instinctively.

Ace’s eyes were unreadable behind his reflective lenses, his lips pressed into a tense line, more serious perhaps than you had ever seen him. He lifted his hand slowly, raising his thumb first in question before rotating his wrist nearly a full 180 degrees and giving the universal signal for thumbs down.

You blinked slowly in confusion, eyes moving from the man’s hand then to his face and then back again. You knew you were supposed to say something here, or maybe do something. Your thought process was slowed nearly to nothing as the cowboy fucked you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue.

You were surprised to hear the tall man speak suddenly, the sound all but snapping you from your trance as you continued to stare with unfocused eyes towards the newcomer.

“He’s askin’ if you’re alright,” the gunslinger said, finally dragging himself from your lower half as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. He sneered, shooting a scathing look towards the interruption, impatient in a way you knew would mean trouble for Ace later. “Reckon you should answer him so we can go about our business.” Here he paused, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilted his head teasingly at you. “Unless yer lookin’ to give the man a show.”

You mulled this over for a moment, seconds stretching on, not so much entertaining the idea of giving Ace a front row seat to your escapade so much as trying to remember how to string together words to make a coherent thought. “Oh,” you said finally, licking idly at your lips. Right. “I’m…I’m good,” you called, your voice cracking under the strain.

“Just good, huh?” The gunslinger teased. His long, dexterous fingers crept back to their original positions on your flushed skin. “Thinkin’ we can do a little better than just good.”

In the time it took for you to realize what was about to happen, he was on you again, delving forward to press his tongue inside of you once more.

You arched in surprise, sitting completely upright now as opposed to your relaxed, blissed out posture from only a moment ago, your own fingers twitching restlessly against your thighs. You gasped softly, eyes darting towards Ace again to find that his expression had changed entirely, smirk curling his lips now where only concern had been before. He tipped his cap at you, head tilted in a small nod and his grin growing ever broader when you reached up reflexively to tip the cowboy’s hat in return.

And then as quickly as the gambler appeared, he was gone, your attention shifting immediately back to the gunslinger as he pressed his fingers inside you again. You reveled in the delicious stretch, the digits thick and pleasant as he scissored them within you. Your legs shook, twinging muscles threatening to cramp as the gunslinger held them in their current positions, stretched too wide for too long.

Your hand dove to grab the edge of the piano top when his tongue found your clit, circling it first before beginning to lick it, all teasing thrown out the window now as he set to work in earnest.

“Quite the gentleman droppin’ in to check on you,” the cowboy sneered between punishing licks. His eyes cut suddenly towards the window, as if scanning for the other man. He gave a pleased hum to see that the other man had moved along, the noise vibrating deliciously against your skin. “Was wonderin’ when he was gonna make himself known,” the gunslinger grinned. “Been standing there an awful long time just a’watchin’.”

“If it was anyone else, I’d probably have the common sense to be embarrassed,” you gasped, head tipped back now as you lost yourself in the rhythm of his long fingers as they rocked in and out. “Ace…” you continued, breath hitching as the gunslinger picked up his pace. “Ace is Ace.”

“Not a fan of that one,” the cowboy said offhandedly. “Beat me in cards once. He cheats.”

“He’s just lucky.”

“He cheats,” the man said again, firm, the tone brooking no argument. The bottom half of the cowboy’s face was shiny and wet, and you found yourself distracted by his tongue as it slid from between his chapped lips to run his tongue through it.

“Okay,” you said dumbly. “Okay.”

There was the abrupt sound of a generator being completed, a sudden blinding brightness that shone through the windows and had you squinting your eyes.

“Ah,” the gunslinger said. “Reckon that’s my cue to finish this up.”

You nearly arched off the piano top when he dove back in purposefully, all tongue and lips and fingers that plunged in and out, in and out. He pinned you easily as you squirmed, movements becoming increasingly more wild as he continued his merciless assault. You could feel the build up in your lower stomach, nerve endings alight as your body struggled to process the gunslinger’s ministrations.

When had you started panting?

“Maybe if you ask real sweet, I’ll - “

“Please,” you said immediately, the word falling from your lips before he could finish his thought. You weren’t above begging. You were so close now, teetering on the precipice, any bit of hesitancy you had before completely thrown out the window in the wake of your impending orgasm.

You began to plead in earnest, the same word spoken over and over again -please, please, please- so many times now that the word began to lose its meaning.

You were beyond incoherent, you knew, entirely incomprehensible as the cowboy worked you so thoroughly that you could swear you saw stars. “Please,” you begged, desperate in a way that would surely embarrass you later. “Please, please.”

The gunslinger said something in his gravelly voice, his tone distinctly pleased but overshadowed by your shameless begging. When his thumb met your clit, you gave a sharp inhale as you were pushed over the edge, less a gentle step into the unknown and more a runaway train careening off the tracks.

Despite the build up, you were entirely unprepared for the orgasm that tore through you. It was all encompassing, intense in a way that you had never experienced. Your entire body shuddered, knees and thighs quaking on either side of the gunslinger’s head, thoroughly overwhelmed. You whined when he continued to lick into you despite the overstimulation, his long fingers still pumping in and out even as you squirmed and twisted.

Then all at once the stimulation was gone and you could breathe again.

The gunslinger began to pull away from you, his voice barely muffled against your skin as he spoke once more. His voice was deep, husky and too low to hear over the blood that still rushed loudly in your own ears.

“What?” You asked, flushed chest still heaving as your head continued to clear. You felt like you were underwater, like you could see the cowboy’s mouth moving but couldn’t make your brain understand what was being said.

The gunslinger straightened, finally returning to his full height as he wiped the slick off his face with one dusty sleeve. He opened his mouth again, a sudden sickening ‘pop’  filling the air as he corrected his crooked jaw. He gave a soft grunt of pain, one hand coming up to cup his face in a way that indicated that this was not an unusual occurrence.

“Said my jaw is hurtin’ like a sonuvabitch,” he repeated, grimacing as he shifted his jaw from one side and then the other as if trying to keep it from becoming stiff again. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t make it worth my while, though.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, overtly aware of the awkwardness as it began to seep back into the situation without his hands and mouth to occupy you.

You made a small noise of surprise when he grabbed you around your waist suddenly, lifting you from the piano and setting you down as easily as he had lifted you in the first place. Your legs felt wobbly underneath you, unsteady, a feeling you tried to brush away as you smoothed your skirt back into a position you deemed acceptable.

The gunslinger watched the movement of your skirt with rapt attention, much in the same way he’d watched it earlier when you were trying to tempt him.

”Nothin’ left to do but leave,” the tall man said idly. That strange glint had returned to his eyes, any warmth fading as he reached behind you for his weapon. “Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.”

Uh oh.

“Go on now,” he grinned, all teeth, unkind and dangerous in a way that sent a chill down your spine. He stepped into your space, standing nearly two heads taller than you as he plucked his hat from your head. “Trust me when I say you don’t wanna test me.”

You yelped when he delivered a sudden sharp slap to your rear, the contact finally spurning you into action. You stumbled down the saloon stairs and back onto the dusty street, one arm coming up to block the too-bright light as your eyes struggled to adjust.

Behind you, the gunslinger laughed, raspy and low. “Find me in the fog any time, girlie.”

You shot one last glance over your shoulder as you hurried along, making your way quickly towards the nearest gate as it loomed heavy and industrial at the end of the street.

In the distance you heard a scream, ear piercing and guttural. You sucked in a breath, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other as if debating what to do, the cowboy’s words from earlier echoing suddenly in your head.

‘Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.’

In the distance another scream rang out, echoing across the prairie.

First of all, Michael will never admit to wanting to be dominated. He’s a stubborn asshole like that. But believe me when I say that if he wasn’t entirely into it, it would not be happening.

You do have to restrain him anytime you want to dominate him otherwise he will just take what he wants and will completely ruin your fun. He’s got exactly zero chill.

Dick? Strap on? Doesn’t matter. Dude takes it like a champ.

Likes being fucked the way he fucks; hard, fast, totally without mercy. 

However, if you absolutely want to destroy him, a slow, deep dicking is the way to do it. But don’t draw it out too long or he will 100% break whatever you have him restrained with and then you’re in for it.

Take off his mask while he’s restrained. That is THE only time you’re going to see his handsome face. And it’s like you might die later but it’s totally worth it.

Depending on his mood, the whole domination thing? Yeah, might not work out. You’ve got to catch him at juuuuuust the right time. But with Michael, it’s nearly impossible to tell when the right time is because of who he is as a person. Listen, what I’m saying is good luck. 

But when he IS in the right mood, he’ll pretty much let you do whatever you want to him. But don’t for one second think he isn’t going to pay you back tenfold once he gets free.

And he always gets free.

“Are you going to bite me, Michael?” You asked, head tilted slightly to one side and voice level even as his icy glare threatened to chill you to the bone. His lower lip was soft under the pad of your thumb, pale pink and pliant as you applied gentle pressure, your tongue coming out to wet your own bottom lip in response.

Michael’s mask had come off immediately, pulled gently over his head the moment you had made sure he was fully restrained. He had tugged at his bonds in response, biceps flexing, the headboard above him giving a groan in warning at the sudden pressure but holding firm.

Michael’s expression was carefully schooled now, neutral with the exception of his eyes -one dark brown and the other milky white, as if blinded by some kind of trauma- as they cut into you, sharper now than any knife he had turned on you thus far. ‘Come closer and find out,’ they seemed to say, challenging you wordlessly.

You hummed thoughtfully before removing your thumb from his lips altogether, the intuitive feeling that Michael would undoubtedly bite you hard enough to draw blood unappealing enough to have you reconsidering your approach. Your hand trailed to his cheek, his gray stubble soft under your lightly grasping fingers and his intense eyes never wavering from your face even as your wandering digits traced his jawline.

Your hands moved from his jaw to his throat then, your demeanor unperturbed as you trailed confident fingers through the sparse patches of silver hair that dusted his broad chest and taut lower stomach.

Michael’s body was stiff under yours, unyielding, all hard muscle and tightly wound tendons even in his old age, coiled like a predator prepared to strike. He gave a sudden harsh tug at his bindings then, head tilting backwards and eyes flickering from your face to look finally at his bound wrists.

Your own gaze shifted to his hands where they flexed above his head, restless, and you found yourself wondering how much longer you had before Michael decided that enough was enough.

You were hyper aware of eyes on you the entire night, the eeriness of Michael’s white mask as he hovered just at the edge of your peripheral, so stiff and unmoving you had mistaken him as a feature of the treeline more than once. He had watched for hours as you gave out sweets to trick-or-treaters, unwavering, his intense gaze following you as you rose finally from your seat on the top step, entering your home and flicking the porch light off to indicate that you were no longer giving out candy.

