𓊆sᴀᴡ ɪs ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ𓊇

"I wanna go back to Wisconsin!" Jessica, from beside Carly in the backseat, whines as loud as she can.

"It's a road trip, you guys." You try to ration. "We'll be out of here in no time, we're just passing through."

Lance glances at you in barely concealed adoration, his hand sneaking over the center console to intertwine with yours. His thumb rubs little circles at the back of it. You haven't been this happy in a long time.

The two of you have had your ups and downs, but things have been going good for the past year. So good, you wonder if maybe he might propose. He's been acting a little secretive, like he's trying to surprise you with something. You dare to let yourself hope it's a ring.

"Hey, can we stop off at that little store? I need some water, stat." Carly asks, pointing up the road at a shabby looking store. It's a beacon of hope, nonetheless, for your parched little group.

Lance nods, turning into the small parking lot of the general store. His hand still gently caressing yours, passing heated glances with you.

Once parked, the two other girls hop out of the Jeep and pad their way along to the entrance of the general store. Lance looks at you conspiratorially now that you're alone. Jutting his chin in the direction of a secluded wooded area near the side of the store.

"Wanna get some alone time in?" He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows comically. You laugh and hop out of the car, sending a sultry look of affirmation his way. He's not far behind.

Lance's black hair looks silky in the hot sun as he leads you over to the little forest alcove. His hot palm kneading into your ass, little pangs of thrill shoot up your spine. He's not usually spontaneous like this and it's driving you wild.

"What's gotten into you, Lancelot?" You giggle at the nickname you've used for him for years. He presses you up against a tree, hands roaming over your hips and backside.

"You just look so good today…" He whispers into your hair, lips trailing down over your ear to your neck. His tongue lapping out and eliciting quiet moans from you as your own hands wander the expanse of his back.

Lances fingers make quick work of the buttons on your cotton, long sleeve, button up. He hurries to undo the front clasp of your bra, letting your breasts spill out for him to paw at.

You lean back against the tree, relaxing into his firm touch. Lance wasn't perfect at it, given you and him had been together since high school, but he was yours.

Just as he starts to suck a hickey into the top of your breast, you lean back and open your eyes only to find the largest man you've ever seen standing off to the side of the general store. His icy gaze is centered directly on you.

You gasp and push Lance away, he's about to ask what's wrong when he catches sight of the behemoth. "Holy fuck…" He whispers in terror.

The man's face is masked by what looks like a cow-hide muzzle. Only the top half of his face is visible, with just his bottom lip showing through the mouth-hole of the muzzle. His eyes dart down to your chest, widening in shock at the sight of your bare tits.

"Oh!" You exclaim, hiding behind Lance to button your bra and shirt back up. The man only then shifts his gaze away to stare down at his hands, which are littered with cuts along with his forearms. He's practically covered in dirt, as well as some sort of dried, rust-colored substance. Blood?

He's wearing an apron, looks like he came straight out of a slaughterhouse. Maybe he's a butcher.

"I'm so sorry, we didn't know anyone was back here!" You try to apologize, thinking maybe you've disturbed his workday by getting frisky behind his store. At the same time, Lance stands up straighter and casts a shrill look at the man.

"What the hell, man?" Lance looks at him suspiciously, still stood in front of you despite the fact that you're fully clothed. You look up at him in disbelief, you didn't think he was the sort of guy to get upset at a stranger like this. "What are you, stupid? Trying to get an eyeful of my girl?"

"Lance!" You cry out before turning to look at the man, who is now shaking his head 'no.' His fingers twitching, hands held above his belly. "I'm sorry about him, we'll get outta your hair."

The man can't rip his eyes off of you, hasn't since you saw him. You bow your head, grabbing Lance by the hand and pulling him away to the front of the store.

The man watches you leave.

Carly and Jessica are waiting for the two of you, Lance leans down so only you can hear him as the four of you head off towards the Jeep once more.

"Why'd you apologize? That guy was a freak." He mutters next to you, his hand pressed into your back starting to feel like a red hot brand. This wasn't how he usually was, the whole time you'd known him he'd always been compassionate. But then again, you don't think you've ever met someone like that man with Lance.

"What? It's not like he knew we were back there, he didn't do it on purpose." You try to reason. Lance isn't having any of it, there was something about that man that seems to have struck a chord with him.

"He was a creep."

"He's just a guy, Lance."

"What're you guys arguing about now?" Carly rolls her eyes. hopping into the back of the Jeep as Lance and you settle into the front. Jess shakes her head at Carly, a silent plea to leave it alone.

"It's nothing." Lance answers for you, you shoot him a half-hearted glare. Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, Lance starts to drive off.

It's already too late when Lance realizes just how low on gas the Jeep is. The car sputters out to a stop in the middle of a long stretch of deserted road. The only thing in sight is a large, white, plantation style home farther down the road. The only option is to get out and walk, see if maybe they have some spare gas. Not likely, with the state of the economy, and honestly, the state of this town.

A couple cars pass you along the way, and it's about thirty minutes walk to the house, maybe more. It's only just barely in sight.

"Why didn't we stop to get gas?" Carly complains, hand swiping off bead-lets of sweat from her forehead. Jess and Lance aren't far behind, with you leading the group noticeably farther ahead. Lance has been acting more irritable since the incident with the man at the store.

"Didn't think of it, I guess." Jess mutters, kicking a rock with the toe of her sneakers. You think you can hear Lance scoff under his breath, like somehow the blame isn't on him, the driver.

You try to put him out of your mind, watching as you approach the house, not long to go now. As you meander along, you can't help but think of the man at the store. His icy blue eyes piercing into you even from the recesses of your mind, his long black hair, greasy and sweaty, plastered to his forehead and neck. The thought of him towering over you, his eyes glued to your bare chest.

You feel a wave of guilt as your panties get a little sticky from the thought. There's an animal attraction there and you're not sure what to think of it. You're so stuck in your fantasy, you barely realize you've come up to the drive way of the house.

Lance pushes past you to trod up the porch stairs, banging his fist against the door. Carly chastises him for making so much noise, as the three of you join him on the porch.

A voice from inside the house calls out but its hard to hear, sounds like an older woman. The large wooden double doors swing open, leaving the screen door in between. An older woman stands before your group, her grey-blonde hair pulled up into a messy updo. She looks at you over her glasses, seemingly assessing you instead of your group as a whole.

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am." You say softly, wilting under her scrutinizing gaze. You try to stay as polite as possible, hoping it'll get you into her good graces. "Our car ran outta gas a ways down the road, would you happen to have any to spare?"

She seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for in you because she smiles a gentle smile, stepping aside and opening the screen door.

"Well, I'd have to check, but why don't you kids come sit down while I look." She says as she ushers you in. Your group files in, meandering around the entryway as she shuts the doors behind you, not noticing as she locks the double doors.

She leads the four of you to a sitting room, where a man in a wheelchair sits watching TV. It's awkward as she gestures for you to take a seat on the seemingly ancient sofa. There's a faint stench of mildew and mothballs permeating the house, as well as a twinge of iron. It makes your mouth water in a strange, unexplainable way.

