You squint at him as your eyes adjust. “What are you talking about?” He has something draped over his shoulder.

Too much talking. Not enough fucking. 

He scoffs, “Really? Sunday dinner, slut.” He marches over to your nightstand with a snarl, picks up a folded piece of paper, and tosses it at you like a frisbee. 

Oh yeah. 

You unfold it as if it's the first time you've read it: “pick u up sunday.” There's a sketch of his fat cock and a thinner outline of what's presumably a dong next to it. “p.s. u need a real toy.” 

Well, here he is. Picking you up on Sunday, and he's even kinda cleaned himself up. A plaid shirt and jeans tighter than his work uniform. Looks like a normal guy you could pass in the supermarket, none the wiser that he’d shove a huge tool up your cunt.

He stands by your bed holding up one dress in each hand. Neither of them yours. 

“Now put on somethin’ decent.”  

He throws them onto the bed, then pulls a gun out of the back of his pants.  “What do you think? ” He gestures between them with the gun. 

One of the dresses is simple, clean lines, not far off from something you might normally wear. But it has a brown stain and a frayed edge. It doesn't feel right. 

The other dress is a strawberry plant pattern with short sleeves that puff out. It's faded and outdated, but clean and in decent shape–from what you can tell, at least.

“Got my own clothes,” you tell him.

But he insists, “This ain't the street corner, sugar. You're gonna pick one of these.”

“I'm too tired for this,” you complain, then add, “I dunno what makes you think I wanna go to your mom's house.” 

“Come on, baby…” He looks at the gun. “I don't wanna use this… unless I'm stuffin’ your muff with it later ”

After looking at both the dresses, you can't bear to put on the stained one and choose the strawberry print. You feel unexpectedly cute in what could have been plucked from a mid century catalogue for housewives, although it’s probably from modcloth circa 2015.

Turning around in the mirror, it’s actually really flattering, and there’s something kinda sexy about dressing up like this degenerate's pretty little wife…Yep, you're really doing this. 

Maybe it’s partly out of morbid curiosity, wanting to know where he came from. 

How he…. happened. 

He brings you a pair of your own shoes and puts them down for you to step into. 

“Yeah, that's my girl,” looking over your right shoulder at the bathroom mirror, he grabs your ass, then sticks his hand between your legs from behind, hooking his hand under you to reach your clit. Your feet spread reflexively, giving him more room. Still holding the gun in his right hand, the hand between your legs tents the dress as he strokes you, and your gut begins to swell with need. He spreads his feet and angles himself slightly toward you, getting close enough to press himself against you, letting you feel the warm log in those tight jeans, gun held against his meaty thigh. Your chest heats up and you adjust your tits in the dress, copping a feel of yourself while you’re at it. 

“Good girl ” he mutters. With a glint of affection in his eyes, he says, “You were born to wear this dress, kitten.” Now that he’s got you dripping, his fingers slip into the crotch of your panties and he shoves one, then two, inside. “Mm,” he grinds against you as he stuffs you with his fingers. Then he pulls them out and squats down. He lifts the skirt of the dress and yanks the panties down to your ankles. You lean forward and brace yourself on the sink. He stands up, slides the gun between your legs and the smooth, cool metal of the top of the barrel rubs through your slippery seam. Your hips tilt and he slides it forward one last time, before taking it away.

He pats your ass, and says, “Now c’mon, let's go.”

Not even the decency to fuck you first. Not even with the gun.

You scowl at him in the mirror. 

He asks, “Am I gonna have to drag you, kickin’ and screamin’?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply. 

“Alright,” he agrees, all too happy to oblige. He puts the sticky gun in the back of his pants, bends his knees. and lifts you over his shoulder with a grunt. 

He steps through your open back door and slams it behind him with one hand, his other arm braced over the bare backs of your knees. 

You yoink the gun from the back of his pants and he says, “God damnit, be careful with that,” without putting you down. 

“You seem pretty sure I won't shoot you,” you observe. 

“Course ya won't. Be like a … like a drug addict shootin’ their dealer… nah, shootin’ the drug cooker. Yeah. And he's the only cooker.”

He's getting slightly out of breath as he walks. Or maybe it’s the effort of all that thinking. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask.

“Cock hungry whore ain't gonna kill off the biggest cock she's got.” 

You press the edge of the barrel against the small of his back and nudge it into his jeans, then demand, “Put me down.” 

He groans in exasperation, stops, and sets you down in the side yard. 

You almost forget to point the firearm at him. Almost. With the gun raised, you ask, “What’s with the gun anyway? Thought knives were your thing.” 

He shrugs. “Special occasion?”

“Why do you want me to come to dinner so bad?”

“Cause I told her we were comin’, okay? Told her ya liked the casserole.”

For the first time, you notice his hair is a little bit combed. You ask, “What'd you tell her about me?”

“Uh,” He scratches the back of his neck. “She knows we met when I was workin’. Knows I gave ya a ride….knows ya ain't like other girls.” 

“What’s that mean?” You ask, adjusting your grip. 

“I dunno… ” He shrugs, then gets frustrated.  “I ain't brought home a girl home in a long time, okay? And she's gettin’ older, and…” 

When you've lowered the gun, he lunges forward, muttering, “Gimme that,” as he disarms you with ease that makes your heart skip a beat. He grabs you by the arm and marches you to the Volvo. He opens the passenger door and manhandles you into the seat. 

When he gets in the car, he leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you. He smells clean and minty. 

As he puts the car in drive, you ask, “What else did you tell her?”

“Uh…. She knows we ain't been on many dates.”

“Not many?” You ask with a laugh. “You mean none?”

He glances at you twice, suppressing a flattered smile at the implication he perceives. He wets his bottom lip. “That mean ya want to?” 

He holds the gun against his thigh and steers with one hand.

-

-

When you get to his Mom's house, he warns, “Just don't talk about all your whorin’ around, okay? She won't like it.” He checks his hair in the rear view mirror.  

You laugh, “What whoring around?” 

“All those skinny dicks in your phone,” he mutters, getting out of the car.

“Excuse me?” You ask, still sitting. 

“Just tell her about your day job instead,” he says, as if you genuinely don't think or talk about anything other than cock without prompting.

Wait--skinny dicks in your phone? Your train of thought dies when he puts the gun in the back of his pants, and in doing so exposes a few inches of skin, and the tail end of a scar. After he shuts the driver side door, you open yours while he hurries around to help you out. 

“Come on,” His big hand wraps around your inner elbow again. “We're gonna be late.”  He's slightly in front of you 

“Bringing a gun into your mother's house?” you ask as he pulls you along.

He freezes, then mumbles, “You're right. Don't want her to think you're a bad influence. Even if ya are.” 

What a gentleman. 

He goes and puts it in the glovebox, then jogs to catch up with you again. 

-

-

When she opens the door, Joel's mother beams at the sight of her son. She steps outside, frail and slow moving. She's pretty, with silky white hair that looks older than her face. The storm door creaks to a stuttering close behind her.  

At first, it's like you're invisible. He lets go of you, and they embrace. She reaches for the back of his neck and says,  “C'mere, baby,” pulling his face to hers. He kisses her on the cheek, then she kisses him, and then, as they separate, Joel gestures toward you. Her eyes are curious when they meet yours, then her face comes to life as her gaze falls down your body. She puts a hand on her hip as she checks you out, her other hand rising to her mouth for a moment, then resting on her chest, fingers centered in the hollow of her collar bone. 

