#enema.

Watching you shower, duh. Why hadn’t he thought to include waterproof cameras in his first round of murders? Oh well, he’d rather have fap footage of you scrubbing or even shaving yourself. 

Admitting that if you hadn’t been one of Mary’s acquaintances you could’ve easily been another victim yourself. Personally, you think being stalked makes you pretty victimized.

James being convinced that because you’re into slasher movies and aren’t getting the authorities involved—you tried, they’re convinced he’s dead—then you must enjoy watching him kill.

Offering to have an equal number of male and female victims, of just male victims, if you want. :) 

Jokingly referring to condoms as “raincoats.” 

If you’re still outwardly reluctant to be penetrated and/or make fun of his water fixation, James will grab your tits and say he’ll just become obsessed with milk instead. At least he’s offering you the choice of protected sex.

Avoiding the mistakes he made with Mary, like with the aforementioned letting you have some say in the victims. He avoids tying you up and doesn’t brutalize you other than spanking. And he will say, “Sorry for hitting you. Are you okay?” afterwards at least.

Once it’s established you’re his “partner,” he’ll insist on having movie date nights at least once a week. The Ripper doesn’t need to remind you to stay away from other guys, but he’ll gladly use slashers as foreplay and inspiration. 

“It’s okay if you’re not into wet deaths,” he says, nuzzling up to you, knuckle deep in your slit, making you experience a little wet death of your own.

But, after a while, still trying to get you into aquaphilia. He sneaks up behind you when you’re in front of the kitchen and at that point you’re just done, so you spray him with the hose.

“Aw, couple’s hydrotherapy,” he croons. 

Somehow it wasn’t immediately apparent that Ryan was a stripper. Slipped in and out of fun personas for a living. Like you. (The massive hotness should have been a giveaway.) Ryan wasn’t doing a good job of hiding the fact he recognized you, though. Not even in front of the others. They probably thought he was developing a crush. Unaware he had been crushing on you for a few years. 

You began to suspect as much in Emily Jaunt’s exercise room. Emily sat on a workout bench; you sat on a couch behind her. She stared at the floor, gun in hand, while you drank in Ryan’s unconscious body. Weaponless, you readied yourself to pull Emily back if he was infected and she lost her nerve. You wouldn’t blame her. 

Just as you were pondering whether the undead were smart enough to uncuff themselves, Ryan woke up. 

“Take these off,” he said, jigging his wrist. “My fever’s gone. I’m feeling human again.”

“They’re toy cuffs,” explained Emily, “just push the button.” 

Ryan did. Then noticed they weren’t alone. His eyes darted to you. And widened. 

Occasionally people recognized you in public. Now most of them were probably more interested in eating brain than giving it. This firefighter might be the last compatible man on earth. Hopefully not, but the interest was definitely mutual from the get go. Waiting for the bitee to wake up, you wanted to touch him so badly. Like how he’d wanted to touch you so badly since stumbling upon your OnlyFans. 

“So if you’re a firefighter,” you drawled, taking in his semi-nude form. “So if you’re a fireman… Does that make you, um, the authority?”

Ryan groaned from his seat on the bed. Half-naked and semi-erect, he’d do anything for you. Anything he’d seen you do in those videos. And more. That’s what he told you on the way to the guest bedroom, where you whipped out a handheld camera. He ditched his shirt outside the door and you unzipped his pants. You almost wanted him to leave them on, but that ass. Just get him to lower them, duh, you told your lust-addled brain. Then you had an idea. You always carried an enema-kit, for any impromptu shooting. Not just bulbs, but a tube that could dilate a hole up to three inches ad hoc. Then power wash the colon. And you’d never recorded a partner rinsing himself out for your cock. 

You initially wanted to ask Emily for another pair of handcuffs, then decided nah. You’d make your new boy do the work. 

“I’m sure your partners ask you to roleplay a lot, right?”

Flushed, Ryan nodded. You’d suspected he hadn’t so much as set foot in a fire station. Or a police station, because he hadn’t been able to tell they were toy cuffs. (Even if he had shown up to Emily’s impersonating a cop, you’d be the one conducting a cavity search.) Later, he’d mention he did have experience with handcuffs. It was just that, waking up, he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. 

“I’m not going to ask you to fireman carry me or anything… Unless you want to try it.”

It wasn’t like you could nestle a regular hose’s nozzle, let alone a fire hose, inside his tight ass. And Emily wouldn’t appreciate you utilizing her shower cord that way. For all you knew, that was her personal pleasurer. 

If Emily wasn’t already a mainstream actress, she’d make a great adult-

Ryan’s groan brought you back to reality. He needed something fit snugly inside that hole. Stat. His hands were already enticingly spreading his cheeks apart. 

“Yeah, a little wider,” you encouraged, zooming in, prompting Ryan to further splay his asshole. Frequent rewatches of your videos let him know it’d soon be spread to its limits. At least you had lube, from that kit you just happened to be carrying with your other stuff. Ryan would reflect on how happy he was you kept it in case of unexpected ass-fucking proposals. Post-apocalyptic ass-fucking proposals.