Almost smells like meat. You wonder if she's cooking.

"C'mere boy, why don't you help me look. It's a big can, won't be able to hold it m'self." She gestures for Lance to follow her. "The names Luda Mae, by the way, that there's Uncle Monty."

Monty doesn't even look your way as he raises a hand in greeting, half-heartedly.

"It's nice to meet you, Luda." You respond, giving your name in kind. You're the only one of your group to introduce themselves. Carly and Jessica are huddled up on the loveseat across from you, looking around in barely concealed disgust. Since when did all your friends turn into assholes? You didn't take them for the sort of people who looked down on others homes.

Neither of them can stop staring at Monty's missing legs either, it makes you ashamed to know them. The silence stretches on, only Carly and Jess whispering every once in a while breaks through. Footsteps begin to approach, you look up to find some sort of Sheriff stood in the doorway.

"Now, look-y what we have here." His grin is sleazy, and he narrows his eyes at Jess. Luda comes up behind him, Lance no where in sight.

"These poor souls ran outta gas." She explains, "I remember 'em from the store. Not this'n though."

You feel heat curling up your neck, shame sprawled through your chest. You didn't think you'd have to tell anyone about your little tryst outside the store.

"Oh, yeah. Lance and I went on a stroll while our friends went in." You lie, voice shaking just a tad. The Sheriff looks at you with a shit-eating smile, like he knows what really happened.

"Yes, I'd heard. My boy saw you out there." Luda says, making your face heat up even worse. The man out there was her son. You really wish a hole would just open up beneath your feet and gobble you right up, you'd never felt more embarrassed in your life.

"That was your son?" You mutter shyly, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Luda Mae seems to light up at your words, thinking maybe you've taken an interest in her boy. She comes forward to sit down next to you on the sofa. You get a glimpse of the Sheriffs name tag as he leans on the armrest of the loveseat your friends are sat at, starting up what sounds like an uncomfortable conversation with the girls. Hoyt. His name was Hoyt.

"Yes— my boy, Thomas. He's here now if you wanna see him." She smiles at you as she pats your shoulder, your head is turned to her in conversation and you don't see as Hoyt leads your friends out of the room. "He's real shy, bless his heart."

"Oh, that's okay—" You try to decline. Try to tell her you're taken, but she interrupts.

"I'll put on some tea; why don't you come into the kitchen with me?" Luda grabs you by the hand and pulls you out of the sitting room. As you cross the foyer once more, you catch a glimpse of a big shadow on the far wall past the stairs, but its gone in an instant.

As you enter the kitchen, Luda Mae sets you up at the head of the kitchen table before flitting off to get a kettle going on the stove.

"It's really okay, we should get going anyway. How's the gas coming?" You rush out, about to stand up when she gently coaxes you back down, patting your shoulder soothingly.

"Oh, it's alright. Hoyt had to go fetch it out of the back, your little friends are just helpin' him." Luda reassures you, smoothing a wrinkle out of your shirt. You try to listen to her but there's a creeping unease in the pit of your stomach, it only gets worse as the kettle whistles on the stove making you jump.

You watch in unsteady silence as she makes up some tea, pouring the both of you a cup. You're shifting uncomfortably in your seat when she sets the teacup down, handing you a little spoon so you can divvy up your own sugar. She settles down in the chair to your right, looking down at her cup with a strange expression. She almost looks sad.

"Y'know, I've waited a long time for my Tommy to find a good girl." Luda Mae looks up at you, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, watching you carefully. You let a weak smile cross your face.

"He's a handsome man, I'm sure he'll find a great girl." You say, hoping it'll keep her happy. Though, there's a truth to it, you did find him quite handsome. If a little intimidating, and yeah, maybe he could do with a good scrub, but he was handsome. You're sure whatever may be under that muzzle he wears can't be so bad. Her face lights up with hope.

"You're right, I think he's made a good decision." She says, and you're about to ask what she means when Hoyt returns. The hulking man from before, hovering just behind him, almost like he's trying to hide. Thomas wrings his hands together, avoiding you as you look at him.

"Well? What're you standin' there for, Tommy?" Hoyt guffaws, smacking Thomas on the back. The words he says next rattle you to the core:

"Get her before she runs away."

You stand up in shock, Thomas lurches forward for you. You squeal as you dodge him, ducking under his thick arms to make a run for the door. You think you can hear Luda Mae screaming encouragements to her boy but the blood pumping in your ears is too loud to make it out. Not that you really care about anything other than escaping at the moment.

You get to the entrance, trying to pull at the doorhandles but they only stiffly rattle as they stay shut. You yell out in anger, Thomas has you cornered. You turn to look up at him, he's much closer than before. A scream is lodged in your throat but it refuses to crawl out. His striking eyes have you pinned like a deer in headlights.

He lunges forward, scooping you up into his arms, holding you flat and tight to his chest. Legs dangling, but not loose enough to kick, and your head pressed into his shoulder. He stinks of sweat and dirt, and blood. It almost makes you gag. Little pleas reach his ears as you try to push at his chest, begging him to see reason.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, sweetheart?" Hoyt asks with a condescending smile.

You watch as Luda Mae and Hoyt disappear from sight as you're brought down the hallway, past the stairs and to a door. Thomas lurches it open as you look forward to see where it leads. The dirty, wet, ominous stairs leading to the basement does nothing for your nerves.

"Please, please, please…" You whisper into his shoulder, softly sobbing. He pats your back gently.

The stench that hits your nose is revolting, it's like being in the middle of a poorly run slaughter house.

You gag, looking around only to find Carly's body hoisted up onto a meat-hook. You cry out in despair, Jessica is right next to her, hanging. They're blood is dripping and pooling under their bodies; you try to thrash against him but it's no use.

"No! No!" You shake your head, closing your eyes tight but he only grunts in response. He takes you past a butchering table, there's a body on it but its hard to tell who it is. It's face has been peeled off its head. You sob and cry. It's clothes give it away, it's Lance.

Fat tears and ugly sobs wrack your body as you shove your face as far into the behemoths shoulder as possible.

He's lead you into a backroom of the basement, the stench doesn't permeate as deeply in here. He flops you down onto a mattress unceremoniously, the sheets are yellowed and streaked with blood in some places. You try to wiggle away but his grip on your legs has you rooted to the bed. He's tying them up, reaching for your arms afterward.

"Please, please, you don't have to do this." You try to reason once more, only to find a look in his eyes that says 'yes.' Yes, he does have to do it.

He leaves you there, tied to the bed and crying. He shuts the door with a gentleness that shouldn't be possible for a man capable of such violence. The last look he gives you is one of shame.

As Thomas leaves his girl on his bed, he wonders if maybe he's made the right decision. You had a boy, he saw it. But there was something about the way you spoke to him, the way you looked at him. He thought maybe you wanted him to be your boy instead. Maybe he was wrong.