You had taken your time putting on your costume, catching the pale visage of his mask reflected in your mirror more than once through the window over your shoulder. You righted the fabric of your ensemble, giving yourself a last once-over in the mirror before slipping your shoes onto your feet and heading for the door.

The party you were attending was some twenty minutes away at the edge of town, and as you stepped off your front porch and into the chill of the October night air, you noticed suspiciously that Michael was nowhere in sight. You hummed, unbothered as you got into your car and buckled your seatbelt, sliding the key into the ignition with a click. The car roared to life around you and for a moment you sat there, fingers drumming idly on the steering wheel as you allowed the vehicle to warm up for the drive. You fiddled with the dial on your radio, selecting your usual station and then turning in your seat, checking behind the vehicle for any stray trick-or-treaters before backing out of your driveway and onto the street.

Your eyes flickered to the rear view mirror then to see that a car had pulled away from the curb, following you closely now as you made your way down the street. You found yourself grinning, pleased at the development.

The party was a blur around you, loud and busy with the laughter of people having a good time, their bodies dancing and swaying in time with the music. You had been approached a few times since arriving, the compliments and lingering stares not entirely unwelcome as you leaned back against a wall, solo cup full of alcohol in hand.

The old Myers house was a ten minute walk from the location of the party, something you had taken into account when agreeing to attend, and you found yourself now in the brisk fall air as you made your way down the darkened street, the noisy clicking of your shoes on the sidewalk loud enough to have you bending and pulling them from your feet, opting to continue the trek barefoot rather than listen to the sound.

The porch steps creaked under your weight as you climbed them, the front door opening with some resistance as you pressed your palm to the old wood and shoved against it. You moved slowly up the stairs, cautious of the old wood as it groaned beneath you, your hand finding the splintered banister and squeezing it gently as you made your way upwards.

There was the shifting of floorboards behind you and you allowed your lips to curl into a smile, body thrumming now with excitement.

You screamed when he grabbed you, the shock of his hands suddenly on you overpowering the logical part of your brain that knew he had been behind you the entire time. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, the muscle itself hammering behind your rib cage as if it intended to break through the bone and escape through your chest wall.

His hands were strong on your upper arms as he pinned them to your sides, the dark flashing of his eyes just visible behind his mask as he shoved you easily to your knees.

You could feel his heavy gaze on the back of your neck, tangible almost, barely resisting the urge to glance over your shoulder at the massive man as he loomed over you.

He remained there for a time, seconds ticking by like minutes and minutes ticking by like hours before he finally moved, circling around to your front. Michael reached for you, rough fingers finding the side of your face tracing the smooth skin he found there, making their way first to your jawline and then higher, his thumb brushing your lower lip softly.

There was the tang of something on your tongue as he pressed his thumb into your mouth, metallic and sharp, and you felt your stomach churn in protest. You wondered when he had even had the opportunity to get bloody, who the unlucky victim had been, what they had done to provoke his anger or if they had even done anything at all.

Michael’s thumb withdrew slightly, the pad of his finger pressing now to your bottom teeth, more gentle than you were accustomed to. You dropped your mouth open obediently, cheeks flushing as he took a lumbering step forward and tilted your face upwards to look up at him, your eyes finding the placidity of his white mask even in the gloom of the old house. The faded hardwood floor was unforgiving under your knees and you shifted minutely in discomfort, adjusting your position.

He lowered a single heavily scarred hand to rest on top of your head then, large fingers carding gently through the hair he found there in a rare display of tenderness. You permitted your eyes to droop shut under the action, your lips parting and allowing for a small sigh to escape as he began to scratch slow circles into your scalp with blunt fingernails.

You tensed when he clenched his fist suddenly, body going rigid under his ministrations as he took a handful of your hair in his hand and pulled hard enough to have tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You moved obligingly as he tugged you upwards, maneuvering you easily from your position sitting back on your calves so that your back was straight, posture the picture of attentiveness.

Michael pulled his thumb from your mouth slowly, the hot drag of the digit across your tongue enough to have you opening your mouth wider for him, submissive, body flushed now all the way to the tips of your ears.

His free hand came up to the zipper of his coveralls then, the sound of the interlocking teeth being undone just loud enough to be audible over the rush of blood in your own ears. The shirt he wore beneath his coveralls was black, stretched taut over his broad chest, and you longed to reach up, to trace the thin material with your fingers, to feel the hard plain of muscle under your palm. He worked the zipper down slowly, hand moving now beneath the rough material to encircle the base of his hardening member and pull it free of his coveralls.

You could feel your heart skip a beat at the size of him, same as it always did, your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip in anticipation as he began to stroke himself to full hardness. Your mouth was still open, wide and wet and welcoming, and Michael adjusted his grip on your hair, angling your head now to allow for the easy press of his cock between your lips.

The weight of his length was heavy on your tongue, satisfying and exactly what you needed. You allowed your eyes to slide closed, shoulders sagging as you exhaled softly through your nose, the slightly salty taste of him on your tongue enough to have you swallowing reflexively.

The first sharp thrust as he worked his way fully into your mouth was a surprise to say the least, catching you off guard as his cock slid nearly to the back of your throat. Your eyes flew wide, darting up questioningly to his masked face as he withdrew, leaving only the tip of his cock on your tongue before thrusting forward again,

Michael twisted his scarred hand in your hair sharply, coercing your head to the side and grinding forward into your mouth, forcing your nose nearly to the sparse, dark hair at the base of his erection.

The pace he set was quick, brutal, the blunt tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat with every forceful thrust. He manipulated you easily by the hand in your hair, angling your head upwards so your glassy eyes found his expressionless mask, the action opening your throat further to him as he used your mouth in the way he saw fit.

Your hands came to his muscular thighs, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the dark blue fabric as he fucked your mouth with deep, relentless strokes. You could feel the tears as they welled at the corners of your eyes now, the obscene trail of slick on your chin as your saliva mixed with his pre-cum and leaked from your mouth. You closed your eyes against the onslaught, dark eyelashes fanning across your flushed cheeks as you forced your throat to relax, shifting again on your knees as he gave your hair another sharp tug.

You groaned around his length, fuzzy from lack of oxygen, grounded only in the moment by the relentless snapping of Michael’s hips as he filled your mouth, gripping your hair so tightly you knew you would be feeling it for hours.

His hips jolted forward one last time, head lolling slightly to one side, the only warning you received before his hand tightened impossibly in your hair and he forced your lips to the base of his cock, holding you there as he came down your throat.

You choked, sputtering, hands twisting into the fabric of his coveralls as you tried to move away. You could feel more tears slipping down your cheeks as he observed you, dark eyes seeming to search your face for something before withdrawing from your mouth completely. You exhaled shakily through your nose, swallowing as his hand moved finally from your hair, trailing downwards until it found your chin, catching it easily between his fingers. His thumb found your bottom lip for the second time that night, dragging the rough digit across the flushed skin before sliding slightly lower, sweeping through the messy layer of saliva he found there.

You wondered what you looked like, wondered if your cheeks were as hot as they felt, if your lips were swollen from the rough treatment. You reached up self consciously, brushing aside his gentle fingers and wiping the drool from your chin with your sleeve as you allowed him to press you back against the floor with large hands at to your shoulders.

It was never just one round with Michael.

He lowered himself to his knees in front of you then, slotting with some difficulty between your spread thighs, and for a moment you were floored at the vulnerability the gesture exuded. Michael was huge even on his knees, a behemoth of a man, muscles wound tight like a predator ready to leap.

Your eyes trailed his body hungrily, darting from his broad shoulders to his chest and stomach, taking note of the way his shirt had begun to ride up, revealing a tantalizing sliver of pale, scarred skin. Your eyes found his length as it began to harden again, sitting heavily against his still-clothed thigh, flushed from base to tip and still damp from where it had been in your mouth.

One of Michael’s hands moved from your shoulder to your upper chest, spanning nearly the length of your entire clavicle as he pinned your body easily to the floor beneath him. He pressed down on your rib cage suddenly, harsh and with so much force that you gave an involuntary wheeze of distress, hand flying immediately to his wrist in hopes of relieving some of the pressure.

“Michael,” you gasped, squirming ineffectively under him as he continued to exert his near supernatural pressure, entirely unaffected by your pleading tone and twisting body beneath him.

When he released you suddenly, you arched from the floor, lungs sucking in a much needed breath.

Michael’s practiced hands made quick work of your shorts and underwear then, taking the time to unbutton and slide the fabric down your hips and thighs, and you found yourself grateful that he had opted to remove them calmly rather than simply tearing or shredding them. He moved one large finger to your entrance, dipping leisurely inside of you to the knuckle, and you could feel your legs shaking on either side of him as Michael began to investigate the slickness he found there. One finger became two, and two fingers became three, the delicious stretch of his large digits as they flexed inside of you nearly enough to have your eyes rolling skyward in pleasure.

But it wasn’t enough.

You dropped your head back as he withdrew his fingers, skull thudding softly against the old hardwood as he lined himself up, positioning himself at your leaking entrance. You breathed slowly through your nose, mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

Your eyes flew wide as Michael entered you then, thrusting forward suddenly with a single, impatient snap of his hips. Your muscles clenched involuntarily at the intrusion, so sudden and unexpected and large that you found your hands reaching up, grasping desperately at the lapels of his coveralls. Your throat was sore from the rough treatment it had received earlier but you opened your mouth anyway, hoping to still him with your words.

“Fuck, Michael,” you rasped, your voice sounding absolutely wrecked even to your own ears. “Just…just hold on a second. Please.”

He was impassive as he stared down at you, expression impossible to read behind his mask. Michael gave a slow tilt of his head then, as if deciding something before he withdrew, pulling himself almost completely out of you before allowing his hips to snap forward again,

You grit your teeth, back arching wildly off the cold floor as your body tried and failed again to adjust to his size. “Michael,” you pleaded again, your tone edging now on a whine as he repeated the motion, filling you again with another sharp thrust.

Michael’s large hands were steel at your hips, thumbs pressing meanly into the flesh he found there, and you found yourself squirming beneath him in discomfort.

You had learned early on that Michael liked to leave marks, littering your skin on a regular basis with bruises and bites. He would never say so, of course, but more often than not, you’d catch him returning to the marks, lavishing them with attention with either his mouth or hands, reverent almost.

His pace was fast and bruising, reminiscent of the way he had fucked your mouth earlier as he chased his own release.