“Joel,” she half-laughs in flirtatious accusation, then narrates, “Well, there she is…”

“Don't she look nice? ” Joel asks with a subtle smile and blush. 

His mom admires you with an air of disbelief, then goes in for a hug. Her fragrance isn't entirely new to your nostrils, and the sensory recall brings an unsettling tingle to your loins: The night Joel brought the leftovers.

She holds you close, pressing her body all the way against yours without fully relaxing. Firm and in control, and yet , she feels softer than she looks. Her bosom is like a warm pillow. Like a relic of young motherhood, reaching through time, tickling your inner child awake. 

As the hug ends, she gently pinches the puffed sleeves of your dress and says to Joel without looking at him, “Yes, baby. She looks real pretty.”  Then, glancing up from your dress, she tells you with a smile, “Can't promise strawberries, but I do have cherry pie. Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am” you nod. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles, “You can just call me Mama.” 

It sounds like you should know better. Like ‘Mama’ is the most obvious option. You glance at Joel, and he nods with a little smile of permission, as if that's what you’re looking for, and he's glad to give it.

Might as well rip the bandaid off: “Okay… Mama… well, it's nice of you to have me over.” In the back of your mind, you hope Joel doesn't think this is any special effort on your part. It's more like, your job requires manners, and this is your default setting with older folks. 

She holds the door open with her body and you have to graze past her. “Smells delicious,” you observe with genuine hunger, having slept through the first two meals of the day.

She straightens her frilled apron with a smile and suggests, “Joel, why don't you give your girl a tour while I finish up?” 

This is a relief - you hadn't been consciously dreading it, but worst case scenario, she would've asked you to help in the kitchen. She seems like that type. 

–

It’s a humble brick ranch. Dimly lit. Everything is out of style, but tidy.  There are a few bedroom doors, but he doesn’t open any of them, and you don’t pry. The paint in the hall is disrupted over a poorly repaired dent in the wall. You try not to look at the stains on the ceiling. 

One of the living room walls has a fireplace, and one wall is lined with pictures. There's a bare corner with nothing but a crochet rug – a rounded  rectangle, with raised crosses. The paint is newer over there. Bubbling and wanting to peel as the wall approaches the perpendicular wall, the one with the fireplace.

Before you can get a good look at anything, Joel steers you outside. In the small backyard, a wooden garden bed has overgrown with weeds. The lawn is nice and trim. “You help out with the yard?” You ask.

“Uh, sometimes,” he answers. “ She's got somebody else too .”

He rocks forward on his feet, arms crossed. 

“So... you gonna fuck me in your boyhood bedroom?” You ask, and he clears his throat with a forced smile, brows knitted.

“What?” you ask. “Why the hell else would you take my panties?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, allowing himself only a brief glance at you, until he does a double take and admits, “Fuck, you look good.” He seems more distressed by it than anything.

No such luck, you guess, raising your eyebrows at the visible outline against his thigh. Never would've pictured him in jeans. 

He runs his hand through his hair, puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, and adjusts himself with effort before leading you back inside. His boot grazes the side of a metal bowl, sloshing water into dark spots on the cement.

-

-

She pours Joel a glass of milk with dinner, and when you politely decline, Joel says, “One glass won't hurt ya, baby .” Mama seems pleased to bring over the old fashioned bottle of milk. She rests her free arm on the back of your chair, with the fine lines of her cleavage near your eyes as she fills your glass. 

The meatloaf is delicious, with sauce that reminds you of barbecue. The mashed potatoes are over-buttered, but they hit the spot. She smiles to herself, satisfied to watch you eat. 

“So tell me about yourself,” she says. “Do you work?” 

You swallow your food, nod, and tell her which clinic you work at. 

“Oh,” she recognizes the name. “The one over on Main Street?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“That's nice,” she says. “Joel's going to own his own business one day. Do you ever want to own your own practice?” 

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you answer, then ask Joel, “What kind of business?”

“Joel, I'm surprised you haven't told her,” his Mom says, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial volume to tell you, “He’s too modest.” 

“Ya know, I guess a tow and repair one-stop shop,” Joel says. “Not a lot of guys do both, but I can really take care of ya. Same night, even. Late hours, too.” 

His mom nods. “I always knew he'd be successful,”  she says. “Even in the darker days.” 

Joel tenses and begins to tap his heel. “ How about you, Mama? ” he asks, “ What have you been up to? ”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she says. “Crossword was a doozie today!” she laughs. “What are you two gonna do this week? Anything special?” 

You shrug and look at Joel. 

He starts, “Uh… ”

His Mom bails him out, “You oughta take her to the drive-in like I said, baby,”  then she asks you, "Would you like that, honey? You like the drive-in? We used to go, it was so nice.”

“Sure, I like movies,” you answer. 

“See, Joel? She likes movies.”

-

Joel finishes his meatloaf relatively quickly, and his mother puts another generous slice on his plate. 

“I don't need any more, Ma,” he says, but she doesn't listen, and he digs into it anyway. By his third slice, he’s pushed back in his chair, adjusting his belt. He pats his tummy and says, “There's nothin’ she makes that ain't good.”

“Only the best for my boy,” she agrees, then asks you, “Ain’t that right?” 

“Of course,” you agree.

“Oh! I saw Randall Junior earlier,” she says. “He came by and did the lawn.”

“Randy,” Joel corrects her. 

“Yeah, Randall’s son.”

“Randy,” Joel repeats. “He ain’t even a Junior, Ma. He’s the third.”

“Well, it was nice to see him,” she reminisces, fiddling with the corner of her placemat. She catches herself, smooths it down, then brings her hands together, fiddling with her left ring finger. “I swear, that boy’s an inch taller every time I see him.” 

“He’s in his thirties,” Joel tells you, drawing a genuine smile to your lips. One that brings a sparkle to his eyes. 

“Well, anyway,” she goes on, “A face like that belongs in the movies,” she chuckles to herself.  “Of course, he’s nowhere near as handsome as my Joel,” she looks at you reassuringly as she says it. Lest you pine after Randy the third . 

A silence stretches on until you say, “Well, this was delicious. I’d love the recipe…” You dab the corners of your mouth and put down your napkin. 

“Oh, it’s not a recipe, honey,” she boasts, “It’s somethin’ ya do from the heart.” After a moment, she adds, “But I can write down the ingredients! Now, how about some cherry pie?” 

She stands up, puts her apron back on, and you help her clear the table. “Go on Joel, we’ve got it,”  Mama tells him, and he goes to sit in the living room.

“Okay,” Mama whispers to herself as she plates the first slice, a generous one. “This one’s for him.” You take it to Joel and he sits up from the couch to accept it with a thank you, reading your face for signs of how things are going. You flash him a small, unrevealing smile.

“Gonna take a piss,” he mumbles, and his eyes ask if that’s okay. “Sure,” you say with a little curtsy, trying not to smirk as you turn and head back to the kitchen.