There's a sizzling jealousy in him, one that permeates even as he looks at the butchered corpse of your boy on his table across the room. All Tommy has ever wanted was to have someone for himself, someone who was nice to him and let him hold them. It made him so jealous when he saw you with your boy.

He wanted that.

And when you spoke to him so kindly after… He wanted that with you.

He knows what he is, knows you could never love him like he loves you but he wants to try. Wants you to want him just the same.

He looks down at his hands, bloodstained and too thick to do any good. He's sewing a new mask, one out of that boys face. Hopefully, you'll like him a little better once he looks like him.

He hopes that you'll come to fall for him, as he's fallen for you.

That night, as you toss and turn for hours, rubbing your wrists raw on the rope as you try to break free, Thomas creeps back into the room. His room, you think.

His head is ducked down, out of sight, but there's something covering it. Another mask? It must cover his whole head. There's a mop of familiar silky black hair at the top of it. A pit forms in your stomach. It… Couldn't be. It couldn't.

He looks up and you know. It's skin. A mask made of someone's face. Lance's face.

Great, big, heaving sobs wrack your body as he shuffles closer. He's shy in his movements, approaching you slowly as your gentle cries reach his ears. Even as you sob, you remain still and quiet. You're such a good girl. He knows now that he made the right decision.

You look so little, huddled into the corner of his bed, arms pulled to where the knot is tied around his bed frame. There's butterflies in his stomach, fluttering around as your big eyes look up at him.

There's white hot terror flowing through your veins, you're stuck in place. Paralyzed in fear. He's wearing your boyfriends face. And he's getting closer.

You can see his icy eyes in place of Lance's warm ones; you wish he'd killed you like the others.

Thomas reaches a big paw out toward your face, caressing your cheek in a gentle but firm press. He thinks you look so beautiful and he's so excited to spend the rest of his life with you. He's never had a girl before, and he's glad he found you.

Tears spill over your cheeks and he wipes them away with his soft touch, leaning that horrid mask closer to you. It stinks like rot, like rusted iron in a pit of decaying compost. He touches the lips of the mask to your cheek. A faux kiss.

He lays a couple more faux kisses from your cheek down to your collarbone in a burning trail. You think you hear him whimper against you as his fingers hover just above the buttons of your shirt.

It strikes you with horror when you realize what he's doing. He's recreating the scene he interrupted with you and Lance.

"No, no…" You mutter, over and over, trying to cower further into the corner of the bed. He pulls away just for a second, seemingly worried, but he decides to continue anyways.

Maybe you just need to get used to him. Thomas knows how scary he is, but he needs you to know he'll never hurt you.

His shaking fingers fumble with the buttons on your cotton shirt, his breath leaving him in gusts. He's never been more nervous in his life. Not since he had to butcher someone for the first time. Though, even then he wasn't really nervous, just worried what might happen if someone found the family out.

As more of your lovely skin is revealed to him, he leaves little lingering kisses against it. This time with his own mouth and not the mouth of the mask, letting his tongue dart out inquisitively like he'd seen your boy do.

You're constrained hands are curled into his shirt, trying to both push him away and pull him closer. You're not sure what's come over you, maybe it's the shock, or perhaps Stockholm Syndrome has set in so soon, but you almost like the way his tongue feels trailing over your sweaty chest.

He starts to get nervous though, and pulls off of you. He looks away in shame. He can't seem to bring himself to continue, not with the way you're shaking under him.

Thomas looks down at you from behind the mask, your eyes laced with confusion and terror. He wants you to look at him with want, not like this.

He decides it would be best to try some other time. After you've calmed down a bit.

It's been weeks since you came to this house. Since you saw that dreaded skin-mask the behemoth wore. The one that used to be your boyfriend. It makes you sick every time you see it, you hope Thomas will realize this and stop wearing it but he seems to think you like him better that way.

He hasn't hurt you, hasn't even raised a finger at you. You keep waiting for it but it doesn't come. He doesn't even sleep on his bed anymore, having resided himself to passing out at the workbench across the tiny room.

You've gotten used to the space, given that the only time you're allowed out of it is during dinner. The walls are cracking and there's mildew on the ceiling, crude drawings litter the wall next to the bed, some of family members, others of animals. It almost looks like a child drew it, but you know better. He drew one of you.

You're looking at it now, as he sits at the workbench, sewing, repairing his old mask. The muzzle one. You wish he would put it on, but you don't say anything. Haven't said much the whole time you've been here. It's okay though, because he doesn't talk much either. In fact, you don't think you've ever heard him say a single word— only grunts ever leave his mouth.

He's untied your wrists and ankles, having realized they were cutting up your pretty skin. You're on a short leash now, a chain that's affixed to the bed frame. It's more demeaning but you couldn't care less, at least now you don't wake up with blue hands.

He comes down to feed you throughout the day, he's normally busy with chores or cutting people up in the other room, but he makes time to bring you breakfast and lunch since you're only allowed at the dining table during dinner.

You'd thought the eating people part would make you more upset, but after the first dinner, you had already gotten over it. It didn't seem nearly as upsetting after you'd seen your boyfriends faceless body, and your friends hanging from hooks.

It's after dinner now, when Thomas gets to spend the most time with you. He's got a couple books, they're young adult books. They look worn and used, he's probably read them over and over since he got them when he was little. Sometimes he hands one to you, hoping you'll read it to him. Sometimes you do.

You've seen him without the mask a few times now, albeit not on purpose. It happens sometimes when he's switching masks or getting ready for bed. It gets so dark when he turns off the rickety old lamp that he can sleep without his mask and you won't be able to see him.

His nose is almost completely gone, save for the top half of the bridge. His top lip is partially gone, turning upwards towards his nose. There's scars all around the area, and parts of it are red from irritation, or whatever skin disease he seems to have. Some of the scars look more purposeful than the others, like he's cut off chunks of the rot.

You don't think he knows that you've seen it already, and a part of you feels bad, but it wasn't something you did on purpose. You're not really sure why you feel bad about it in the first place. His gentleness seems to have softened you to him.

And gentle he is, even now, as he finishes up at the workbench. He switches his mask out for the leather one, turning away from you and hunching in on himself as he ties the strands quickly behind his head. He turns back to you, having picked up a book, holding it out for you.

You don't feel like reading tonight, so you shake your head in refusal. He's not upset, he sets the book down on the table. You're glad he's switched out his mask for what comes next.

Thomas sits at the edge of the bed and undoes his work boots, pulling off his crimson-stained apron. He crawls into the bed behind you, pulling you close into his plush chest. He still stunk but you'd gotten used to it, even started to find some sort of comfort in his soft belly and the smell of a hard days work.

His breath is heavy on your neck, his hands tracing your belly. This is when he's the most gentle, like he's afraid of breaking you. He lets himself have these little moments before he moves back to the workbench, moments where he gets to hold you and pretend you love him back. There's a part of you that thinks maybe you like this part just as much as he does.

You hate yourself for it, but you're growing closer to him everyday. Waiting for him to feed you, waiting for him to come get you for dinner, waiting for him to spend time with you before bed. All you did everyday now was wait for him to come back.