You were aware of his eyes as they flickered across your face from behind his mask, gaze sharp and assessing as they took in your flushed cheeks and gently parted lips, your bright eyes undoubtedly glazed in your pleasure.

Your hand slipped between your bodies to touch yourself in response, only to give a startled sound high in your throat as one giant hand caught your wrist and slammed your arm back against the floor by your head.

“Okay,” you said breathlessly, giving a sharp jerk of your head to indicate that you understood. “Okay.”

His hand remained there for a moment before he released you, as if coming to the conclusion that you weren’t going to try it again. Michael’s hand returned to your hip then, squeezing fiercely.

Your body was lax under his as he pounded into you, pliant as he worked you against him, using his powerful hands on your hips as leverage. The pain had faded out entirely by now, replaced by searing pleasure as he filled you again and again with his cock, the stretch of him nearly overwhelming as he penetrated you.

You could feel the exact moment his rhythm faltered, hips stuttering forward

“Come on,” you gasped, panting now from the force of his thrusts and he dragged you against him harshly. “Please, Michael, please.”

Michael twitched within you, lifting one hand quickly from your hip to cover your mouth, forcing you into silence as he continued to fuck you with powerful thrusts.

You whined in response, the sound muffled by his palm as you lifted your hips from the floor, giving him a better angle to work himself deeper into you.

Michael gave a few more erratic thrusts before tensing as he came, spilling himself inside of you, his grip on your hip so tight now you felt it might snap under the incredible pressure.

You made a small sound as he pulled out and moved away, taking a moment to simply lie there before straining your neck upwards to look at him, eyes lingering unabashed as he tucked himself back into his coveralls.

You could feel his cum leaking from your abused entrance as you rolled finally to your knees, slick sliding obscenely down your still-shaking thighs and dripping onto the floor beneath you. You gave a soft groan as you lifted yourself onto unsteady feet, bending slightly to retrieve your shorts before righting yourself again, your lower back giving a painful throb in protest at the action. You turned to him now, clothing clenched tightly in one hand.

Vincent’s body was tense under yours, wound tight like a cord that threatened to snap at any moment as your fingers danced across his flushed skin. He had been more than a little unsure at first, tense but compliant as you moved him first into a kneeling position and then to his hands and knees with an insistent press of your hand between his shoulder blades. Vincent’s eye was wrought with anxiety as he glanced back at you from over his shoulder, entirely bare save for his ever-present mask.

You took a moment to admire him, the slight spread of his knees as they dug into the mattress and the dark wave of his hair as it rested against his skin and fanned across his broad shoulders. He tensed for a moment, body going rigid as you slid in behind him, moving easily so you rested comfortably between his calves. 

“There’s no need to be so skittish, Vincent,” you chided gently. “Relax; I’ve got you.” Your wandering hands found his thighs then, raking your nails up the unmarred skin before coming to rest on his lower back, giving an appreciative hum as he tensed again but did not shy away.

The strap on was neutral in color and not all that large as it jutted obscenely from the harness, its black straps wrapping around your hips and settling at the top of your thighs just under the curve of your ass. You recalled trying it on in the mirror earlier, safe in the comfort of yours and Vincent’s shared bathroom as you turned, admiring the unfamiliar device with a heavy flush on your cheeks.

It had been incredibly easy to talk Vincent into the whole ordeal, much easier than you anticipated, the words barely out of your mouth before he acquiesced with a slow nod.

The act of actually purchasing the strap on had been almost as simple, something you were unspeakably grateful for. You had opted to ask Lester for a ride into the next town over, clapping your hands together, more than a little thrilled as he agreed with a lopsided grin. The two of you had taken the time to hose down the back of his truck, Lester apologizing more than once, sheepish almost as you worked to remove most of the blood and gore before heading out of Ambrose.

You could feel Vincent’s muscles fluttering wildly beneath the skin as you pressed your palm to his lower stomach now, his groan barely audible as he worked himself back against the condom-covered stretch of your fingers. 

Vincent had been more vocal than usual during your prep, more responsive than you could have ever hoped for, pressing back insistently against your hand, needy as you opened him up. His voice was hoarse, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back another groan. It was rare to see him like this, completely uninhibited and lost in sensation, and you drank it in, taking great pride in being the one to make him feel this way.

He chased the feeling of your fingers when you withdrew them, making a soft nose of protest in his throat as you rolled the condom off your fingers and dropped it onto the floor beside the bed.

You reached for the lube then, uncapping it and upending up, drizzling a generous amount into your palm before reaching down to slick the length of the toy. You took your time, admiring the impatient tremble of his body as you positioned the blunt tip at his prepped entrance. “You ready, baby?” 

Vincent gave a full body shudder at your voice, shifting his knees as he opened himself more to you, the slight downward arch of his back resulting in the minute lifting of his hips. His voice was soft and broken as he answered. “Yes,” he whispered, so quiet behind his mask that you had to strain your ears to hear him. “Pl…please.”

You hummed, more than satisfied by the desperation in his voice as you began your slow press forward, tongue darting out from between your lips in concentration as you worked gently against the resistance. You found yourself leaning back slightly, head tilted downward and eyes glued to the neutral colored silicone as it disappeared within him, your cheeks heating at the sight. Your hands wandered to his ass then, spreading him open and watching transfixed as your shallow thrusts gradually worked more of the toy inside of him.

He made a small sound then, desperation mixed with something else as his back stiffened, and you paused in your movements, hips stilling.

“Shh, relax, baby, I’ve got you,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles against his lower back with steady fingers, pleased when he allowed his body to sag under your touch, visibly relaxing. You gave another gentle roll of your hips, grinning as his body opened easily around the intrusion. “Perfect, yeah, just like that.”

You slid your hand up his back then, leaning forward to press soft open mouthed kisses along his spine as you continued to work the dildo into him, nearly to the hilt now. You raked your blunt teeth across his skin suddenly, humming in satisfaction at the red marks you left in your wake, reaching up at the same time to grab his hair and twist the long strands around your fist. 

Vincent groaned as you tugged on his hair, using it as leverage to pull him from his hands and knees into an upright position. His back was slick, shiny with perspiration as it arched desperately against your bare chest. He breathed in a gasp, the sound muffled by his mask as you slid your free hand up his front, finding and pinching one hardened nipple between your fingers. 

His hands hung limply at his sides for a moment, as if unsure what to do with them before finding purchase on his straining thighs, pressing shallow indents into the skin with his fingernails.

“You’re doing so well for me, Vincent,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, lips finding the flexible cartilage and bringing it briefly between your teeth before releasing it. Your hips were moving in earnest now, your rhythm fixed as you worked the length of the toy in and out of his tight entrance.  “Do you like it? Are you having a good time?”

The man gave a series of sharp nods, relatively nonverbal save for the clipped noises that worked their way from his throat. It was easy to imagine his mouth dropped open behind his mask, or his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he struggled now to muffle his sounds of pleasure.

“Now, now, Vincent,” you grinned, tightening your grip on the long dark strands in your fist and tugging roughly so his head dropped back against your shoulder, submissive. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” he rasped desperately, working back against you now as you continued to fuck him with steady thrusts of your hips. “Yes, yes, yes.” Vincent groaned deeply, the broken sound erupting from behind his mask as he brought his hand to yours where it rested on his hip, entwining his shaking fingers with yours. 

You warmed instantly at the tender gesture, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you twisted your hand in his, squeezing his fingers reassuringly as you pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Touch yourself for me, Vincent.”

Vincent’s hand lifted from his thigh immediately, coming up eagerly to wrap around his leaking member as he began to work himself in time with your movements.

You shifted on your knees, angling your hips on your next thrust so the slick side of the silicone toy brushed his sensitive prostate. You grinned, bright eyed as a small choked-off sound worked itself free from his body, and you made it your new goal to make contact with the gland as many times as possible. You saw the tensing of his shoulders, bicep straining as he worked himself desperately, a high whine slipping from between his lips involuntarily as you gave another sharp thrust.

Vincent gasped in surprise as he came suddenly, hips stuttering forward as he spilled over his fingers and the sheets below him. His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths, skin flushed pink all the way to the barely visible tips of his ears.

“Beautiful,” you murmured absentmindedly, gathering his dark hair at the nape of his neck and tucking it over one of his shoulders. You dipped forward then, pressing a kiss to his spine as you moved to pull out, surprised when his hand darted back, finding your hip with fingers that still shook with desperation.

“Stay,” he croaked, fingers dipping now beneath the material of the harness as it rested against your hip. “Don’t…don’t pull out yet. Please.”

You gave a soft hum at the request, obliging as you pressed forward again, both hands coming to rest on his hips. Vincent was lax, pliant as he allowed you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides, silent save for a single soft sigh as you pressed in close to his back. You curled an arm around him, lips finding the expanse of skin between his shoulder blades and lingering as you allowed your fingers to dance across the sensitive flesh of Vincent’s lower abdomen.

He huffed a laugh at this, tired, his muscles flitting under your palm as he reached down to close his hand around yours. Vincent brought the back of your hand to his mask then, pressing it to the down-turned corner of his lips in an obvious show of affection before tucking it to the center of his chest, just below the sternum.

“Come on, let’s go play,” Brahms had said, voice reverberating strangely behind his porcelain mask as he pressed his body against the length of your back, impossible to ignore. He had grabbed your hand insistently, pulling you along behind him as he dragged you out of the kitchen, unaffected even as you dug your heels in and tried to plant your feet.

“Brahms, please,” you said, exasperated. “I’ve got so much to do today. We can play later, okay?”

The tall man hummed at you, completely unimpressed with your complaint as he squeezed your hand tighter. Up the stairs the two of you went, Brahms unceremoniously shoving open the door to your room and dragging you inside. He turned to face you then, reaching immediately with impatient fingers to drag your sweater up and over your head, the pale visage of his mask impossibly blank as he loomed over you.

You huffed, annoyed almost as he fumbled with the button of your pants for a moment. You felt the pressure loosen at your hips as he succeeded in his endeavor, hands moving to your belt loops to get a better grip as he dragged the tight fabric down your thighs to pool on the ground. You could feel your face heating now despite yourself as he reached around you to hook one arm around your bare waist, pulling you flush against him as he lifted you off your feet altogether. You wrapped your arm around his neck obligingly, helping to support your own weight as he moved to the opposite side of the room and sat you down gingerly where he wanted you.

This had become a common occurrence for the two of you; you standing in front of the full length mirror in your room and Brahms pressed against your back as you allowed him to maneuver you as he pleased, pliant in his hold.