Mama’s about to plate the other slices of pie when she lifts a finger in the air and says, “Oh, let me write this down before I forget,” then retrieves a notecard and pencil from a drawer. She puts on a pair of glasses and smiles to herself as she jots down the ingredients. You dwell in the threshold of the living room.

She looks up like she’s trying to remember something, then looks down and keeps writing on the notecard. 

You begin to look at the pictures on the wall. Some are of Joel, and he’s straight-faced. Some are of cats. Charmingly, a blurry photo of a black cat has been deemed frame-worthy. It sits within a bigger rectangle, the shadow of where a different frame used to be. There are a few spots like this. There are a few relatively recent photos of Joel and his Mom. None with his father, as far as you can tell. None now, and none then. But when you look closer at the older ones, it’s clear some of them have been trimmed. 

“He hates having his picture made,” Mama startles you from less than a foot away. 

“You two seem really close,” you offer. “Just the two of you?” 

She raises her eyebrows in amusement and lowers her volume. “Oh, Joel made sure of that .” 

A chill in her voice hardens your nipples and dries your mouth. You search her face for more, but her eyes have wandered, and her face has fallen. “Been about thirty years, just the two of us—well, just me for a while…” You follow her eyes to the corner with the crochet rug, and she squeezes your arm.  

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

She eases her grip and manages a little smile. “Yes, dear.” She hands you the notecard.

Her handwriting is beautiful. Captivating. 

You stay there, eyes scanning the photo wall, while she finishes plating your pie and hers. 

One of the frames catches your eye. It’s the first one you’ve really zeroed in on, looking at the faces and not just the context. The picture is faded and yellowed.  

Joel is young and smiling, with a pin-up looking woman hanging all over him.

A rush of begruding jealousy begs the question, who is that?

And then, your stomach turns before the realization sets in. 

It’s a much younger Mama, with dark, loose curls befitting of a centerfold. All dolled up and glowing, with her arm around his middle. And god damn, her tits are swelling up out of her neckline. She looks…. Hot. Your lungs go hollow, then your chest expands with a deep breath. Something's stirring in your gut. Arousal? Attraction?  

Your eyes pan down to her Mary Jane heels, but the swell of her breasts, those bouncy curls… your eyes are pulled back up her body. The dress is cute, and proper. Innocent, even. But the way she wears it… Sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves… You squint for a closer look, and your breath hitches.  Heat rises to your face, to the tips of your ears. Your heart races. You pull your eyes away, chest burning, and pretend you don't notice anything.  

Something soft brushes your calf and you gasp and jump as you look down to see a black cat thread between your legs. 

“Oh, it’s Daniel!” Mama says. “He must’ve come in behind you. Not allergic, are you? Here’s your pie, honey.” She sets down your plate on the coffee table.

“You good, baby?” Joel asks. 

-

Taking your place on the sofa next to Joel, you sit like a lady, one foot tucked behind the other ankle, minding your lack of panties. The dress is just long enough to cover your knees. 

The three of you finish dessert in silence aside from forks scraping good china and Daniel purring from that rug in the corner. Joel finishes first, and stretches his arm behind you on the sofa. When you finish, you sit back with him, knee brushing his. You will yourself to relax. You will yourself not to ogle his mother in trying to reconcile her fragile frame of today with those curves of yesteryear. 

She looks back and forth at the two of you sitting side by side and smiles. She puts down her plate, crosses her legs toward you, and clasps her hands. A smile rises through her pretty cheekbones as she looks directly at you. 

“Ya know, Joel was top of his class.” 

You raise your eyebrows. 

Joel takes his hand off the back of the sofa and leans forward, forearms on his knees, full belly filling out the plaid against his lap as he wrings his hands.  “Mama.” Joel’s tone is cautionary, but his face is more pleading. He shakes his head ever so slightly. 

Ignoring him, she smiles proudly at you.

You try not to sound as skeptical as you are when you ask, “Really?”

She nods. 

“Mama,” he whispers. 

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. 

He sits up straight, wipes his hand down his whole face and sits back in defeat. His arm doesn't return behind you. 

She continues, “There were a couple other boys, went in ‘round the same time – took’em three tries to get their GED. Three tries, at least. Not my Joel. He got his on the first try,” she beams. “The warden shook his hand.” 

“Okay,” Joel mutters. 

The Warden. Your heart skips a beat and your face goes cold, but you pray it doesn't show. 

You turn and congratulate him, “That’s great, Joel.”

He doesn't meet your eyes. He’s looking at the carpet with a defeated scowl, jaw flexing, chest heaving, arms crossed limply over his stomach.  He tries to manage a smile of acknowledgement. You can see the effort, but humiliation prevails.

You feel for him and add, “Really, babe.” 

His face softens, but his posture doesn't change. After a moment, without looking up, he mumbles, “Long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” his mother nods. “He's always been a smart boy.” She starts talking about his favorite subjects, and how he could have gotten his bachelor's too, three times over, if the program was worth a damn, and state funding, and blah blah blah, riots, and understaffing, and shanks hidden in law library books, and a few bad apples spoil it for everyone…

Your eyes are on him, tuning her out, best you can, despite your curiosity. You rest your hand on his knee, and he relaxes a little. And then, once your face turns toward his mom again, Joel looks at your face, assessing the damage. 

You want to hear it all– how long he was locked up, how he ended up in juvie. You're afraid you already know that part. 

Daniel purrs loudly from the crochet rug, and you will yourself not to look in that direction. 

Joel's Mom looks at Daniel and gets quiet as her eyes wander up that wall that must've been painted over, God how many times in the past thirty years? She idly caresses her ring finger. 

You squeeze Joel's knee, slide your hand up his jeans a couple inches, and squeeze again. You tap your thumb, and his hand joins yours.

“We oughta get goin’, Ma,” he announces. 

“Oh,” she frowns, slumping in defeat. 

“I'm workin’ tonight, and she's gotta work early.” 

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, stands up, and smooths her dress. 

—---

“It's nice to know there's a good woman looking after my son,” she says as she bids you goodbye with another hug. 

Your heart swells at the praise, you can't help it. Her apparent sincerity weakens your eyes, makes you shake away your own memories and steel yourself as she says goodbye to Joel. 

“Chin up, baby.” She holds Joel's face, makes him look at her. “Give your mama some sugar.” She gives him a smack on the lips. He doesn't kiss back, but he does accept her hug. 

He pulls up his jeans on the way to the car. Almost forgets to open the door for you. 

He doesn't look at you, even when he buckles you in, which you would have done yourself if you hadn’t froze.

He swallows more thickly. His posture is less proud.

For the first few minutes of the drive, you ride in silence. Then you ask, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He grumbles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, tummy tickling with a pang of sympathy for the man. 

“No,” he answers flatly with no hesitation. 

“You don't have to,” you reassure him. 

“I know I don't have to,” He snaps. “God, it's all anybody ever wants to talk about.” 

You watch him scowl at the road, clenching his strong jaw.  His gaze is so dark. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. As if noticing this himself, he stretches one hand out, spreading his fingers before assuming a more relaxed grip.

You wonder… was he born a killer? 

He's got this tough, violent shell about him, and now you know there's something else under there. Is he sorry he brought you to dinner, you wonder? You don't want him to be. 

“Well, it was nice meeting your mom,” you remark. “Meatloaf was fantastic…. The pie, too.” You cradle the Tupperware stacked in your lap. “You wanna hang out for awhile?” you ask. 