The first two weeks all you did was wait for it to be over, and now you're not sure whats changed.

Thomas trails his big, meaty finger down the side of your arm, tracing every little detail. His breath is hot and tickling you. There's a moment where you think of trying to pretend it's Lance but just the thought of that makes you upset. Lance never touched you this gently, and you're not sure why that makes you so mad.

How could Thomas be treating you softer than your boyfriend did? Just the thought makes you sick, so you try to push it from your mind; try to lose yourself in the moment. Let yourself like the way he touches you. And you do, you do like it.

His lips graze your collarbone as he leans closer to you, his chest pressing into yours as he shifts to hold himself above you. He's never gone this far before, but you can't bring yourself to fight. You think maybe you need it.

Thomas leans back to look you in the eyes, searching for permission. Your hand trails up his shoulder, over his neck, and tangling itself in his dark locks of hair. You nod slowly, hoping he'll continue to be gentle with you. He looks at you with love in his eyes, his forever-tense shoulders relaxing just the little bit. There's a tremor to his touch as he grazes his fingertips over your belly and up to your chest.

Thomas trails his featherlight touch over your breasts, moving to work open the buttons on your shirt the way he saw your boy do so long ago. His chest feels like its about ready to explode as he unclasps your bra, he's seen you before but this was all for him this time. All for him. He can't believe how lucky he is to have found such a nice girl.

His tongue darts out of the mask, but it can only get so far. He licks and licks at as much as he can get to, your whimpers gracing his ears like an angels song. He grows frustrated with the mask, pawing at the ties as he sits up to shut off the lamp on the bedside table.

Soon enough, the room is plunged in darkness and your heart is beating in your ears. He peels the rest of your clothes off your body, your shirt and bra discarded on the floor as he moves on to your pants. His fat fingers pull at the band of your jeans, dragging them down your legs until they're off completely.

You can hear his breath hitch when his hands find your lacy panties. He pinches the material in his fingertips, caressing it. He leans his head closer to your center, his heavy, labored breaths brushing your most sensitive parts. You can't stop the moan that he elicits when his tongue laps at your panties, a broad stripe up the slit of your cunt.

He grunts in satisfaction, you can hear him humping the mattress, still fully clothed. The sudden urge to feel him skin to skin is strong but his ministrations distract you for now.

Thomas pulls your panties down your legs, hot mouth darting to your cunt. You moan out as he starts licking at your folds, he's obviously inexperienced but his sheer excitement makes up for it. He quickly finds your swollen nub, sucking it between his lips in a pulsing rhythm.

His fingers play with your folds, trying to find the right way to touch you. You're pretty sounds turn him on, telling him where you like to be touched. He feels a heavy sense of honor, he's so happy you've decided to let him touch you.

He's been waiting to see that want in your eyes, and now when you'd looked up at him like you needed him, he was so glad to find it.

Thomas laps at your cunt with a fervor, slurping at it and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The tip of his finger finds your aching hole, pressing in gently. He's amazed at how little resistance he finds, he's so proud of you for taking it so well.

As he starts to pump his thick finger in your pussy, you can feel your orgasm fast approaching. He's grunting and huffing, sucking your clit as good as he can.

He knows when you go stiff, your back arches off the bed, and your voice goes high-pitched and breathy, that he's done a good job. Your release slicks his chin; there's a little ring of cream on his finger that he licks off the second it's out of your tight, clenching hole.

"Tommy…" You moan out, and he's surprised to hear it, you haven't spoken to him almost the whole time you've been down here. "Tommy, I need to feel you."

You're breathless and pawing at his shoulders as he sits up on his haunches, listening intently.

"Take your clothes off, baby." You're not sure where this is coming from, but you're far past caring. He grunts in affirmation, forever willing to be good for you.

Thomas tries his best to take his clothes off as fast as possible, wanting to be close again. He's so glad you want him too. He wonders if you love him just as much as he loves you. He hopes you do.

He's on you again, holding himself above you, and though you can't see him, you can clearly picture him in mind; his large frame and heaving chest.

You let your hands roam up his sides, feeling the pudgy muscle there. He's covered in hair, sweat rolling off him in beads. His belly is hot and pressed against yours, you can feel his leaking cock pressed against your thigh, the tip of it practically searing your skin.

The smell of sex is pungent in the air, and you can't imagine how it's going to be after he slips it in. If he can slip it in, that is. If you thought he was a behemoth before, then his cock is some sort of hulking monster.

Thomas sucks at your neck as his meaty hand paws at your right breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You spread your legs from beneath him, wrapping them around his wide hips and urging him forward with your heels.

He groans out in satisfaction as his dick nudges against your opening. You're leaking for each other and panting into each others open mouths.

His kiss is firm and wet, his tongue exploring yours. You can feel the way his top lip is scarred and turned upward, but it doesn't phase you. He feels like Tommy.

Thomas presses a kind hand into your abdomen, silently preparing you for his entrance into your slick heat. The tip of his cock is fat and slippery as it pushes into your snatch, there's more resistance than his fingers met but all that does is spur him on.

"Oh, yes!" You cry out as it enters you fully with a pop, it's a fine stretch and it sets a heat in your belly. He pushes forward, inch after inch, until he's seated to the hilt inside of you.

He's breathing heavily, breath fanning out over your face. You can feel the way his muscles tense as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting into you with abandon.

Your hand comes to rest against his cheek, and he seems taken aback by this, but he doesn't pull away. A soft whimper is pulled from his throat and it's rumbling and scratchy but it's him.

Thomas starts to thrust into you, pulling back and pushing in experimentally. He tries different paces, different strokes, until he settles on a rhythm that feels very good for the both of you. He adores the way you mewl for him and arch your back to press your chest against his.

It feels so good and he's worried he won't last long enough to feel you clamp down on his cock and lather it in your creamy spend. His hand crawls down between your bodies to rub at your clit, he wants to feel you spasm all over him before he comes.

With each thrust of his fat cock, and each flick of his fingers on your clit, you get pushed closer and closer to the edge. You're moaning and whispering praises for him, it starts to get so good you almost think you're about to die.

Your orgasm rips through you, his tip pressing against that spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars and you realize you wouldn't mind dying like this.

He starts to howl above you, pumping into you faster and faster as your cunt clenches down on him and soon enough he lurches forward, once, twice, and a final third time as his hot seed spurts out and paints your insides.

Thomas holds your head in his hands as the both of you cling to each other through the tremors of post-orgasm bliss. Your breaths mingle and you think maybe you might be falling for him. It's a strange thought but you find it's the truth. You're falling for him.

He holds you close, his heart thumping against your chest. Breathless coos leave you without your permission, and you're petting his hair, letting him kiss your cheek and your neck. You tell him how good he was, how good it felt, and for a second it feels like you're somewhere far away.

Somewhere, where the two of you are normal; normal and in love.

Somewhere away from all the blood and the gore and the killing. Somewhere that could be home.