You had been shy at first, so shy, face heating impossibly as Brahms allowed his hands to travel your body, curious and exploratory although it was far from the first time they had been there.

“Oh my, so pretty…” Brahms cooed in your ear, his large hands at your waist as he turned you this way and that. “Just like a little doll,” he mused.

“Brahms-“

“Ah, ah…” Brahms scolded gently, sliding his hand up your throat to rest just under your chin as he forced your gaze back to the mirror. “Dolls don’t talk, do they?”

You could feel the blush on your cheeks as much as you saw it, the dark pink creeping up your chest and neck as his hands found your breasts and began to knead at them gently over the material of your bra.

His hands remained there for a moment, fingers slipping below the fabric and brushing your hardening nipples before removing themselves from your body completely. Brahms’s eyes were sharp behind the eye holes of his mask, glued to the mirror as he drank in your reflection. He brought one hand to his porcelain disguise then, lifting it up enough to reveal his grinning mouth and sharp canines before bringing his lips and teeth to your exposed shoulder.

You sighed in pleasure as his hands returned, trailing the length of your body, his long fingers dipping now beneath the waistband of your panties. He slipped a finger inside of you slowly, his shoulders hunched now as he pressed himself somehow closer. 

You could feel your back bowing under his weight as he manhandled you into what he deemed to be a more suitable position, groaning as his fingers found your chin again, tilting your head up until your eyes met those of your reflection. You saw the arousal in your own eyes, the deep red of your blush, the heaving of your breasts as they threatened to spill from your bra.

“Don’t look away,” he said, pout barely visible where he had lifted his mask only a small amount. “You have to play by the rules.”

You could feel the muscles of your lower stomach fluttering as he twisted his finger inside of you once before adding a second finger, curling them suddenly in a way that had your knees shaking. You gasped, mouth falling open in surprise as he began to pump his fingers in and out of your slick entrance. You dropped your head back against his shoulder, eyes half lidded as your eyes wandered to your disheveled reflection again.

Brahms’s arms were tight around you, suffocating almost. You could feel the length of his hardness as he ground himself against you, insistent but otherwise ignored for now as he continued with his game.

His thumb found your clit then, working it in time with his fingers, the pace quick and unforgiving as he forced your chin again to look at your own reflection. “Are you close?” He whispered against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning across your warm skin. His voice was soft, teasing, his usual childlike inflection abandoned as he continued to grind his hips against yours. “Would you like to cum?”

You gave a frantic nod, twisting in his arms with a gasp as he doubled down on his efforts, fingers working wildly against you. You could feel the familiar coil of your climax as it tightened in your lower stomach, felt the exact moment his frantic pace sent you over the edge. You groaned as you came on his fingers, head thrown back against his shoulder and one shaking hand reaching up to fist in the dark curls above his mask. You took in your heaving chest in the mirror, your open mouth and pink tongue as it darted out to lick at your dry lips, eyes unfocused in your haze of pleasure.

Bo’s hips had stuttered to a halt, hands stilling on your thighs as he looked down at you. “What did you just say?”

You brought both hands immediately to your face to cover your eyes, as if that alone could hide you from his scrutiny. You could feel your face growing hotter as you peeked through your fingers to see that he still hadn’t looked away, his eyes intense where they bored into you. “Bo, baby, listen- it’s not- I didn’t-“

He gave a quick nudge of his hips, sudden, delivering a harsh slap to your bare thigh at the same time. “Oh no you don’t, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it.”

You groaned, body giving another jolt as his hand met your thigh again, the harsh slap ringing out loudly. You bit your lip, dropping your head back against the pillows with your hands still over your eyes. Of course you weren’t going to get out of it that easily. “D-daddy,” you relented, your voice catching in your throat.

“What was that, baby? ‘Fraid you’re gonna have to speak up.” Bo’s grin was shit-eating as he looked down at you now, revealing white teeth and the pink of his tongue as it pressed against his lower lip. 

“Don’t be mean, Bo,” you whined, removing your hands from your eyes and fixing him with a look, your lips turned downwards. “I know you heard me.” 

He bent over you, one hand pressed to the mattress beside your ribs as he leaned his weight on it. Bo’s lips met yours then, teasing, tongue delving into your mouth as he continued to thrust his hips achingly slow against your own. When he pulled away, it was with your bottom lip caught gently between his teeth, and he held it there for a second before letting go with a smirk. “Aww, don’t be like that,” he grinned, rolling his hips against yours again. “How about you open that pretty mouth of yours and tell daddy what you really want, huh?”

You groaned beneath him, moving your legs to wrap around his hips and pull him in closer. “Fuck, Bo, that’s so hot.”

He gave another slow roll of his hips, eyes half lidded. “Don’t worry, baby, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

He started peppering the word into your casual interactions more after that. 

Once after burning your finger while cooking dinner, he had slid his hands around your waist, lips pressed to the side of your neck. “Want daddy to kiss it and make it better, baby?” He purred against your throat, grabbing hold of your wrist and pulling your hand towards his mouth.

“Bo, baby, I can’t do this one handed,” you had laughed, right up until the moment he wrapped his lips around your hurt finger and began to suck.

But today, Bo had come home around noon, closing the gas station early and sweeping through the front door with purpose. He found you in the kitchen, your back to the main entrance as you chopped vegetables for tonight’s stew dutifully. Bo had snuck up behind you -an easy feat with your blaring music- and tucked his chest against your back, flipping up the hem of your summer dress with calloused fingers and running playful fingers along the outside of your thighs.

You had jumped, of course, startling so hard you dropped the knife altogether. You turned to face him, wide eyed, one hand pressed to your chest. “Jesus Bo, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Missed you at the station earlier. Ain’t like you to not drop in for a visit.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the side of your neck and mouthing at the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Sorry. Just kind of got caught up with things around here, I guess,” you said by explanation. You tilted your head to give him better access to your throat as you picked up your knife again, resuming your earlier work. “What are you doing home so early?”

You could feel his grin against your skin. “What, can’t a guy close up shop a little early on a Friday?“ He began to grind his hardening length against your ass, as if giving you a taste of what was to come, the harsh fabric of his coveralls chafing against your skin uncomfortably. “Truth is, baby girl, I just couldn’t get you off my mind.”

You began to smile, fondness filling your chest at the admission. “Who, me?”

He turned you suddenly so that your lower back rested against the kitchen counter before he dropped to his knees, Bo’s hands finding your thighs and pressing the fabric of your dress upwards. “Been thinkin’ about this all day.”

You hummed, amused as you slid a hand into his dark hair. “Is that right?” You could feel his lips against your inner thigh as he began to mouth at your skin, his blunt teeth scraping at you. You closed your eyes against the sensation, sighing in a pleased way as you moved your hand from his hair to the collar of his mechanic’s uniform to tug him to his feet again. “Get up, Bo. I’m not about to let you fuck me in the kitchen.”

He came back to his feet easily, cooperative, his hands finding the counter on either side of you as he caged you in. “Oh, you got a preference then?” He grinned, pressing his chest to yours as he crowded you back against the kitchen counter. “Would you rather I bend you over the pool table? Maybe take you outside and fuck you in the backseat of my truck?”

You pressed your index finger to your lips, pretending to consider his words. “Hmmm…as great as that sounds, how about in our bed where your brothers aren’t likely to get an eyeful?”

“Suppose I can make that happen.”

The two of you headed upstairs quickly, losing clothes as you went. The sheets were soft under your back and Bo’s body was warm against yours as he pressed in close, his lips finding first your throat and then your collarbone as he worked his way to your breasts. His hands located your wrists where they rested beside your shoulders and he pinned them to the bed with ease as he nipped at the delicate skin of your chest.

You had learned early on that Bo liked the feeling of you under him, liked to tie you down and hold you immobilized as he fucked you.

He entered you slowly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as if trying to restrain himself from thrusting forward. “God, you’re so tight,” he grunted, inching forward with his hips until his length was enveloped fully inside of you. 

“Bo,” you moaned softly, your fingers reaching up idly to caress the scars at his wrists where he had you pinned still.

“Yeah, baby?” He panted against your skin. He began to move against you then, pistoning his hips at the same time his lips met your breast and he began to suck at your flesh. “Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name,” he mouthed against you, tongue darting out playfully from between his lips.

The pace he set was quick, filling you with deep strokes that had you gasping and arching your back under him. He was worked up now, his hot breath fanning across your breasts and collarbone, his bare chest covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Bo, baby, let me touch you,” you panted, open mouthed, tugging gently at your wrists where they were still pinned under the man’s fingers.

Bo removed his hands obligingly, allowing you to run your hands over his neck and chest and hips. You wrapped your arms around him then, digging your fingernails into his shoulder blades and dragging him closer as he continued thrusting, bordering on frantic now.

“Tell me where you want me to cum, baby,” he groaned, his bottom lip caught between his teeth again as he seemed to draw closer to the edge. “You want it on your face? Your stomach? Your tits?” He gave a harsh thrust as his hands found your hips. “Or maybe you just want me to cum inside of you, huh? Is that it? Want daddy to fill you up, baby girl?”

“Inside, inside, please inside,” you gasped, hooking your legs around his waist desperately as he picked up his pace.

“You want daddy to knock you up?” He rasped against your skin, fingertips digging into your hips so hard you found yourself squirming against the pain. “Want daddy to fill you up over and over again until my cum is dripping down those sweet thighs of yours?” 

“Bo,” you pleaded, back arching and your face hot. You felt lightheaded, far away and much too warm, grounded only by his hands and his hips. “Bo, baby, come on.”

“Tell daddy who you belong to.”

“You, you, only you.” Your head was thrown back against the pillows as he pistoned into you, his hands sliding to your thighs as he dragged you impossibly closer.

“Again,” he groaned.

“You!” You cried, body arching wildly beneath him. “You!”

He came with a groan against your throat, hips stuttering as filled you with his seed. He rested there against you for a moment before leaning away, pulling out suddenly and leaving you to whine at the sudden emptiness.

It was white walls, white rooms, and white floors, wrapped neatly into one large, concrete building.

You had arrived two months ago, had witnessed a lot in your short time there, neglect, malpractice, and cruelty. You had been poked, prodded, diagnosed, and diagnosed again. 

The staff at Smith’s Grove was a revolving door of new nurses and orderlies, the fact of the matter being that most of them weren’t prepared for what they would see when they stepped through the doors.

A new face -his name was Michael, you would later learn- had caught your eye immediately.