“Gotta work,” he answers flatly and swallows with his eyes still on the road. 

“Well, that's too bad.” It really is. 'Cause you're not any less horny than he got you in your bathroom two hours ago. Wetter, if anything, you realize, and warmth blooms in your cheeks. Now the sun is going down. You reach back and put the Tupperware on the back seat, then shamelessly turn toward him. You lean your temple against the headrest and watch him drive. 

He’s hard-working. Complicated. Private. And his mom’s right, he is successful, all things considered.

You wonder where his dad is buried. Whether he was handsome, like Joel. Maybe . But with or without him, Joel got those looks from Mama. 

Joel glances over and shoots you a dark look. A warning.

“You don't gotta play nice,” he says.

“I'm not playing anything,” you protest. 

He lets out a dismissive chuckle.

“Pull over,” you tell him. 

“For what?” He asks.

His meaty thighs are spread, swelling in those tight jeans. He follows your eyes and squints at you, then slides his hand under his belly and adjusts his belt, annoyed. 

“Just pull over Joel,” you repeat.

“Ain't in the mood for your games, sweetheart,” he says.

You open the glove box, then close it with the gun in your hand.  You point it at him. “Pull over, god damn it,” you tell him.

He squints and looks at you up and down before dismissing you with a silent, condescending laugh. 

Keeping the gun trained on him, your free hand unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides between your legs. You pull the skirt of the dress all the way up to expose your cunt.

“You serious?” He asks. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you confirm. 

And that's not what killed his dad, you think. 

It must've been messy. 

He must've deserved it, by the looks of Joel's back. The way the moonlight skidded over his scars, that night in your bedroom.

Joel shakes his head, keeps driving, and you lift the gun to his temple. “Pull over right now,” you repeat, quieter.

“Jesus, FUCK,” he relents, neck vein bulging as he veers toward the shoulder. 

It's close to dusk now, on a suburban road, and you're half way out of the seat before the car's in park.

Stretching your leg over the center console, you help yourself into his lap, straddling him, still holding the gun. With your free hand, you begin to unbutton his shirt. 

For a moment, all he does is stare at you and breathe heavier. “You're fuckin’ with me,” he tells himself out loud, not wanting to fall for a joke. He has his elbows back and out of the way, one arm on the door, one on the center console, but he’s itching to have you. You can see it in the way his biceps twitch. His stomach rises and falls with heavier breaths under his white tee. 

“I’m not,” you assure him. 

He lets you pick up his hand, and you guide it between your legs so he can feel how wet you are. 

His face darkens, and his hand reflexively grabs your cunt. 

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he asks.

“That’d make two of us,” you answer.

You glance at the gun to make sure the safety's still on, then point the barrel at his chest and reach down to grab the massive bulge in his jeans. The largest you could imagine, for a cock that’s not quite hard. And he chubs up quick under the lustful pressure of your palm. 

“You're into this shit,” he says. “ Like some kinda kink.” 

Ya think?, you manage not to say out loud.

But you get the subtext: He’s a real person... With a real big cock that swells harder in your palm as you massage him slow with your breasts heaving. He cups your bare ass cheeks. You slide your hand up the front of his jeans, and his hips lift under you, chasing your palm. The heel of your palm presses into his gut as you unbuckle his belt. You rest your wrist on the seat, gun pointed toward the back of the car as your hand continues its work between your bodies.

With his belt buckle out of the way, you grope at his cock through the denim again, then unzip his jeans and rest your hand on the curve of his belly, splaying your fingers out before sliding your hand down into his jeans. As your hand engulfs the mushroom shape of his cockhead, then his swollen shaft, you moan at the girth. “Yeah,” you breathe, “You gonna fuck me in your mother’s dress?” You end the question with a firm grab of his package, and he grunts, nearly breathless, then sighs as you palm his cock hungrily through the cotton of his boxer briefs. 

“Looks really fuckin’ good on you,” he answers with a nod.

Blood’s still rushing to his cock, responding to its need to stiffen up and plug whatever gaping hole appears in front of it. 

“Looks good on her too,” you note. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under your slow but aggressive massage. His eyes pour over your chest and he says, “Looks better on you.” If he’s not lying–and it feels like he’s not–-it’s quite a fucking compliment. His shaft plumps with as much as blood as it can hold, stiff as a rod, fat and juicy, hard as hell, spilling precum in his boxers. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he moans. His hips lift and his abs tense and his belly swells against your forearm. 

You slide your hand up again, and under his waistband. You brace your wrist on his shoulder, pointing the gun toward his neck as your hand slides into his warm boxer briefs to feel the smooth skin of his aching manhood. 

“You wanna put that down?” he asks. 

“No,” You reply, unable to connect your thumb fingers around his girth. 

“Man, when ya need it ya need it, huh?,” he murmurs, eyelids heavy. “Need this cock real bad, don’t ya? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Need to pack that droolin’ gash,” he says. “ Pack it full. ” 

“Yeah,” you nod and raise yourself a few inches. You get his tip at your entrance, then slide it through your dripping pussy.

"Oh, fuck,” he moans, “God damn sex kitten.. . FUCK, youre hot” 

He breathes audibly, watching you with forced patience as you notch his broad tip at your hole. You start to sink down on him with some difficulty, face scrunching, biting your lip in frustration, eyes watering with need. 

“What's the matter, sweetheart? Forget how to take a cock all the sudden?” 

You lift yourself up and sink down a little more, swallowing the tip. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you down with an upward thrust, spearing you on his monster girth.

“Yeah…oh, fuck,” he breathes, not quite bottomed out. “Ugghh,” he groans, pulling you down more with an upward thrust to the hilt, fully seated in you at last. 

“God, you're filthy.” He wets his bottom lip, admiring what a mess you’ve become in his lap. “Hot little slut like you…. Oh, you're trouble,” he says. 

You begin to lift yourself, letting most of his meat out of you, tip dragging thick and tight through your walls, your slick beading under the crown and sliding down his shaft. Then you sink back down, splitting yourself open on his girth with a sigh. 

The sky has erupted into shades of pink and purple as it begins to sink past the horizon. 

Electricity runs through your blood. Your skin hums. His neck glistens with goosebumps and the hues of his shirt look brighter in the almost-dark. 

He grabs your hips as you ride him, then moves his big hands to your waist. Each time you slide up his cock, it’s easier to sink back down. Your body’s hungry for more each time. You can feel it pulsing wider around him, welcoming his girth, hungry for more. 

“Yeah,” he encourages you as you find a rhythm. “Like that.”  

You seize one of his wrists to move his hand to your neck.

“You're a real freak, baby,” he taunts you, brushing his thumb against the delicate skin of your neck before carefully positioning it and raising his eyebrows at you. He closes his eyes as you sink down on him again and his girth slides easily through your soft walls. When he opens his eyes, his massive hand gives your neck a little squeeze, and you moan in appreciation. 

“Guess it takes a freak to fuck a guy like you,” you spit back.  

He scowls, and his nose twitches. 