Thomas feels it too.

"I wanna go back to Wisconsin!" Jessica, from beside Carly in the backseat, whines as loud as she can.

"It's a road trip, you guys." You try to ration. "We'll be out of here in no time, we're just passing through."

Lance glances at you in barely concealed adoration, his hand sneaking over the center console to intertwine with yours. His thumb rubs little circles at the back of it. You haven't been this happy in a long time.

The two of you have had your ups and downs, but things have been going good for the past year. So good, you wonder if maybe he might propose. He's been acting a little secretive, like he's trying to surprise you with something. You dare to let yourself hope it's a ring.

"Hey, can we stop off at that little store? I need some water, stat." Carly asks, pointing up the road at a shabby looking store. It's a beacon of hope, nonetheless, for your parched little group.

Lance nods, turning into the small parking lot of the general store. His hand still gently caressing yours, passing heated glances with you.

Once parked, the two other girls hop out of the Jeep and pad their way along to the entrance of the general store. Lance looks at you conspiratorially now that you're alone. Jutting his chin in the direction of a secluded wooded area near the side of the store.

"Wanna get some alone time in?" He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows comically. You laugh and hop out of the car, sending a sultry look of affirmation his way. He's not far behind.

Lance's black hair looks silky in the hot sun as he leads you over to the little forest alcove. His hot palm kneading into your ass, little pangs of thrill shoot up your spine. He's not usually spontaneous like this and it's driving you wild.

"What's gotten into you, Lancelot?" You giggle at the nickname you've used for him for years. He presses you up against a tree, hands roaming over your hips and backside.

"You just look so good today…" He whispers into your hair, lips trailing down over your ear to your neck. His tongue lapping out and eliciting quiet moans from you as your own hands wander the expanse of his back.

Lances fingers make quick work of the buttons on your cotton, long sleeve, button up. He hurries to undo the front clasp of your bra, letting your breasts spill out for him to paw at.

You lean back against the tree, relaxing into his firm touch. Lance wasn't perfect at it, given you and him had been together since high school, but he was yours.

Just as he starts to suck a hickey into the top of your breast, you lean back and open your eyes only to find the largest man you've ever seen standing off to the side of the general store. His icy gaze is centered directly on you.

You gasp and push Lance away, he's about to ask what's wrong when he catches sight of the behemoth. "Holy fuck…" He whispers in terror.

The man's face is masked by what looks like a cow-hide muzzle. Only the top half of his face is visible, with just his bottom lip showing through the mouth-hole of the muzzle. His eyes dart down to your chest, widening in shock at the sight of your bare tits.

"Oh!" You exclaim, hiding behind Lance to button your bra and shirt back up. The man only then shifts his gaze away to stare down at his hands, which are littered with cuts along with his forearms. He's practically covered in dirt, as well as some sort of dried, rust-colored substance. Blood?

He's wearing an apron, looks like he came straight out of a slaughterhouse. Maybe he's a butcher.

"I'm so sorry, we didn't know anyone was back here!" You try to apologize, thinking maybe you've disturbed his workday by getting frisky behind his store. At the same time, Lance stands up straighter and casts a shrill look at the man.

"What the hell, man?" Lance looks at him suspiciously, still stood in front of you despite the fact that you're fully clothed. You look up at him in disbelief, you didn't think he was the sort of guy to get upset at a stranger like this. "What are you, stupid? Trying to get an eyeful of my girl?"

"Lance!" You cry out before turning to look at the man, who is now shaking his head 'no.' His fingers twitching, hands held above his belly. "I'm sorry about him, we'll get outta your hair."

The man can't rip his eyes off of you, hasn't since you saw him. You bow your head, grabbing Lance by the hand and pulling him away to the front of the store.

The man watches you leave.

Carly and Jessica are waiting for the two of you, Lance leans down so only you can hear him as the four of you head off towards the Jeep once more.

"Why'd you apologize? That guy was a freak." He mutters next to you, his hand pressed into your back starting to feel like a red hot brand. This wasn't how he usually was, the whole time you'd known him he'd always been compassionate. But then again, you don't think you've ever met someone like that man with Lance.

"What? It's not like he knew we were back there, he didn't do it on purpose." You try to reason. Lance isn't having any of it, there was something about that man that seems to have struck a chord with him.

"He was a creep."

"He's just a guy, Lance."

"What're you guys arguing about now?" Carly rolls her eyes. hopping into the back of the Jeep as Lance and you settle into the front. Jess shakes her head at Carly, a silent plea to leave it alone.

"It's nothing." Lance answers for you, you shoot him a half-hearted glare. Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, Lance starts to drive off.

It's already too late when Lance realizes just how low on gas the Jeep is. The car sputters out to a stop in the middle of a long stretch of deserted road. The only thing in sight is a large, white, plantation style home farther down the road. The only option is to get out and walk, see if maybe they have some spare gas. Not likely, with the state of the economy, and honestly, the state of this town.

A couple cars pass you along the way, and it's about thirty minutes walk to the house, maybe more. It's only just barely in sight.

"Why didn't we stop to get gas?" Carly complains, hand swiping off bead-lets of sweat from her forehead. Jess and Lance aren't far behind, with you leading the group noticeably farther ahead. Lance has been acting more irritable since the incident with the man at the store.

"Didn't think of it, I guess." Jess mutters, kicking a rock with the toe of her sneakers. You think you can hear Lance scoff under his breath, like somehow the blame isn't on him, the driver.

You try to put him out of your mind, watching as you approach the house, not long to go now. As you meander along, you can't help but think of the man at the store. His icy blue eyes piercing into you even from the recesses of your mind, his long black hair, greasy and sweaty, plastered to his forehead and neck. The thought of him towering over you, his eyes glued to your bare chest.

You feel a wave of guilt as your panties get a little sticky from the thought. There's an animal attraction there and you're not sure what to think of it. You're so stuck in your fantasy, you barely realize you've come up to the drive way of the house.

Lance pushes past you to trod up the porch stairs, banging his fist against the door. Carly chastises him for making so much noise, as the three of you join him on the porch.

A voice from inside the house calls out but its hard to hear, sounds like an older woman. The large wooden double doors swing open, leaving the screen door in between. An older woman stands before your group, her grey-blonde hair pulled up into a messy updo. She looks at you over her glasses, seemingly assessing you instead of your group as a whole.

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am." You say softly, wilting under her scrutinizing gaze. You try to stay as polite as possible, hoping it'll get you into her good graces. "Our car ran outta gas a ways down the road, would you happen to have any to spare?"

She seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for in you because she smiles a gentle smile, stepping aside and opening the screen door.

"Well, I'd have to check, but why don't you kids come sit down while I look." She says as she ushers you in. Your group files in, meandering around the entryway as she shuts the doors behind you, not noticing as she locks the double doors.

She leads the four of you to a sitting room, where a man in a wheelchair sits watching TV. It's awkward as she gestures for you to take a seat on the seemingly ancient sofa. There's a faint stench of mildew and mothballs permeating the house, as well as a twinge of iron. It makes your mouth water in a strange, unexplainable way.