He was tall, well built and attractive, his short, curly brown hair falling nearly into his eyes as he ducked his head to inspect his clipboard. The uniform he wore was too tight, you noticed, stretched taut over his broad chest, the sharp definition of his muscles and collarbone beneath the scrubs taking you back instantly to a field trip you took in high school where you had seen the statue of Michaelangelo’s David in an upscale art museum.

Michael himself was angelic even under the fluorescent lighting of the common room, the glowing brilliance of the bulb behind his head forming a halo of light that illuminated his dark curls. It was easy to imagine him then, outside these concrete walls, smiling and laughing in the sunshine, more beautiful than words could describe.

You rested both elbows on the table, hands on your cheeks as you watched him from your spot in the corner. How dreamy, you mused.

He had walked by you, giving you his usual friendly grin as he leaned in close to shuffle around a few pieces of the puzzle you had been working on. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as he drew near, could feel your heart beating in your chest. 

He was so cute you could just cut him to bits.

It had been easy to find his address after getting past the guards, and you stood now, wiping the blood off your hands and onto your sweatpants with his file in hand.

Idiots. You should have never been able to take out four armed guards.

Who brings a glass bottle into a place like this anyway?

Your thoughts were interrupted as the woman beneath you whimpered. You had pointed the guard’s gun at her from across the desk, sizing her up and demanding she strip. After all, there was no way you were going to make it out of the building soaked in as much blood as you were wearing currently.

The woman -Maggie, her name tag had read- had followed your orders tearfully, removing her uniform and placing it on the desk as directed. She gave a scream when you tackled her, hitting her head hard on the tiled floor and going limp for a moment as if stunned.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” you grinned, gun now safely stored in the snug waistband of your sweatpants. Your fingers were shredded by now where they were wrapped around the long shard of glass, but as you leaned over the woman, you found that you weren’t in any pain. “You think you’re slick? You think you stand a chance with him?”

“With who?” The woman sobbed. She had already given up on struggling now, pinned beneath you, bare with the exception of her bra and underwear. “Wh-who are you t-talking about?”

“Why, Michael, of course!” You cooed, bringing one hand to your cheek. “You were wrong to flirt with him. We’re in love, haven’t you heard?”

The nurse’s face twisted in dismay as she jerked upwards, trying in vain to buck you off with tears streaming from her eyes. “Please, you don’t have to do this,” she cried, back arching desperately beneath you. 

You laughed at this, a sudden sharp sound that had the nurse flinching under you. “You really think I’d come this far and not finish the job? You must not have read my file,” you teased, bringing your makeshift weapon high above your head then. You could feel the grin stretching across your blood drenched face as her eyes went comically wide beneath you.

The first thrust of your weapon was efficient as you found what you were looking for, her severed carotid artery exploding across your face as you held her struggling body down with your free hand.

The second stab was finishing the job, your heart hammering in your chest as her body went still beneath yours.

You moved to the staff bathroom then, washing your face and changing your clothes, pulling your bloodied hair back and away from your face. You smiled brightly as you worked to make yourself presentable, entirely unbothered by the flickering of the overhead light, humming as you righted yourself.

“Tonight’s the night, tonight’s the night,” you sang as you exited the restroom, excited now as you stepped over the nurse’s corpse, the pool of blood beneath her body spreading impossibly further. “Oh, did you hear that, Maggie?” You said, turning to the body with a smile. You spun once, arms outstretched, before crouching down beside the messy cadaver, cupping one hand to your mouth as if sharing a great secret. “Tonight is the night I finally get to see Michael outside of these horrible walls!”

You wondered if he had saved you any candy.

You had woken up around eight that morning, not all that much later than usual, to find Brahms already waiting for you, dressed and impatient as he rushed you from the comfort of your bed. 

You made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the living room, made lunch, and done the dishes a second time, all while balancing Brahms’s tedious schedule.

Brahms himself had been terrible, in a perpetually bad mood all day, frowning and scowling as he critiqued you endlessly on everything from your table etiquette to your cooking to your less than stellar posture.

What a brat.

“Brahms, get in the shower,” you said now with a roll of your eyes, lifting your coat from it’s hook by the front door and moving to slide your arms inside. “I won’t tell you again.”

“No,” he huffed, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly and his voice high and childlike behind his porcelain mask. “I already told you, I won’t do it unless you come, too.”

“I don’t have the time to play, Brahms, I’ve got to go out and empty the traps.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, drumming his long fingers impatiently against his bicep. “Well, when will you be back?” He asked. “That’s not all you have left to do.”

With how incredibly short his fuse was today, you wondered how long you had until this spiraled into a full blown tantrum. 

“Brahms, with the way you’ve been acting today, I don’t even know if I’m going to come back,” you snapped, doing up your last button and dropping the hem of your coat with a glare. “Maybe I’ll call a cab, head into town, find me a nice bed and breakfast to stay at...” you trailed off, brows furrowed in irritation. “Maybe they’ll let me sleep in.”

This, of course, was the wrong thing to say.

“You can’t leave me!” He screamed, voice cracking from the effort of it as he snarled suddenly from behind his mask. “I’ll kill you before I let you leave me!”

You could feel something in you snap, and you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You know what, Brahms, you’ve been a real asshole today.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” the man growled, taking a large step forward now, moving as if to cage you against the door with his body.

“I’ll speak to you any way I damn well please!” You snarled back. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as your own anger began to build in earnest now, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. 

Brahms was a mess of an adult, quick to anger and quick to take said anger out on those around him. You had seen him shred paintings, tear down curtains, smash anything and everything he could get his hands on, leaving you to pick up the pieces after the storm of his anger had passed. 

He had threatened your life many times by now, something that had been startling to you at first, and before the two of you had really settled in with one another, you had spent many nights lying awake, fearful that your life may end at anytime.

You reached out, placing both hands on his chest as you pushed him away with a scowl.

If he was going to act like a child, you were going to treat him like a child.

“Bend over,” you snapped, slipping immediately into your most stern voice, your tone brooking no argument.

Brahms deflated immediately, whether it was the order itself or the tone you used with him, you weren’t sure. “What?” He asked, suddenly bewildered, his voice small as any anger he held left him like a candle being extinguished.

“You heard me, Brahms. Bend over.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Put your hands on the back of the sofa, spread your feet shoulder length apart, and bend over.”

“But-“

The first slap of your hand as it met his clothed thigh was a surprise for both of you.

Brahms froze, his entire body going rigid at the action.

You had thought about this, of course, fantasized about it even, itching to put the man in his place as he threw tantrum after tantrum without consequence or remorse. 

Brahms had grown up without discipline, that much was clear to you, his parents choosing instead to lock him away within the walls and attic rather than deal with his explosive anger and concerning attitude towards others, out of sight and out of mind.

You had been incredibly patient up until this point, tolerating the outbursts and occasional death threat, having yet to actually lay hands on the man with an actual punishment in mind.

The second slap was just as hard if not harder than the first, and you could feel your palm stinging.

There was no protest from Brahms, no whining, and you took this as a sign that you had gotten his attention. You brought one hand up to grasp the back of his neck, pressing him downwards until his chest connected with the ornately carved wood that made up the back of the vintage sofa.

Brahms was boneless under your hands, pliant as he allowed you to maneuver him where you wanted him. His breathing was hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, a noticeable blush creeping across his collarbone and up his neck to disappear under his mask.

Your hand slipped from the back of his neck to trail the length of his spine then, fingers dancing across the warm wool of his cardigan.

His pants and underwear came down easily, and you dragged them to rest halfway down his thigh, rubbing an appreciative hand over the swell of his ass. You could hear his breath hitch as you flipped the hem of his cardigan up so it rested on his lower back, heard his breath stutter in his throat as your hand dropped lower, scratching up the back of his pale thighs with sharp nails. 

This was the Brahms that was your favorite, the submissive one, docile and still like a kitten that had been caught by the scruff of its neck.

You moved to his side, one hand finding the unruly tangle of his greasy curls, content merely to run your fingers through it for a moment before gripping it suddenly, hard enough to have him gasping and moving his head in your direction to loosen the tension.

The steady rise and fall of your hand as it connected again and again with bare skin of Brahms’s ass was loud, completely drowning out the sound of the grandfather clock as it ticked some ten feet away, the only other sound in the room besides Brahms’s harsh breathing.

Your entire hand was red by now, aching, perhaps more red than than the flesh of Brahms’s ass as he remained bent obediently, fingers clenching the back of the carved sofa in his white knuckled grip.

This continued for some time -a glance at the clock had told you that it had been nearly fifteen minutes at this point- the sharp slap of your skin on his enough to have him writhing under you.

After a particularly hard strike, you watched as the man cracked finally, diving long fingers between him and the furniture to wrap his hand around his leaking member.

“Ah ah~” you said, catching his wrist easily in your hand and stilling his movements. “Naughty boys don’t get release.”

He made a broken sound then, twisting his hand within yours and bringing long fingers to your wrist. “Please,” he begged desperately. “Please, I’ll be good- I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

“Will you get in the shower?” You asked. Your hand found his hair again and you jerked him back against you none too gently, his back pressed now to your chest and his neck arched backwards.

“I’ll do anything!”

“Good boy, Brahms,” you cooed. You reached around his body then, wrapping your fingers around his length. pleased when the man made a strangled sound low in his throat and arched wildly, thrusting forward into your hand. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, your body draped along the length of his back as he pressed backwards against you. You moved your hand from his hair then, sliding it against his throat and pressing your palm flush to his Adam’s apple, using the action as leverage to pull him closer.

He came suddenly and with a groan, hips stuttering forward as his slick seed coated your fingers. 

There was a moment then where he simply stood there, shoulders still hunched over the back of the sofa with his chest heaving as he came down from his high. Brahms gave a sigh behind his mask as he turned to you, arms wrapping around you to pull you against him as he buried his face in the top of your head. 

You allowed this, standing patiently as he nuzzled and pressed against you, needy.

But only for a moment.

You had met the two of them at school.

Well, that wasn’t quite true.

You had seen the two of them at school, were quick to notice their lingering stares and the way they whispered between themselves when you passed them in the hallway.

The first half of the night had been a motion-filled blur. 

You vaguely remembered dancing, remembered drinking, half watching horror movies as they played in the background, the sounds of screaming from the TV nearly as prominent in your memory as the thumping music from the next room over. 

The two boys had cornered you in the kitchen while you were refilling your cup, crowding you against the hard surface of the counter as they introduced themselves as Billy and Stu. 

“How drunk do you think she is?” The taller of the two, Stu, asked now, his chest bumping playfully against your back as you swayed on your feet.