You go on, “Mighta picked the only freak in town who’d fuck you by choice,” you tell him. “Lucky call,” you say. “Lucky you have such a fat fucking cock,” you taunt him and study his face, hopeful for a sign that he could snap.  “What else do you have?” You ask, and it feels almost too cruel. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot to have… fuck,” you breathe. “Mmm,” fully stuffed by his girth. 

“Quit runnin’ your damn mouth,”  he snaps and grabs the gun by both ends at once, smoothly disarming you with an effortless twist of his hands. He places the barrel against the hollow of your neck and asks, Is “That what ya want, ya dumb slut? Tryna get yourself killed?” 

You freeze, half-way on his cock, getting lost in his eyes. 

“Well God damn, if you're gonna ride it, ride it. I'm gonna lose my goddamn patience” he warns. 

When you don’t sink down fast enough, he gets rougher, putting you in a bruising grip, one arm wrapped around you, tightening like an anaconda. 

He fucks up into you from the bottom, both arms behind you, with the gun held vaguely to your neck.

“Yeah,” you moan. 

He growls, pushes his back against the seat, and his stomach pushes against your front, pushes and rubs as he fucks you harder, rocking the car. 

The windows fog up.

He unzips the back of the dress and tears it down to reveal your breasts. 

He watches them move as you’re bounced on his thick manhood. He snarls and grunts like an animal possessing his prey. 

“I see you,” you whisper, intoxicated by the rhythmic stroke of him up in your guts.

“Fuck you,” he rasps.

“Fuck me ,” you retort,  “Fuck me,” you repeat, “Fuck me, killer,” your cunt spasms with the word. 

“Knew what I was, don’t act fuckin’ surprised.” 

"Fuck," you moan, swallowing up his cock. “I'm -mmm- m’not,” you say. “I'm turned on.”

“You’re sick,” he says, burying his cock in you fully, once again.  

Your nipples harden, you moan, and he looks at you skeptically, even as he feels your walls twitch around his absurd girth. 

“Know that pussy's hungry for something bigger,” he says. 

“Like what?”  you ask and feel the gun leave your neck. 

“Get up.” He checks the safety.

When you rise up, he holds the gun near his dick, making the barrel of it look like a twig. 

“Best I got here,” he says with your gummy walls clinging to his shaft as you let out all but the tip. 

“Think she can take it?” he asks. “Shit, we know she can.” 

You lift all the way up onto your knees, letting his cock fall out. It bounces, bringing a string of slick with it, and stands stiff at attention. 

He works three fingers into you with ease. 

“Gimme your hand,” you ask.

“Hand's fuckin’ busy,” he says, referring to the one holding the gun. 

“No, gimme your whole hand,” you demand greedily, and grab his wrist with his fingers still buried in your cunt. 

“Attagirl,” he says, then works a fourth finger into you.  “Best I can do here, sweetheart,” he winces as he fucks you with four clustered fingers. 

“Fuck this,” he decides, unable to stand his throbbing cock growing ever colder outside your cunt. 

He positions you over his dick and the gun, uses his fingers to spread your pussy around both, then pulls you down. 

“Uh–ughh,” your mouth is agape as you sink down the shaft and barrel, taking them both. 

You’re a quivering mess. 

He holds the handle steady and says, “Good girl.”

You don't go all the way down. The cool barrel slides against one side of your walls. 

“God damn, this hungry pussy,” he pants, cock stiff against the gun.  “God damn, i know she can take more,” he says, frustrated without much more to give you.  

“How do you know?” you ask 

“Cause I've seen ya gapin’ wide open, sweetheart.” 

You moan at his words, pussy quivering around his cock and gun. 

“Wide fuckin’ open,” he repeats. “Ya take my fist… take two dicks…fuck ,” he twitches inside you. “ Took my goddamn wrench…. greedy fuckin’ cunt,” he goes on. 

Then you're seized by a swell in your lower belly…. The pressure that’s been simmering quickly boils over, and you whimper as you come on his cock and the gun. 

“Yeah,” he pants as your walls flutter and your thighs quiver. 

He lifts you up with one arm, and takes out the gun, putting it aside. Then he slams you all the way down on his cock. “Oh god, yeah,” he pants, “Freak nasty whore ” 

You moan and let it ride, clenching around his cock, your walls hugging it tighter each time, with the girth of the gun no longer holding you open.  

Your climax wanes and your legs are weak. “Oh fuck,” he pants, “Gonna fill this dirty snatch,”  He sweats and grunts. “Gonna stuff her with my load,” he warns, “Bout to fill this gash right up .”  

“Fuck,” he breathes heavier and grunts with each thrust up into you, then slams you down, and with an upward jolt of his hips begins to drain his massive balls. “Fuck,” he sighs as he comes inside. “Fuck, you're crazy,” he says with another rope, warm and sticky, hitting your womb. 

“Tryna get knocked up by some psycho killer ya picked up on the side of the road,” he says. “ Fuck, you goddamn freak .” 

Still milking his cock, something possesses you to cradle his face as he slows down. Another burst of warmth in your core, as your face approaches his. He starts to turn his cheek, but your hands become forceful. “C’mere, asshole,”  you demand, grinding into him with his cock pulsing deep inside again. His neck begins to relax, and he sighs with his eyes closed. You hold his face steady and bring your face to his. When your lips meet his are limp and open. 

Another warm spurt into your womb, and when you moan against his mouth, he moans back. His lips soften, then cradle yours. Your tongue slips into your mouth, and his pushes into yours. He grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his face as he kisses you, releasing a final burst of hot seed. “Mm,” he grunts into your mouth, hands holding each other’s faces. Glued together, consuming each other in the dark. The passion simmers to something gentler as your loins twitch with aftershocks, becoming over-sensitive. 

You break away to breathe, gasping for humid air in the fogged-up car. 

He pants, looks up at the ceiling. His neck vein pulses. His skin is clammy looking, dewy with cold sweat, 

“Fuck,” sighs, his chest heaving, “Still got your goddamn tits out.” He admires them, then feeds himself one. He tongues your nipple, and when your cunt squeezes him, he winces, letting it out of his mouth. 

A tractor trailer whizzes by, shaking the whole car. 

“Alright,” he says, and nudges you off his lap. “Now pull yourself together.” 

He takes the gun, wet with your juices, puts it on the dashboard near him. He looks over at you skeptically when you've climbed back over the center console into your seat.

“You better stuff that dress between your legs,” he warns. “Don’t want ya leakin’ all over the goddamn place.”

-

-

-

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Believe it or not, I cut two scenes from this lol so I might put them in a little bonus visit between Joel and his mom soon.

Look, this took me a year and I feel like I've finally done my mental vision justice lol. So, please interact 🧎‍♀️🥺🖤

A word from Donna: This is longer than I expected I’m SOooo sorry :/ Heads up-This isn’t a smutty fic with a Ghostface-it’s my own little slasher movie. I wanted to write it like a thriller fic rather than straight to sex, ya know? Scream, it’s such a fav of mine, cmon the plot twist alone FFS, my 12 year old mind was blown! Beautiful stuff <3There may be more from this series, I mean how many Screams have there been? ;) This is purely for me, I’ve wanted to write a Ghostface fic for soooo long😁

Soundtrack: I mainly listen to various scream soundtracks on Spotify, but it was mainly Birdbrains album, ‘Let’s Be Nice’ that I overused for inspo :D <3

October 31st - Becker Resident

It’s not a big deal, you think to yourself. It’s just a date, you don’t have to take it further than it needs to, even though you’re dyyyyying to be fucked. Yeah, it was happening. Isaac’s on his way, sadly it’ll take him over an hour to get here, but it gives you plenty of time to get everything prepared. You stop as you turn on the oven burner for the popcorn, the outside security light keeps going off, fuckin raccoon probably. You hope it is. His voice pops in your head, “you’re mine. Always was, always will be, baby. You were made for me.” You shake it off, no-he was not going to ruin tonight.