Almost smells like meat. You wonder if she's cooking.

"C'mere boy, why don't you help me look. It's a big can, won't be able to hold it m'self." She gestures for Lance to follow her. "The names Luda Mae, by the way, that there's Uncle Monty."

Monty doesn't even look your way as he raises a hand in greeting, half-heartedly.

"It's nice to meet you, Luda." You respond, giving your name in kind. You're the only one of your group to introduce themselves. Carly and Jessica are huddled up on the loveseat across from you, looking around in barely concealed disgust. Since when did all your friends turn into assholes? You didn't take them for the sort of people who looked down on others homes.

Neither of them can stop staring at Monty's missing legs either, it makes you ashamed to know them. The silence stretches on, only Carly and Jess whispering every once in a while breaks through. Footsteps begin to approach, you look up to find some sort of Sheriff stood in the doorway.

"Now, look-y what we have here." His grin is sleazy, and he narrows his eyes at Jess. Luda comes up behind him, Lance no where in sight.

"These poor souls ran outta gas." She explains, "I remember 'em from the store. Not this'n though."

You feel heat curling up your neck, shame sprawled through your chest. You didn't think you'd have to tell anyone about your little tryst outside the store.

"Oh, yeah. Lance and I went on a stroll while our friends went in." You lie, voice shaking just a tad. The Sheriff looks at you with a shit-eating smile, like he knows what really happened.

"Yes, I'd heard. My boy saw you out there." Luda says, making your face heat up even worse. The man out there was her son. You really wish a hole would just open up beneath your feet and gobble you right up, you'd never felt more embarrassed in your life.

"That was your son?" You mutter shyly, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Luda Mae seems to light up at your words, thinking maybe you've taken an interest in her boy. She comes forward to sit down next to you on the sofa. You get a glimpse of the Sheriffs name tag as he leans on the armrest of the loveseat your friends are sat at, starting up what sounds like an uncomfortable conversation with the girls. Hoyt. His name was Hoyt.

"Yes— my boy, Thomas. He's here now if you wanna see him." She smiles at you as she pats your shoulder, your head is turned to her in conversation and you don't see as Hoyt leads your friends out of the room. "He's real shy, bless his heart."

"Oh, that's okay—" You try to decline. Try to tell her you're taken, but she interrupts.

"I'll put on some tea; why don't you come into the kitchen with me?" Luda grabs you by the hand and pulls you out of the sitting room. As you cross the foyer once more, you catch a glimpse of a big shadow on the far wall past the stairs, but its gone in an instant.

As you enter the kitchen, Luda Mae sets you up at the head of the kitchen table before flitting off to get a kettle going on the stove.

"It's really okay, we should get going anyway. How's the gas coming?" You rush out, about to stand up when she gently coaxes you back down, patting your shoulder soothingly.

"Oh, it's alright. Hoyt had to go fetch it out of the back, your little friends are just helpin' him." Luda reassures you, smoothing a wrinkle out of your shirt. You try to listen to her but there's a creeping unease in the pit of your stomach, it only gets worse as the kettle whistles on the stove making you jump.

You watch in unsteady silence as she makes up some tea, pouring the both of you a cup. You're shifting uncomfortably in your seat when she sets the teacup down, handing you a little spoon so you can divvy up your own sugar. She settles down in the chair to your right, looking down at her cup with a strange expression. She almost looks sad.

"Y'know, I've waited a long time for my Tommy to find a good girl." Luda Mae looks up at you, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, watching you carefully. You let a weak smile cross your face.

"He's a handsome man, I'm sure he'll find a great girl." You say, hoping it'll keep her happy. Though, there's a truth to it, you did find him quite handsome. If a little intimidating, and yeah, maybe he could do with a good scrub, but he was handsome. You're sure whatever may be under that muzzle he wears can't be so bad. Her face lights up with hope.

"You're right, I think he's made a good decision." She says, and you're about to ask what she means when Hoyt returns. The hulking man from before, hovering just behind him, almost like he's trying to hide. Thomas wrings his hands together, avoiding you as you look at him.

"Well? What're you standin' there for, Tommy?" Hoyt guffaws, smacking Thomas on the back. The words he says next rattle you to the core:

"Get her before she runs away."

You stand up in shock, Thomas lurches forward for you. You squeal as you dodge him, ducking under his thick arms to make a run for the door. You think you can hear Luda Mae screaming encouragements to her boy but the blood pumping in your ears is too loud to make it out. Not that you really care about anything other than escaping at the moment.

You get to the entrance, trying to pull at the doorhandles but they only stiffly rattle as they stay shut. You yell out in anger, Thomas has you cornered. You turn to look up at him, he's much closer than before. A scream is lodged in your throat but it refuses to crawl out. His striking eyes have you pinned like a deer in headlights.

He lunges forward, scooping you up into his arms, holding you flat and tight to his chest. Legs dangling, but not loose enough to kick, and your head pressed into his shoulder. He stinks of sweat and dirt, and blood. It almost makes you gag. Little pleas reach his ears as you try to push at his chest, begging him to see reason.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, sweetheart?" Hoyt asks with a condescending smile.

You watch as Luda Mae and Hoyt disappear from sight as you're brought down the hallway, past the stairs and to a door. Thomas lurches it open as you look forward to see where it leads. The dirty, wet, ominous stairs leading to the basement does nothing for your nerves.

"Please, please, please…" You whisper into his shoulder, softly sobbing. He pats your back gently.

The stench that hits your nose is revolting, it's like being in the middle of a poorly run slaughter house.

You gag, looking around only to find Carly's body hoisted up onto a meat-hook. You cry out in despair, Jessica is right next to her, hanging. They're blood is dripping and pooling under their bodies; you try to thrash against him but it's no use.

"No! No!" You shake your head, closing your eyes tight but he only grunts in response. He takes you past a butchering table, there's a body on it but its hard to tell who it is. It's face has been peeled off its head. You sob and cry. It's clothes give it away, it's Lance.

Fat tears and ugly sobs wrack your body as you shove your face as far into the behemoths shoulder as possible.

He's lead you into a backroom of the basement, the stench doesn't permeate as deeply in here. He flops you down onto a mattress unceremoniously, the sheets are yellowed and streaked with blood in some places. You try to wiggle away but his grip on your legs has you rooted to the bed. He's tying them up, reaching for your arms afterward.

"Please, please, you don't have to do this." You try to reason once more, only to find a look in his eyes that says 'yes.' Yes, he does have to do it.

He leaves you there, tied to the bed and crying. He shuts the door with a gentleness that shouldn't be possible for a man capable of such violence. The last look he gives you is one of shame.

As Thomas leaves his girl on his bed, he wonders if maybe he's made the right decision. You had a boy, he saw it. But there was something about the way you spoke to him, the way you looked at him. He thought maybe you wanted him to be your boy instead. Maybe he was wrong.