“She’s had a few,” the other replied, his eyes roving your body appreciatively.

“Considering how hard you’ve been staring at her tonight, I’m a little surprised that you don’t know the exact count,” Stu teased.

“You jealous?” Billy asked, smug and grinning as he met Stu’s eyes.

“I’m not the one who gets jealous here, babe.”

You watched as a look of irritation crossed the shorter man’s face then and he stood taller suddenly, not quite on the tips of his toes as he leaned up, taking hold of the back of Stu’s head and pulling him down to meet his lips aggressively. 

There was a fluttering in your stomach at the display as the two boys kissed each other, either unaware of your eyes on them or simply not caring altogether as they pressed your body between their chests.

The taller boy groaned against Billy’s mouth as his nails found his scalp and used the leverage to drag him closer, dominating the kiss now with his teeth and tongue. Stu lifted his hand then, allowing it to hover precariously over Billy’s hair as if planning to return the action before wisely deciding against it, moving fingers instead to the pale expanse of his throat. Billy seemed to startle at this, the pair breaking apart suddenly, pupils wide and breath coming in short huffs between them.

You made a small noise as both boys seemed to turn their attention to you at the same time. 

Billy was the first to claim your lips, one hand pressed to your cheek as he tilted your head in the direction he wanted. The kiss was slow, thorough, your eyes sliding shut and hands coming to rest on his chest as the tip of his tongue found its way into your mouth to brush against your own. You could feel hands on your body as they trailed your hips and breasts, long fingers snaking tantalizingly up your thigh beneath your skirt as Stu took advantage of your distracted state.

Billy’s lips left yours suddenly and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, eyes sliding open again to find the man grinning at you, obviously smug. 

There was another hand on your face then, maneuvering you gently much in the same way that Billy had, and suddenly Stu’s lips were on you, slick and warm and eager. The angle was uncomfortable, definitely bad for your neck, but as he began to kiss you with deep confident strokes of his tongue, you found you didn’t care quite as much. 

You felt as Billy’s hands found your hips, felt as they worked down the sides of your legs and under the hem of your skirt, fingers smoothing appreciatively over your inner thighs. You felt a pang of panic as he lifted the fabric, and you broke the kiss with Stu, sudden and breathless, hands flying immediately to press it down.

“Something wrong?” Billy asked, his tone teasing as deft fingers continued to play at your sensitive inner thighs.

“We’re in public,” you said by explanation, blushing now to the tops of your ears as the shorter of the two boys simply scoffed.

“No, we’re in Stu’s kitchen. Isn’t that right. Stu?” He replied, his eyes finding yours briefly before darting to the other boy’s where he stood over your shoulder.

“We sure are, Billy,” came the answer from the taller boy, clearly amused.

“But what if someone comes in?” You continued, whispering furiously now as you squirmed between them.

The pair exchanged a glance before the two of them grinned again, mischievous and more than a little worrying.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to give them a show, won’t we?” Billy answered.

You watched then as the shorter of the two lowered himself onto the floor in front of you, kitchen tiles beneath his knees, and began to squirm impatiently as his fingers once again found the soft skin of your thighs. Billy’s eyes met yours, intense, before he lifted your skirt again, pulling the material up until it clung to your waist. He remained this way for a moment, simply staring at your underwear before one corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a small smile, as if amused.

“What?” Stu asked, his chin hooked over your shoulder as his mouth continued idly to tease at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Bunny rabbits…” Billy replied, hooking his fingers in the bit of fabric and tugging halfheartedly.

“What?” Stu laughed. “No way, let me see.”

You could feel your face heating impossibly further as you forced your knees together, moving quickly to pull your skirt back down a second time, embarrassed beyond words at the turn of events. Of all the humiliating underwear you could have changed into before the party, why did it have to be the pair with the rabbits?

Stu caught your hands easily before they could flatten the material of your skirt back to its original position, pulling your arms behind your back and holding them in place as Billy slid the piece of fabric, slick from your own growing excitement, down your legs.

‘Well,’ you thought, watching as Billy passed your panties to the taller boy. ‘At least this can’t get worse.’

“These are cute,” Stu cooed, your panties in one hand and your wrists in the other as he restrained you still. 

You turned away with a huff as the taller boy dangled your underwear in front of you, your cheeks still burning in humiliation.

“Hold her still, Stu.”

Stu’s hand wandered to your side then, panties still held loosely between his fingers as he took hold of your hip, gripping tightly to steady you as Billy lifted one of your shaking legs to his shoulder.

Your eyes found Billy’s as he grinned against you, giving the inside of your thigh a playful bite before bringing two fingers to your slick folds, pressing in easily and twisting both fingers experimentally.

You arched, eyes flying open at the suddenness, one hand coming to rest on Billy’s shoulder, the action drawing another laugh from the tall boy behind you. The moans that fell from your mouth were soft at first, muffled slightly by your closed lips, afraid that someone might hear and come to investigate.

You were simultaneously lost in your own pleasure and painfully aware of the world around you, knowing that anyone could enter the kitchen at any time and catch the three of you in the act. You could feel Stu’s hands as they released their hold on you, freeing your arms, and you gave a low moan as his hands slid under your shirt to cup your breasts. His lips moved from side of your neck to your exposed shoulder and he began to lavish it with long strokes of his tongue and gentle bites, his slender fingers finding and teasing your nipples through the light padding of your bra. You began to squirm in earnest as both boys worked against you, struggling to maintain your balance on one shaky leg as you reached up now, throwing an arm behind your head to wrap around the back of Stu’s neck with a moan.

There was the sound of heavy footfalls suddenly as someone else entered the kitchen, and you snapped your mouth shut with an audible click of your teeth as your classmate wandered by suddenly, aimless and staggering on his feet as if he had had a few beers too many. You found yourself holding your breath, removing your hand from it’s place on Billy’s shoulder and moving it behind you instead, clenching anxiously at the fabric of the other boy’s sweater.

Stu grinned at this, nuzzling his face into your shoulder and giving an affectionate open-mouthed kiss to the exposed column of your throat. “What’s the matter?” He teased. “Feeling shy?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as Billy continued to work his fingers in and out of you, entirely unbothered by the newcomer as he puttered around the kitchen. You could feel the familiar pressure of an orgasm as it began to build and your hand moved from Stu’s sweater back to Billy’s shoulder, fisting your hand desperately in his white t-shirt.

“Billy, wait,” you whispered, bordering on distressed now, staring down at the boy as he continued to fuck you with his mouth and fingers. You could feel your eyes flying wide as he crooked his digits inside of you suddenly, and you arched towards him, hips stuttering forward before you were even fully aware of what had happened. “Wait,” you whispered again, your voice high pitched and needy as you squirmed against Stu’s front. “Wait.”

There was the sound of shuffling cups from the kitchen island followed immediately by the pouring of a drink, and you forced yourself closer to Stu’s chest in a panic, eyes wide. 

What if he saw? 

Then as quickly as he had shown up, the guy was gone, leaving the kitchen and leaving you to breathe a sigh of relief. This lasted for only a moment, of course, your solace replaced immediately by relentless pleasure as the boys continued. 

Stu’s hands persisted, kneading and pinching at your breasts roughly below your shirt but above your bra, his mouth moving then from your shoulder to your lips as he began to kiss you again.

Your orgasm was sudden, tearing through you with all the force of an earthquake as Billy crooked his fingers within you again and gave a particularly hard suck to your clit. You came with a cry, the sound muffled by Stu’s mouth as it pressed against your own, your leg that had been thrown over Billy’s shoulder slipping back to the ground as you used it now to support your weight.

Billy rose to his feet then, bringing wet fingers to his mouth with a pleased grin. His lips and chin were damp with your slick as he sucked the digits into his mouth, something that did not go unnoticed by you. He brushed Stu aside then, claiming your lips with his own, and you could taste yourself on his tongue as it pressed inside.

You had been dealing with an unfortunate cold for the past few days, Brahms knew, but as you climbed into bed for the third time that week without giving him his goodnight kiss, he could feel any sympathy he might have had withering down to a sliver.

You had been neglectful of him as you recovered, purposely distant, something that annoyed Brahms to no end. Instead of following your usual schedule, you had chosen to ignore your chores and duties, confining yourself to your room, in bed and coughing as if you might decide to drop dead at any point.

Brahms smiled slyly under his porcelain mask as he thought of all the ways you would make it up to him soon enough.

He had entered your room through the main hallway, aware by now of every creaking floorboard, careful to avoid making any sound as he shut the door gently behind him. Brahms’s gray eyes strained in the dark, roaming the length of the room until they were able to make out the familiar shape of your bed, your body fully obscured by the ever present mountain of blankets.

His mask clinked gently against the top of your nightstand as he removed it, his eyes finding your face in the soft moonlight, as if making sure you were still sleeping before climbing fully into bed with you. The mattress creaked as he settled over your sleeping body, creaked again as he removed your heavy blanket, one knee on either side of your thighs now as his hands hovered precariously over your clothed chest. 

He had watched you take your cold medicine only a few hours ago and knew from experience that you were much harder to rouse while it was in your system. 

He intended to use this to his advantage.

Brahms lifted your sleep shirt slowly, hiking the fabric up until it rested just past the tops of your breasts. The larger man tilted his head at your sleeping form, biting back a mischievous giggle as he settled back against your thighs to watch the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest.

Just how far could he go without waking you, he wondered. 

His fingertips found the sides of your neck, squeezing gently, and he mused briefly at your vulnerability before his long fingers moved past the bunched fabric of your shirt. Brahms’s touch remained feather light as both hands found the swell of your breasts then, gentle at first, his gray eyes darting from the sensitive flesh under his palms to your dark lashes where they fanned delicately across your flushed cheeks.

Still you did not wake.

As if emboldened by this, he began to knead at your breasts in earnest, watching enthralled as your pliable flesh dimpled under his fingertips. He gave a sudden harsh squeeze, his palm flush to your hardening nipple, and your body gave a single restless twist beneath his spread thighs before once again falling still.

Brahms arced his back then, removing both hands from your breasts. He slipped one roving hand into the waistband of his pajamas, forcing the fabric down hurriedly as he pulled free the length of his cock. He began to groan softly as he worked himself in his hand, bowing his head low at the same time to drag the flat of his tongue across your hardening nipple. He wrapped his lips around the small bud, rolling it between his teeth playfully, so enthralled by the press of the delicate nub against his tongue that he did not notice when you finally did begin to awaken.