You change into your faaaav green dress, sweetheart neckline-levitates and shows off your tits, respectfully-it flows down to your thighs, you don’t bother with shoes, or panties for that matter, honestly-why bother. Giving yourself a once over, that damn light again, you have a quick look outside through the blinds. It’s gotta be a raccoon right? Your skin starts to prickle-the feeling like someone’s watching is lurking in your head. You wait for it to go off to get a better look through the blinds, you stare into the darkness-nothing.

You head back into the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to finish a-poppin, you give it a little shake when that damn light comes on again and the phone rings. You-shit yourself, clutching at your chest, laughing, you answer it;

“Hello?”

*heavy breathing*

“Hellooooo? Who is it?”

“Hey hon, it’s Isaac can you hear me? My signals shit, I’m about forty-five minutes away. You owe me girl I tell ya. Do stuff to me no one’s ever done before.”

You laugh down the phone as you lean over the counter, “of course, it’s a long drive. I’ll do whatever you want-.” you pull a knife out of its stock and twirl the tip on the surface, “-you just gotta name it, so step on it.” Sliding the knife back into its snook. “Yeah-yeah I’ll be there soon. Bye!”

“Bye, dickhead.” You hear a small “you’ll pay for that, girl” as you hang up the phone. You took the burgers, salad, sodas, dips out of the fridge-you decided that burgers were the safest choice for dinner-made from scratch. You were told by him that your burgers were the best in the world. “Goddamn-fucking delicious, nearly as good as your pussy, baby.” He said as he tapped his thigh, “come, sit.” He proceeded to finger you, getting two orgasms from you as he ate his burger. “So delicious and all mine.” You clench your thighs at the thought.

You lay the snacks and drinks on the coffee table, easy access as we watch our horror movie classic-Halloween and obviously very fitting for tonight-when the phone rings, *beep* “for gods sake, ike-just focus on the road so you can get here and fuck me.”

“—You always did have a mouth on ya. Who the fuck is Ike, baby?.” You freeze.

“Joel? What-what the fuck? —why are you calling me? You’re suppose to be leaving me alone. Moving on a shit.” He laughs-a deep chest laugh. You always loved that goddamn laugh of his.

“I’m just checkin in on my baby. Making sure she’s looking after herself—And moving on? It’s me and you til death remember-and this ike guy-he’s gonna be history.”

“What?! Are-are you threatening me?” You clutch the bottom of the phone with both hands, meaning business now, talking through gritted teeth, “look-we’re meant to be moving on, and you are not allowed anywhere near me, Joel Miller so don’t- try anything.”

“Love it when you get all bossy. But no, baby-you’re gonna take me back, like you always do.” You hang up. You shake off the call, you need to pee. Really you should be calling the cops, but you’ve never been a smart girl.

As you come out from the bathroom, there’s knocks at your front door, not even thinking, you open it to-Tommy Miller. “Hey, sweetheart” he oozes out, leaning against the doorframe, he stays there or a second, looking you over. “May I?” Gesturing to come in, even though he’s halfway through the doorway. “Yeah sure” you say sarcastically.

He stands tall, taps on his belt buckle, “so, heard from that brother of mine? He’s been seen lurking around town.” You shake your head. “He called though, usual stuff, ‘I’m his, til death- I don’t think he’s stupid enough to come here.”

He scoffs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Look if he calls again, tell him to call me, k?” As he leaves your home he turns and scoffs, “all this fuss over you, you must have one amazing pussy, sweetheart. Talk soon” closing the door behind him. Ugh he makes you shudder. Fuck, you want this night over with. You text Ike, he probably won’t see it but you send one anyway.

-Will you hurry the fuck up, my pussy is throbbing for you here 🤣x

You perk up your boobs more, they’re practically hanging over the neckline. Yeah, this was the perfect dress to get fucked in. Ironically, Joel bought you this dress, he loved you in green, his favourite color. You think back to the dressing room, you holding on for dear life on the stall as Joel pounded you, the thoughts interrupted. The phone rings, “hello? Ike is that you?”

You hear a screech down the phone, like an amp adjusting then that voice came. “Helloooo, baby…ike can’t come to the phone right now-he’s abit tied up.”

“Oh my god, Ike, did you get one of those- voice adjuster things like from, Stab? It’s awesome-carry on talking.” Bless your little dumb heart. Not only are you gullible but little do you know, that Ike-is literally tied up.

“So, baby-what’s your favourite scary movie?”

You act all girly, like the dumb girls in those dumb slasher movies. “Well-,” twirling your hair in your fingers, “-I’m a big fan of those micheal Myers films. Where he like stalks a young woman in her home, it’s so cliché.” You giggle. “What’s yours?” You ask, all shyly, now twirling the hem of your dress.

“Well, my favourite is that Stab movie you mentioned-pretty woman-big tits, home alone, easy prey.” You scoff, “now that’s a cliche answer. The woman always does the wrong things, runs upstairs instead of running out. Ugh, lame….ok, seriously how much longer you gonna be ike?” You hear heavy breathing, then another screech, “won’t be too long, baby. I’m coming for ya.” The call ends.

Eeeeeverything is done, set, and now you wait. You try calling Ike, it just keeps ringing, then the second you hang up, it rings back. “Well hello, baby.”

“Ike for fuck sake, will you hurry the hell up-,” you hear a noise from your backyard, making you jump, and your spine tingles.

Then that voice, “I told you, Ike can’t come to the phone right now, he’s tied up-ya never did listen. So fuckin stubborn.” You hold your breath, tears start to prick at your eyes, “Joel?” You knew, you knew it was him the second your spine tingled. You hear a click, then you hear Joel’s voice. “Surpriiiise, baby.” You duck down and kneel behind a kitchen counter, shaking. “J-Joel? Have you-have you done something to Ike?”

He lets out a deep guttural laugh, “oh baby, I told you he was history-well he’ll be a part of our history very shortly, darlin.” Bitch, why are you clenching your thighs right now?! “Joel-just, just please leave me alone….are-are you here?” He can hear the fear in your voice…You already knew the answer. “Why don’t you look out your back doors for me, baby.” You slowly-dreading every step-tip toe over to the back double doors. You didn’t notice the lights being on this whole time, cause of Ike being tied to a chair. Beaten up.

“What the fuck?! Ike!” You go to open the door but hear a “Nuh uh, baby” from Joel on the other end. “You open the door he dies. His blood, on your hands.” You hear a knock on your front door, you turn around fast. You’re breathing is shaky down the phone, “oh, you sound so scared, baby. Why don’t you open the door and let me in. I’ll make ya feel better” You are full on crying now, “Joel-please-just please leave me alone.” He tuts down the phone, “c’mon, baby. I’ll make ya feel good.”