There's a sizzling jealousy in him, one that permeates even as he looks at the butchered corpse of your boy on his table across the room. All Tommy has ever wanted was to have someone for himself, someone who was nice to him and let him hold them. It made him so jealous when he saw you with your boy.

He wanted that.

And when you spoke to him so kindly after… He wanted that with you.

He knows what he is, knows you could never love him like he loves you but he wants to try. Wants you to want him just the same.

He looks down at his hands, bloodstained and too thick to do any good. He's sewing a new mask, one out of that boys face. Hopefully, you'll like him a little better once he looks like him.

He hopes that you'll come to fall for him, as he's fallen for you.

That night, as you toss and turn for hours, rubbing your wrists raw on the rope as you try to break free, Thomas creeps back into the room. His room, you think.

His head is ducked down, out of sight, but there's something covering it. Another mask? It must cover his whole head. There's a mop of familiar silky black hair at the top of it. A pit forms in your stomach. It… Couldn't be. It couldn't.

He looks up and you know. It's skin. A mask made of someone's face. Lance's face.

Great, big, heaving sobs wrack your body as he shuffles closer. He's shy in his movements, approaching you slowly as your gentle cries reach his ears. Even as you sob, you remain still and quiet. You're such a good girl. He knows now that he made the right decision.

You look so little, huddled into the corner of his bed, arms pulled to where the knot is tied around his bed frame. There's butterflies in his stomach, fluttering around as your big eyes look up at him.

There's white hot terror flowing through your veins, you're stuck in place. Paralyzed in fear. He's wearing your boyfriends face. And he's getting closer.

You can see his icy eyes in place of Lance's warm ones; you wish he'd killed you like the others.

Thomas reaches a big paw out toward your face, caressing your cheek in a gentle but firm press. He thinks you look so beautiful and he's so excited to spend the rest of his life with you. He's never had a girl before, and he's glad he found you.

Tears spill over your cheeks and he wipes them away with his soft touch, leaning that horrid mask closer to you. It stinks like rot, like rusted iron in a pit of decaying compost. He touches the lips of the mask to your cheek. A faux kiss.

He lays a couple more faux kisses from your cheek down to your collarbone in a burning trail. You think you hear him whimper against you as his fingers hover just above the buttons of your shirt.

It strikes you with horror when you realize what he's doing. He's recreating the scene he interrupted with you and Lance.

"No, no…" You mutter, over and over, trying to cower further into the corner of the bed. He pulls away just for a second, seemingly worried, but he decides to continue anyways.

Maybe you just need to get used to him. Thomas knows how scary he is, but he needs you to know he'll never hurt you.

His shaking fingers fumble with the buttons on your cotton shirt, his breath leaving him in gusts. He's never been more nervous in his life. Not since he had to butcher someone for the first time. Though, even then he wasn't really nervous, just worried what might happen if someone found the family out.

As more of your lovely skin is revealed to him, he leaves little lingering kisses against it. This time with his own mouth and not the mouth of the mask, letting his tongue dart out inquisitively like he'd seen your boy do.

You're constrained hands are curled into his shirt, trying to both push him away and pull him closer. You're not sure what's come over you, maybe it's the shock, or perhaps Stockholm Syndrome has set in so soon, but you almost like the way his tongue feels trailing over your sweaty chest.

He starts to get nervous though, and pulls off of you. He looks away in shame. He can't seem to bring himself to continue, not with the way you're shaking under him.

Thomas looks down at you from behind the mask, your eyes laced with confusion and terror. He wants you to look at him with want, not like this.

He decides it would be best to try some other time. After you've calmed down a bit.

It's been weeks since you came to this house. Since you saw that dreaded skin-mask the behemoth wore. The one that used to be your boyfriend. It makes you sick every time you see it, you hope Thomas will realize this and stop wearing it but he seems to think you like him better that way.

He hasn't hurt you, hasn't even raised a finger at you. You keep waiting for it but it doesn't come. He doesn't even sleep on his bed anymore, having resided himself to passing out at the workbench across the tiny room.

You've gotten used to the space, given that the only time you're allowed out of it is during dinner. The walls are cracking and there's mildew on the ceiling, crude drawings litter the wall next to the bed, some of family members, others of animals. It almost looks like a child drew it, but you know better. He drew one of you.

You're looking at it now, as he sits at the workbench, sewing, repairing his old mask. The muzzle one. You wish he would put it on, but you don't say anything. Haven't said much the whole time you've been here. It's okay though, because he doesn't talk much either. In fact, you don't think you've ever heard him say a single word— only grunts ever leave his mouth.

He's untied your wrists and ankles, having realized they were cutting up your pretty skin. You're on a short leash now, a chain that's affixed to the bed frame. It's more demeaning but you couldn't care less, at least now you don't wake up with blue hands.

He comes down to feed you throughout the day, he's normally busy with chores or cutting people up in the other room, but he makes time to bring you breakfast and lunch since you're only allowed at the dining table during dinner.

You'd thought the eating people part would make you more upset, but after the first dinner, you had already gotten over it. It didn't seem nearly as upsetting after you'd seen your boyfriends faceless body, and your friends hanging from hooks.

It's after dinner now, when Thomas gets to spend the most time with you. He's got a couple books, they're young adult books. They look worn and used, he's probably read them over and over since he got them when he was little. Sometimes he hands one to you, hoping you'll read it to him. Sometimes you do.

You've seen him without the mask a few times now, albeit not on purpose. It happens sometimes when he's switching masks or getting ready for bed. It gets so dark when he turns off the rickety old lamp that he can sleep without his mask and you won't be able to see him.

His nose is almost completely gone, save for the top half of the bridge. His top lip is partially gone, turning upwards towards his nose. There's scars all around the area, and parts of it are red from irritation, or whatever skin disease he seems to have. Some of the scars look more purposeful than the others, like he's cut off chunks of the rot.

You don't think he knows that you've seen it already, and a part of you feels bad, but it wasn't something you did on purpose. You're not really sure why you feel bad about it in the first place. His gentleness seems to have softened you to him.

And gentle he is, even now, as he finishes up at the workbench. He switches his mask out for the leather one, turning away from you and hunching in on himself as he ties the strands quickly behind his head. He turns back to you, having picked up a book, holding it out for you.

You don't feel like reading tonight, so you shake your head in refusal. He's not upset, he sets the book down on the table. You're glad he's switched out his mask for what comes next.

Thomas sits at the edge of the bed and undoes his work boots, pulling off his crimson-stained apron. He crawls into the bed behind you, pulling you close into his plush chest. He still stunk but you'd gotten used to it, even started to find some sort of comfort in his soft belly and the smell of a hard days work.

His breath is heavy on your neck, his hands tracing your belly. This is when he's the most gentle, like he's afraid of breaking you. He lets himself have these little moments before he moves back to the workbench, moments where he gets to hold you and pretend you love him back. There's a part of you that thinks maybe you like this part just as much as he does.

You hate yourself for it, but you're growing closer to him everyday. Waiting for him to feed you, waiting for him to come get you for dinner, waiting for him to spend time with you before bed. All you did everyday now was wait for him to come back.