With a sleepy groan, you brought one hand to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves deep in his greasy curls as you pressed him closer to where you wanted him. You could feel him grin playfully against the sensitive flesh, mischievous but accommodating as he lavished it with his tongue and continued to suck.

You came to yourself slowly as pleasure flooded your system, groggy still from the medicine you had taken and not yet completely awake. “What time is it?” You moaned, turning your head in hopes of catching the numbers on the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

Brahms removed his mouth from you suddenly, catching your chin easily between his fingers and turning your head so your eyes found his. 

“Ah, ah,” the man teased, his voice high and childlike. “Eyes on me~”

You groaned, lifting one forearm to throw over your eyes as Brahms’s hand left his member and moved instead to your underwear, the thin fabric catching against your skin for a moment before sliding down your thighs. With your eyes covered, you completely missed the sly smirk on Brahms’s face as he brought the article of clothing briefly to his nose before tucking them away in the pocket of his sleep pants.

Brahms had the unfortunate habit of wanting to ‘play’ at the worst times, specifically times when you had a long day of chores ahead of you, or right now, right this moment, for example, while you were half asleep and struggling to fight off the unpleasantness of a cold.

You remembered taking your NyQuil the night before, remembered climbing under the cozy comforter that sat atop your bed before the medicine had fully taken hold, spending a half hour tossing and turning before you finally fell asleep.

Brahms, ever the opportunist, was quick to take advantage of your wandering mind, wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you up and away from the comfort of your remaining blankets.

You found yourself on top of him then, dizzy with the way he had used his bulk almost effortlessly to flip the two of you into opposite positions. Your hands found his chest, one hand carding through the dark thicket of his chest hair while the other remained still against the rise of his ribs, bracing yourself against him. 

Had he always been shirtless?

You blinked at him, groggy from sleep and the medicine you had taken that had not yet worn off, content for now on your perch above him as you allowed your hands to wander. The larger man, clearly pleased at the attention he was receiving, preened, allowed his body to relax under yours, his dark curls splayed across your pillows and his large hands spanning your hips.

Brahms, you had learned quickly, was the type to initiate and then sit back, happiest when you did all the work and did it without complaint. 

Your hand found the base of his length as it pressed against your lower stomach and you wrapped your fingers around it, a smug but tired grin crossing your face when the man hissed through his teeth at the action. You could feel his abdomen muscles flexing under your palm as you supported your weight and allowed a brief moment for your sharp fingernails to dig in, leaving painful looking indents on the man’s pliable skin.

The man tensed as you sank down, his head thrown back against your pillows as you lowered yourself onto his cock. The fit of him inside of you was snug but pleasant and you watched patient and unmoving as his exposed face cycled through various emotions. The scars that disfigured him were barely visible in the room’s near darkness and you found yourself staring with unfocused eyes though you knew the action could be construed as rude. 

“Move,” Brahms rasped finally, voice deep as his hands found your thighs.

“Ah, ah,” you laughed, your voice strained in your own ears as you attempted to mirror his attitude from earlier. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” he whined desperately, his hips giving single aborted thrust upwards before falling still beneath you again.

Wanting nothing more than to get this show on the road, you gave a soft sigh of pleasure as you began to move, hips rising and falling above his own. Your pace was slow, having discovered immediately that you lacked the energy for anything quicker. You inhaled deeply through your nose as you worked your hips against his, doing your best to ignore the pounding behind your eyes as it threatened to grow into a full blown headache.

Brahms, for the most part, was patient, something that surprised you at first given that he was one of the most impatient people you had ever met. He was usually so quick to force his hips flush to yours during sex, delving his fingers into the swell of your hips and working you against him for his own pleasure.

This continued for some time, the steady push and pull of your bodies as you rode him. There was no harsh slapping of skin on skin, just the smooth slide of your undulating hips and Brahms for the most part taking what he got without complaint, giving only the occasional sharp thrust when he suddenly found your pace too slow for his liking.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy for me, Brahms?” You whispered suddenly against his pale throat, lips and tongue finding the sensitive shell of his ear. Your tongue was soon replaced with teeth as you bit down, gently twisting the flexible cartilage in a way that had Brahms groaning under you, his hips stuttering upwards responsively to meet your own. You could feel his hands as they moved from your hips to your thighs, fingertips pressing so tightly to your bare skin that you feared they may bruise.

“Yesssss,” he moaned, his voice hovering strangely between a deep growl and the voice he used when he wanted something from you, high pitched and reminiscent of a child. “Please, please.”

You took one of his restless hands in your own, guiding it between your bodies and pressing his long fingers insistently to your clit. You arched your back, head thrown back and mouth dropping in pleasure as he began to work his thumb furiously against the small nub, the resulting assault of stimulation causing you nearly to cry out.

You waited for a few moments, your walls fluttering around his leaking member until his hips began to stutter beneath your own. With great restraint, you lowered your hand to find the base of his cock before he could press into you again. Brahms whined at this, hips rising insistently as they tried to meet your own, displeased as you prevented him now from thrusting back into your slick heat.

With a small grin, you began to pump your wrist along his length, quick even strokes that had Brahms arching off the bed with a soft gasp, any complaint he had dying on his lips. He came quickly after that, his fingers finding your wrist and squeezing hard, watching transfixed as his seed spilled over your delicate fingers.

You lifted your hand from his weeping cock, moving them so they hovered above his flushed face, dripping fingers spread tantalizingly as you pressed the digits to his spit slicked lips. “Open.”

Brahms opened his mouth immediately, obediently sucking your cum covered fingers into his mouth and lavishing them with his tongue.

“Good boy, Brahms,” you purred, brushing his dark greasy curls away from his forehead with your free hand. You pulled your fingers from his mouth then, reaching behind you to wipe the dampness on his striped pajama bottoms as you moved from your position over him. 

His arms came around your waist as you lowered yourself to lay beside him, shuffling backwards until your back was flush to his bare chest, his chapped lips finding the back of your neck and biting gently at the flesh he found there. You could feel the snaking of his palms as they moved to your thighs, dancing along your hips before traveling to your waist. Your shirt was still rucked up, setting atop your breasts and he took advantage of this, pinching one nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Brahms,” you said softly, the word ending on a sigh. Your eyes were already closed as you began to drift off to sleep. 

“Yes?” He asked, his voice slipping into its usual falsetto. You could feel as his hand stilled against your breast for a moment, moving as if to pull away before you lifted your own hand to meet it, pressing it again to your tender flesh. 

“Do what you want but don’t wake me up again, okay?”

It had been easy enough to coax him into the sturdy chair you had dragged from the kitchen for this very purpose, and he watched you now through the eye holes of his marble white mask, pale hands resting on his knees.

Impassive.

But for how long?

You had been planning this little adventure for almost a week now, pleased at how easily the pieces had come together. Dinner had been surprisingly pleasant and as you fiddled with the old CD player you had dug from your closet, you began to wonder why you hadn’t tried this sooner. 

You were ready. You could do this.

When your short robe hit the floor to pool around your feet, for a moment you found yourself understandably disappointed at the nonexistent reaction .

The lingerie you had decided on had been carefully considered before being purchased, both items red, stark against your skin and perfect combined with the red lipstick that you favored. The sheer material of the babydoll top served its purpose well, seductive from it’s lacy plunging neckline to it’s matching hemline as it fell just a few inches below where your hip met your thigh. The panties you had chosen were in the same vein, lace also, the fabric much too opulent and intricately woven to be truly comfortable against your skin.

Michael remained as silent as he always did, stiff and unmoving still in the chair you had placed him in. 

Really? No reaction at all? 

For a moment you considered bending purposely in front of Michael, making sure to give him a good view of your cheeky panties as you lifted the robe from where you had dropped it to the floor. You imagined putting it back on, sliding the soft fabric carefully over your shoulders as you went downstairs to find something to watch on television, perhaps spitefully turning off the light switch on your way out to leave the man in the dark.

Instead you huffed. 

You were going to get some kind of reaction out of him if it was the last thing you did tonight.

Your hands found Michael’s wrists and you struggled for a moment with the wide spread of his legs, maneuvering yourself carefully onto his lap at the same time you pressed his hands to either side of your waist. One roving hand found his chest, smoothing manicured fingers across the dark blue fabric covering it as you brought your other hand up to toy idly with the worn zipper. You ground your hips to his slowly as you worked open the front of his coveralls, hands finding the tight black t-shirt beneath. With your fingers, you began to work slow circles into his pecs, thumbs brushing mischievously at the man’s clothed nipples. Your hands worked impatiently downward, moving from his hardening nipples to the expanse of his taut stomach, fingers slipping below the hemline and raking upwards against his bare skin with sharp nails.

You could feel his fingers flexing restlessly now, small halted movements against the fabric of your sheer babydoll top and you grinned to yourself.

A victory.

You brought your lips to Michael’s neck then, mouth meeting the pale skin below the bottom of his mask and teasing him with the dulled edges of your teeth. 

From the other side of the room, the old CD player began to skip, incessantly repeating the same note, and you pulled away from Michael’s neck with a groan. Scraping your teeth one last time against the exposed skin, you moved to get up from his lap only to find that his grip had hardened to steel. You rolled your eyes. “Let me get the CD player, Michael,” 

Michael, as usual, gave no indication that he had heard you or even cared about what you were saying. Instead he dragged you impossibly closer, fingers slipping from your waist to the swell of your ass, digging in with sharp, relentless fingernails.

Your body gave an involuntary lurch at the sudden sting, hips stuttering forward against his as his large hands began to squeeze and knead the flesh under his fingers.

“Michael, please, the CD player,” you tried again, squirming uncomfortably as you took hold of the larger man’s wrists and attempted to pry them away from your delicate skin.

He pulled one hand from your body, reluctant and lingering, fingers going instead to the bottom of his mask. He lifted it over his chapped lips but did not raise it any further, the majority of his face still hidden beneath the white latex, safe from your prying eyes.

Michael ducked his head then, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your breast as it threatened to spill out of your top, your mouth falling open at the scrape of his sharp canines against your flesh.

Still the CD player skipped.

“Michael,” you said once more, exasperated now while at the same time arching your back to give him better access to your responsive skin. “The CD player.”

You gave a startled sound then as the man ensnared you fully in his arms, tight and more than a little threatening as he stood suddenly from his chair. Your arms came up to encircle the back of his neck and you wrapped your legs around his waist for support as the man moved forward, approaching the sound of the noise. It was a strange sight to be sure, the man crossing the room with his white mask tugged slightly upwards still, his lips a soft pink color where they had been pressed to your skin moments before. 

You wondered briefly if he could even see like that.