“I’d rather die!” You scream at the door

Hearing a low chuckle down the phone, “well-that can be arranged, sweetheart.” you hang up to call 911, but then there’s loud, heavy knocks at the door, you jump, dropping the fucking phone. It’s broken. Fuck! You’re just about to run to grab the other phone from your dads office around the corner when heavy knocks are at the back doors. What the hell? Then more loud knocks on your front door. You don’t know what the hell to do.

Do you go grab the phone? Do you attempt to free Isaac? Do you confront the knockers of the doors? Just as you head to the office, there’s a loud bang, the door is broken down and there’s, Ghostface. “Helloooo, baby.” He holds a knife in his hand and twiddles his fingers in a hello gesture. Fuck the phone, you run to the kitchen to grab a knife, then belt it out the back doors, only to run into, another Ghostface who twists the knife out of your hand. “Surprise, sweetheart.” The voice soothed.

You look over his shoulder to see Isaac’s lifeless body, gutted. His insides on the outside. You scream. Joel comes near and sees the lifeless body. “You motherfucker! You killed him? Im suppose to do it, thats the whole goddamn point.” Joel shouted as he took off his mask and aimed his anger at the other figure-who just shrugged-, “and hey-easy, let her go…hey, baby,” Joel strips off the Ghostface cloak, “did you miss me?” He opens his arms, you run into the kitchen to grab another knife but the other figure trips you, “Nuh uh, sweetheart.” He smirks out. “Don’t you fuckin think about it.” Joel shoots him a look, “hey-I said back off.” He comes over to help you up but you snatch your hand away, tears streaming down your face, “don’t fuckin touch me! What-what the fuck, Joel?-“ you look to the other figure, “-who the fuck is that?” You point.

Tommy pulls off his mask and sheds the cloak, “hey, sweetheart-told ya didn’t I, Joel-doesn’t she look good enough to eat? Have a-Stab of’er.” You wipe your nose, the snot is-everywhere. “I-I can’t believe you killed Ike.” You whisper. Joel runs a hand through his dark hair, “well he was coming here to fuck you wasn’t he? We weren’t gonna let that happen baby.” You look between them-out of the two, you could get past Tommy, he seems cocky, guard down abit-but him, no hes figuring you out, he knows what you’re thinking. He knows you too damn well, and you fucking hate it.

“Heads up, Tommy-she’s gonna try ya.” You’re now staring at the floor but you can see them in the corner of your eye. You’re trembling but trying so hard to hold it together, and Joel notices. “Aw, baby-don’t be scared. I just wanted to see you that’s all.” You scoff. “Don’t!-“ Joel lunges at you but stops himself quick, “don’t-you fuckin scoff at me, girl.”

You lean back against a counter, crossing your arms across your chest, even though you can’t fuckin breathe right now. “Okay, so you have me-now what?” You tilt your head, trying to act nonchalant. It seems to be working as Joel’s jaw ticks. “Well-I’m sick of fuckin my fist thinkin about ya-so now that I’ve got the real deal, make a night of it,” he winks. “Tommy, make yaself scarce, keep an eye out for any other visitors, maybe clean up ya fuckin mess while you’re at it.”

Tommy tuts but heads out the back doors, closing them behind him as his gives you a wink, “enjoy, brother-I’ll try not watch sweetheart.” You cringe. Now, it’s just the two of you.

Joel bites his bottom lip, “mmm mm mm, baby you look good. That dress, huh? My favourite? See-that’s where it makes me think..you were expecting me.” You roll your eyes, you expect him to lunge at you again, he hates it when you roll your eyes at him, but he doesn’t, he just strolls over. “Don’t-roll your-goddamn-eyes at me, baby.” He stands tall in front of you, you try not to look at around at your surroundings, giving him a hint of what youre thinking. Joel trails his finger tip over your cleavage, your skin prickles at the contact. “Oh-we like that do we?” He smirks. That fucking beautiful smirk. Yeah you’re getting wetter.

Youre so fucking stupid. Here you are with Joel, a man who could snap your neck like a tooth pick and yet, you’re thinking of him fucking you, with a grip around your throat. You’re sick. “Oh I know that look. Your ‘playing hard to get’ look. It’s ok if you want me, baby. I know how you get around me.” Cocky bastard. He’s not wrong, you’re fucking drenched, but still.

Pretending you’re bored of this conversation, you exasperate letting out a huff, turning to look at the front door. A clean run if he gets distracted, it’s off its hinges thanks to Joel, so no messing with the locks or the handle. You turn to look at him. “You’re right, Joel-of course I want you, I always will.” You’re not lying but nows not the time, don’t get distracted. He leans down, and dips his face into the crook of your neck. “You smell-so sweet, baby. Even he thinks so-.” he says rubbing his bulge against you. Hard as fuck. You’re gonna let him do what he wants to you, let his guard down, even just a smidge, so to allow you to dart outta here.

Joel runs his hands over your body, pinching you, feeling the material of the dress, as he slides them over your hips, he looks up to you and smiles. “Commando, baby? You shouldn’t have.” He bunches up the skirt part to your hips, pussy on full show. He tips back a little to get a good look. “And a full bush, baby-just what I like.” He sucks on his middle finger, and slides through your folds, ghosting your ear. “So-ya know you gotta be punished my sweet. Letting another man fuck you while I’m still alive.” He tuts at you.

“Joel, I’m not taking you back, you scared me-you hurt me, I’m deaf in my left ear because of you.” Joel presses his hips against yours, pinning you against the counter. He pinches the tip of the knife to your cheek. “I said- I was sorry, baby”. You laugh in his face, knocking his hand away, his hips pressing against yours, harder. “So now we’re just gonna forget it and move on, k?” He asked so casual like he got your coffee order wrong.

“Like hell we are!” You manage to knee him in his ghoulies and leg it to the front door, but sadly, he’s fast, calculated-he pins you to a mirror that’s nailed to the wall, your face squished and hands pinned behind your back. “Baby baby-really? That’s so cliche-don’t matter, it’s still gonna work just fine.” You squirm in his grip but he presses himself against you-keeping you still. “Now-we’re gonna be a good girl, and do as we’re told, baby-right?”

Yes. Yes you were. You’re soaked, it’s literally dripping out of you, and he’s gonna know soon enough, that yes, you’re gonna do as you’re told cause you fucking want this, you always will. With his free hand, he slithers it under your dress, grabbing a squeeze of your ass, “fuck, this peach, baby-so soft.” Then he moves his hand- tip toeing his fingers to your pussy, you clench your thighs. “Nuh uh, spread’em, baby.” He nudges your feet apart with his and he continues where he left off, sliding his middle finger through your folds, cupping your pussy. “Mm she’s missed me, all dripping for this lucky SOB.” You squirm in his grip, which tightens, “baby, you carry on and I’ll make it hurt more.” You stop. You just except what’s coming.

You hear his zipper go down and belt unbuckle, you internally squirm. That sound, you don’t know what it is about it but it gets you wet. He nudged his tip to your soaked hole, sinking in inch by inch. You gasp and your hands, even though they’re confined, they’re trying to grab at nothing. “Joel-please-.” He shushes you as he sinks in deeper, letting go off your wrists, “put’em at the side of your head, baby.” You move them slowly, bracketing the mirror, and as you look behind you, all you see is that devastating smile glaring back. “Aatta girl.” Even though he praises you, it’s so condescending.