The first two weeks all you did was wait for it to be over, and now you're not sure whats changed.

Thomas trails his big, meaty finger down the side of your arm, tracing every little detail. His breath is hot and tickling you. There's a moment where you think of trying to pretend it's Lance but just the thought of that makes you upset. Lance never touched you this gently, and you're not sure why that makes you so mad.

How could Thomas be treating you softer than your boyfriend did? Just the thought makes you sick, so you try to push it from your mind; try to lose yourself in the moment. Let yourself like the way he touches you. And you do, you do like it.

His lips graze your collarbone as he leans closer to you, his chest pressing into yours as he shifts to hold himself above you. He's never gone this far before, but you can't bring yourself to fight. You think maybe you need it.

Thomas leans back to look you in the eyes, searching for permission. Your hand trails up his shoulder, over his neck, and tangling itself in his dark locks of hair. You nod slowly, hoping he'll continue to be gentle with you. He looks at you with love in his eyes, his forever-tense shoulders relaxing just the little bit. There's a tremor to his touch as he grazes his fingertips over your belly and up to your chest.

Thomas trails his featherlight touch over your breasts, moving to work open the buttons on your shirt the way he saw your boy do so long ago. His chest feels like its about ready to explode as he unclasps your bra, he's seen you before but this was all for him this time. All for him. He can't believe how lucky he is to have found such a nice girl.

His tongue darts out of the mask, but it can only get so far. He licks and licks at as much as he can get to, your whimpers gracing his ears like an angels song. He grows frustrated with the mask, pawing at the ties as he sits up to shut off the lamp on the bedside table.

Soon enough, the room is plunged in darkness and your heart is beating in your ears. He peels the rest of your clothes off your body, your shirt and bra discarded on the floor as he moves on to your pants. His fat fingers pull at the band of your jeans, dragging them down your legs until they're off completely.

You can hear his breath hitch when his hands find your lacy panties. He pinches the material in his fingertips, caressing it. He leans his head closer to your center, his heavy, labored breaths brushing your most sensitive parts. You can't stop the moan that he elicits when his tongue laps at your panties, a broad stripe up the slit of your cunt.

He grunts in satisfaction, you can hear him humping the mattress, still fully clothed. The sudden urge to feel him skin to skin is strong but his ministrations distract you for now.

Thomas pulls your panties down your legs, hot mouth darting to your cunt. You moan out as he starts licking at your folds, he's obviously inexperienced but his sheer excitement makes up for it. He quickly finds your swollen nub, sucking it between his lips in a pulsing rhythm.

His fingers play with your folds, trying to find the right way to touch you. You're pretty sounds turn him on, telling him where you like to be touched. He feels a heavy sense of honor, he's so happy you've decided to let him touch you.

He's been waiting to see that want in your eyes, and now when you'd looked up at him like you needed him, he was so glad to find it.

Thomas laps at your cunt with a fervor, slurping at it and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The tip of his finger finds your aching hole, pressing in gently. He's amazed at how little resistance he finds, he's so proud of you for taking it so well.

As he starts to pump his thick finger in your pussy, you can feel your orgasm fast approaching. He's grunting and huffing, sucking your clit as good as he can.

He knows when you go stiff, your back arches off the bed, and your voice goes high-pitched and breathy, that he's done a good job. Your release slicks his chin; there's a little ring of cream on his finger that he licks off the second it's out of your tight, clenching hole.

"Tommy…" You moan out, and he's surprised to hear it, you haven't spoken to him almost the whole time you've been down here. "Tommy, I need to feel you."

You're breathless and pawing at his shoulders as he sits up on his haunches, listening intently.

"Take your clothes off, baby." You're not sure where this is coming from, but you're far past caring. He grunts in affirmation, forever willing to be good for you.

Thomas tries his best to take his clothes off as fast as possible, wanting to be close again. He's so glad you want him too. He wonders if you love him just as much as he loves you. He hopes you do.

He's on you again, holding himself above you, and though you can't see him, you can clearly picture him in mind; his large frame and heaving chest.

You let your hands roam up his sides, feeling the pudgy muscle there. He's covered in hair, sweat rolling off him in beads. His belly is hot and pressed against yours, you can feel his leaking cock pressed against your thigh, the tip of it practically searing your skin.

The smell of sex is pungent in the air, and you can't imagine how it's going to be after he slips it in. If he can slip it in, that is. If you thought he was a behemoth before, then his cock is some sort of hulking monster.

Thomas sucks at your neck as his meaty hand paws at your right breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You spread your legs from beneath him, wrapping them around his wide hips and urging him forward with your heels.

He groans out in satisfaction as his dick nudges against your opening. You're leaking for each other and panting into each others open mouths.

His kiss is firm and wet, his tongue exploring yours. You can feel the way his top lip is scarred and turned upward, but it doesn't phase you. He feels like Tommy.

Thomas presses a kind hand into your abdomen, silently preparing you for his entrance into your slick heat. The tip of his cock is fat and slippery as it pushes into your snatch, there's more resistance than his fingers met but all that does is spur him on.

"Oh, yes!" You cry out as it enters you fully with a pop, it's a fine stretch and it sets a heat in your belly. He pushes forward, inch after inch, until he's seated to the hilt inside of you.

He's breathing heavily, breath fanning out over your face. You can feel the way his muscles tense as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting into you with abandon.

Your hand comes to rest against his cheek, and he seems taken aback by this, but he doesn't pull away. A soft whimper is pulled from his throat and it's rumbling and scratchy but it's him.

Thomas starts to thrust into you, pulling back and pushing in experimentally. He tries different paces, different strokes, until he settles on a rhythm that feels very good for the both of you. He adores the way you mewl for him and arch your back to press your chest against his.

It feels so good and he's worried he won't last long enough to feel you clamp down on his cock and lather it in your creamy spend. His hand crawls down between your bodies to rub at your clit, he wants to feel you spasm all over him before he comes.

With each thrust of his fat cock, and each flick of his fingers on your clit, you get pushed closer and closer to the edge. You're moaning and whispering praises for him, it starts to get so good you almost think you're about to die.

Your orgasm rips through you, his tip pressing against that spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars and you realize you wouldn't mind dying like this.

He starts to howl above you, pumping into you faster and faster as your cunt clenches down on him and soon enough he lurches forward, once, twice, and a final third time as his hot seed spurts out and paints your insides.

Thomas holds your head in his hands as the both of you cling to each other through the tremors of post-orgasm bliss. Your breaths mingle and you think maybe you might be falling for him. It's a strange thought but you find it's the truth. You're falling for him.

He holds you close, his heart thumping against your chest. Breathless coos leave you without your permission, and you're petting his hair, letting him kiss your cheek and your neck. You tell him how good he was, how good it felt, and for a second it feels like you're somewhere far away.

Somewhere, where the two of you are normal; normal and in love.

Somewhere away from all the blood and the gore and the killing. Somewhere that could be home.

Thomas feels it too.