With a quick jerk, the CD player’s cord was ripped from the wall. Michael waited for a moment, seeming to consider something before the CD player itself was knocked from the dresser and onto the floor, the lid coming loose with the force of the impact and skittering across the hardwood.

You buried your face in his neck and huffed, irritated at the destruction.

The cold wall was a surprise against your back and you found yourself arcing your spine suddenly, trying to distance yourself from it with a furrowed brow and a soft noise of displeasure. 

As usual, Michael had other plans.

He slipped a hand between the two of you, traveling downward until it reached the v of your thighs, and began to brush uncharacteristically gentle fingers against the material of your underwear. His hand lingered for a moment there, absently rolling the extravagant red fabric between his thumb and index fingers before moving even lower, pressing his palm to your clothed sex through the thin layer of your panties.

You sucked in a breath at the sudden bout of stimulation, hips stuttering forward against his hand and giving a low groan of disappointment when this resulted in him removing the pressure all together.

“Michael, please” you moaned, not at all above begging the stoic man for what you needed. You saw a ghost of a smirk cross the lower half of the man’s face before the expression was quickly reeled in, visage slipping then into something decidedly more neutral.

His large hand moved forward again, sliding below the waistband of your panties to press flush to your aching heat. He began to apply pressure, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit harshly and slipping two fingers easily into the wet heat of your entrance.

You jolted against him involuntarily, eyes going wide and your head lolling to one side as his hand began working against you, pumping his fingers in and out harshly.

“Michael,” you said softly, your voice needy and high in your own ears. You could feel a building pressure in your lower stomach already, embarrassingly early, and knew that you wouldn’t last much longer if the man retained his fervid pace. 

As if sensing this, Michael pulled his fingers from your entrance suddenly, leaving you to clench uncomfortably around the feeling of sudden emptiness. He maneuvered you easily in his hold, one strong forearm under your ass to support your weight as he moved to unzip his coveralls the rest of the way.

You held your breath, unable to watch his actions due to the heavy rise and fall of your own chest and your close proximity the two of you shared. You could feel as his fingers returned, felt as they prodded at you purposefully, could feel as he tugged the fabric of your panties aside. You closed your eyes at the sudden pressure of his cock at your entrance, the anticipation of what was to come enough to have you squirming restlessly in his iron grasp. You gave a single uneven exhale, calming yourself.

When his hips snapped forward without warning, you found that you couldn’t hold back the startled cry that burst from your lips. You removed one arm from its place around his neck and bent it between the two of you, fingers fanned now against his clothed chest as if to force him away as he set his brutal pace.

“Michael!” You cried, voice quivering from the force of his powerful thrusts

The hand you had placed on his chest lasted there for only a second before beginning its restless descent, bridging the gap between his toned stomach and the spread of your legs as he pounded relentlessly into you. You threw your head back as your fingers met your clit, the soft thump of the wall under your head drowned out by the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin. You worked yourself in time to his harsh thrusts, chasing your own pleasure as your long nails pressed on either side of your sensitive nub, the action bordering on painful but not quite enough to goad you into stopping. 

Michael’s teeth found the responsive flesh of your neck then, sharp canines scraping against the flushed skin harshly. This was the only warning you received before he bit down in earnest, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

You cried out at this, your body jerking hard in the opposite direction as you tried in vain to wrench your shoulder from his mouth. Your hand flew from your clit to his shoulder and you pushed hard against him, making a small noise of distress as he refused to budge even an inch.

His arms tightened around you as he dragged you ever closer, giving one last vicious thrust before he came deep inside of you, as if spurred on by your incredible discomfort. 

His jaw loosened finally and you gave a shaky sigh, eyes closed against the pain of your throbbing shoulder. You could feel his warm exhales as they fanned against the side of your neck, calm now, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as if the storm had passed and he was finally at peace. He made no move to release you, something you were grateful for as you were unsure of your ability to support your own weight at the moment.

He looked away at this, shy, the telltale red of a deep blush creeping across the visible portions of his face. Regardless of his rampant anxiety and sweating palms, he allowed his hands to roam more adventurously, calloused fingertips finding their way below the hemline of your shirt and across the expanse of your skin.

You shivered despite yourself, goosebumps breaking out across your newly exposed flesh. “We don’t have to do this if you’re nervous,” you murmured, a sigh of enjoyment finding its way past your lips as the large man continued his tentative exploration.

His eyes widened at this and he shook his head, always so expressive despite the mask that shielded the entire bottom half of his face. His hands returned to the swell of your hips and he squeezed once, as if he were trying to reassure you or possibly even himself.

Pleased with his response, you dropped your hands to the hem of your shirt and tugged it upwards, fingers nearly shaking now from the nerve wracking atmosphere that surrounded the two of you. The shirt came up and over, tousling your hair on its way over your head, and you dropped it to the floor with a grateful sigh, happy at least to feel the room’s cooler air on your skin.

Thomas’s eyes wandered downwards to your newly exposed skin for only a second before they snapped back to your face, embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

“Your turn,” you laughed, pressing a finger gently to his chest, right beside the column of buttons that split his collared shirt down the middle.

He took a small step away from you and you watched for a moment as his large fingers -the appendages usually so dexterous- fiddled with the buttons on his shirt nervously. With a warm smile you closed the distance between you, brushing the man’s fingers aside as you began to undo the buttons yourself.

Thomas looked away at this, head turned completely away as his cheeks heated impossibly further.

The removal of the rest of your clothes came quickly after that, your shorts and panties joining your t-shirt on the floor where you had dropped it before.

He watched you with his dark eyes, pupils blown wide as he hungrily drank in the sight of your bare skin.

You bit your lip, eyes shifting to one side as you stood before him now, suddenly shy. You took a seat on the edge of the bed and slid towards the headboard, overly aware of the creaking of the old mattress under your body and the way his intense gaze never strayed from your nude form. You situated yourself comfortably on the old sheets, propped up now on both elbows.

“Well?” You asked, the embarrassing cracking of your voice the only other sound in the room save for the large man’s heavy breathing. You beckoned him towards you, pleased when the man seemed to uproot himself from the place he had been standing, moving now towards you with significantly less hesitancy.

The bed dipped under his weight as his knee found the edge, and you brought one arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. You drew him in close, pressing your foreheads together as his hands found their places on either side of your head.

You hooked your fingers into his belt gently, maneuvering him into place between your legs, foreheads still pressed together, content to simply share each other’s space. Your hands found the front of his pants and you fumbled for a moment, breaking the contact and looking down to where he hovered between your spread legs.

Thomas’s erection was prominent, straining obviously in the confines of his pants and you brushed against it purposely with your fingers, eliciting a quick inhale of breath from the man that had you smiling mischievously to yourself.

The belt came open easily under your hands and you gave it a firm tug, the long strip of leather coming free from the belt loops of his pants as you tossed it onto your own pile of clothes. The button that held his pants closed was next, followed then by the fly, and you found yourself quickly undoing and then unzipping until the front of his pants hung open completely. Wasting no time, you slid your hand past the elastic of his boxers and wrapped your hand around his member, pulling his heavy erection free.

He made a low noise at this, pained almost though you held him so gently, the sound igniting a flurry of butterflies in your lower stomach.

You pulled him forward then, gently, bracing yourself as you positioned him where you wanted him, the blunt head of his cock nudging insistently at your slick entrance.

“Go on,” you rumbled softly, your voice cracking again as the situation began to sink it fully. “It’s okay.”

His eyes met your own and he began to press forward slowly, so slowly, his eyes closing and long dark lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks. 

Your mouth fell open and you gasped immediately at the new sensation of being filled, the man above you freezing instantly as the sound tumbled from your lips. You lifted one hand to wrap around his bicep, squeezing gently to ground yourself against the vague discomfort. 

It was a tight fit to be sure, but with the lack of foreplay, you had already known it would be. You lifted one arm and draped it again across the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "Please," you rasped into the side of his neck, hands shaking now from the feeling of being so, so full. "Please move, Tommy."

The first drag was enough to have you gasping again, the action just this side of painful. Your back arched, free hand sliding across the worn bed sheets to fist in the faded blue of the floral fabric. 

The large man leaned forward again, turning his head to press his mask to the fingertips that hovered nearby.

He found his rhythm quickly, the steady push and pull of his thrusts enough to have you tossing your head back against the multiple pillows that supported your neck. The pressure of being too full faded into the background, lost under a wave of pleasure strong enough to have your legs quaking on either side of his thrusting hips.

You moved your restless hand from the sheets at your hip to the empty space beside your head and Thomas dove on it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and pressing them into the mattress.

You moaned at this, soft and barely audible, fingers flexing against his own as he picked up his pace. 

“Come on,” you breathed, pressing open mouthed kisses to the exposed side of his neck. “Come on, you’re doing so well, come on.”

He made a noise deep in his throat then, grunting behind his mask as he moved to grip your thighs. He pulled you closer with ease, your lower half completely on his lap now, the fabric of his pants chafing the back of your bare thighs with every thrust as he found an angle that allowed him to press ever deeper.

You groaned at the change of position, at the feeling of his large hands on your thighs as they quivered around him. “Come on,” you rasped again, though you were unsure now what you were even asking for. “Come on.”

His hands moved from your thighs to your stomach and they lingered there for a brief moment before wandering higher, large hands spanning the length of your ribs on either side of your chest, his thumbs resting just below your breasts.

With one arm bent at the elbow and your forearm thrown across the jut of your ribs, your hand met his and you slotted your fingers together once more. You then lifted both of your hands to the soft give of your breast, arching your spine to press the tender flesh of it into his palm.

He grunted at the action, fingers flexing against the softness and one calloused thumb grazing your nipple as his hips began to stutter out of their rhythm. Thomas slid one arm around your waist and dragged you closer still, hunching his back and burying his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder as he came suddenly, filling you with his warm seed.

When Thomas finally pulled out, it was with the unpleasant sensation of your combined slick slipping downwards to pool onto the sheets beneath you. The two of you remained there for a few long moments, breathing the muggy air that hung between you, chests heaving in the dwindling daylight visible through the room’s lone window.

“You did great,” you whispered, wrapping both arms around his back and pulling him impossibly closer. From this position, it was easy to slide one hand into his hair, tugging idly at the clumped strands that hung, still damp from his earlier shower. “You were so good for me, Tommy.”

The man made another noise then, needy as he pressed his face deeper into your collarbone to hide his still flushed cheeks.

Your mouth dropped open against his shoulder as you felt the large man shift, the strange sensation of his length hardening against your inner thigh more than enough to have you squirming under him.