He pushes up and bottoms out, dipping his head between your shoulders, “goddamn-been so fuckin long, baby-fuuuck. Missed ya so much-us til we die, baby. Yeah?” You can’t answer as you wince in pain around his cock. “Joel please-just please move it hurts.” With another little jab up-making you yelp, his hips move at a fast pace, you grip hold of the mirror and arch your back, making the angle just right, if you gotta do this, you’re gonna fuckin enjoy it. “Knew my baby wanted this, ya fucking twisted.” He’s talking through gritted teeth, gripping your hip, his nails digging in, “gonna get ya there, baby-i know you’re right fuckin there.” You knew the drill, you cum first so he can focus on himself, not that you cared but if you didn’t get your climax, you weren’t gonna be happy.

He circles your clit while rutting into you, each thrust up felt like a stab to your cervix, it’s usually an amazing feeling but Joel was a man on a mission. You watch through the mirror, his looking where you both join, staring at the white ring forming around his cock going in and out. “What a fucking sight, baby. Cmon now, let’s fuckin get there.” You feel the tight coil forming in your belly, which starts to go south, tingling through your pussy, you can’t help but clench around him. “There she is, cmon baby, get there-fucking get there.” The house is filled with your screams, you don’t give a fuck if Tommy can hear or not, it’s intense and you cum hard, tightening around his cock like a vice, he carries on rubbing your swollen bud until you come down, still rutting up into you. As you try to catch your breath he brings his hand away and grabs hold of your ass cheeks, pounding into you hard as he seeks his climax, you scream out louder, holding on to the mirror for dear life. He looks flustered, veins popping out his temples.

He doesn’t cum in you, he pulls out and sprays it over your ass and lower back. Ropes of it spraying on you as he mumbles to himself, “god-damn. Fuuck me.” You feel like you’re gonna keel over, your thighs are shaking, and you haven’t got your breathing under check. Joel seems to be back to earth, when he starts whispering to you to take deep breaths, coaxing you with his words and breathing as he pins you to his chest. “Be a good girl and breathe with me, baby. In and out.” you let out is a whimpers, Joel places his giant hand on your chest, it’s so warm, it soothes you instantly. “Atta girl, there we go.”

Just as you’re basking in his warmth and the feeling of your satisfied pussy, the back doors swing open. Tommy comes in with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Only caught the end of that-fuck me, I wanna have a go. What ya say, brother?” As Joel helps you clean yourself up and fixes your dress, he shoot tommy a glare, it’s one that scares you. He becomes unpredictable, predator-like…like he’s going in for a kill. “Say that again? Don’t think I heard ya, brother.” The once standing tall, smug motherfucker, was now a mumbling mess, turning his shoulders in like he’s a pup getting scolded. “C-cmon, Joel-I was only jokin.” Joel exhales through his nostrils, sounding like a major pissed off bull, “you’re on thin ice already brother-one more strike and I’ll kill ya, got it?…you cleaned up your mess out there?” Tommy only nods, with a shaky breath, you couldn’t help but grin, couldn’t help but make it worse.

“Ya know, Joel-Tommy was here earlier, but you know that obviously, however..he had a few words to say, kinda disrespectful -.” He looks over his shoulder at you then turns back to Tommy, Jesus it reminded you of Poltergeist, when the chicks head spins around? God, his glare at you was dark, just two orbs of pure black. Poor Tommy you smirk to yourself. Joel takes a step closer to him, almost touching noses, “and what did he say, baby?” He tilted his head slightly, Tommy wasn’t blinking, just staring at Joel, you hope he could somehow see your smug face. “Well, he said, ‘all this fuss over you, you must have one amazing pussy, sweetheart.’” You could hear Joel’s teeth clenching and Tommys gulp. Before poor Tommy could utter a word, the room was filled with the sound of a sling and loud garbles. Joel slit his throat, nice and clean. You stand there, wide eyed and turned on, letting out short breaths.

He wipes the bloodied knife on Tommys shirt-he’s gargling in pain, his face is white and his eyes are so wide, you think they’re gonna pop out. He crashes to the floor grabbing at his throat uttering what sounds like “you bitch”. You didn’t feel bad in the slightest, you hated Tommy-always grabbing your ass, calling you sweetheart with his creepy grin, offering quick fucks “Joel’ll never know.” Well he’s out of your life now, one less bastard you don’t have to worry about. This one, on the other hand…has a tight grip on the knife, knuckles white, “baby, c’mere.” His voice is low, raspy and shaky. You slowly walk over, and just when your at arms reach, he grabs at your arm dragging you to stand in front of him, when you steady your feet, he kneels down-his dark eyes glued to yours, as he bunches up your dress.

Joel taps his shoulder with the knife. “Leg. Now.” Like you were gonna tell him no. You kept your balance by gripping his hair, tugging it a little-he didn’t seem to mind.

“baby-you weren’’t lying to me, right, he said that, yeah?”

It’s a good fucking job you were telling the truth, if you were lying, the knife that’s slowly travelling up your leg would surely be driven through your flesh.

You nod, keeping your eyes truthful, shivering as the knife is at your inner thigh, creeping up over your pussy then moving back down. “Good girl, cause baby if you were-I’d have to kill ya.” You gulp loud, his eyes widen. “He did it all, Joel-he wasn’t a good man.” He looks to where the knife is, bunching up your dress, he digs the cold steel into your flesh and drags it along-he digs it harder, carving you. You try and squirm away but he’s strong, too fucking strong, he clamps his arm around your thigh while he carries on carving you. “Ah Joel -stop! Ah what the-fuuuuck!” His grips tightens, “keep still, baby, it’ll hurt more if you move-knock it off or I’ll knock you out.”

You carry on screaming, clawing at his head, shoulders, trying to push yourself from his grip but fuck, his tight fuckin grip. “I mean it! Knock it off I’m nearly done, baby-you’re ok.” You feel yourself go weak and shaky, as the blade burns your skin-then it stops. Joel the sick bastard, licks the wound, and drops your leg down and you fall to the ground, wailing. “What the fuck, Joel.” You choke out. You look down and see his little artwork. JOELS. In capital letters, a few inches away from your pussy. “Oh my god, Joel-what the fu-how could you?! You bastard!”

He stands above you, towering tall-“I’m sorry, baby-but people gotta know who you belong to, can’t have some prick thinking he can have you. Now they’ll all be turned off-til death, baby-remember?” He kneels down again, landing on top of you, bracketing your legs with his, drags his nose up your body until landing his lips on your neck-it’s agonising. He leans on an elbow, still hovering over you and starts unbuttoning your dress, “you look-just fuckin stunning darlin-green always looked amazing on you.” He’s talking over your whimpers, tears are streaming and you’re muttering to yourself.

“Hey!” He snaps his fingers. “-I said knock it off or I do this with you unconscious. Got it?” You wipe your nose on your arm and nod. He carries on unbuttoning your dress, pepper kissing your collarbone. You just lie still, you can believe he did that, it’s why you darent move. After doing the last button, he moves the dress aside, leaving you naked, running his calloused hand over you body-thighs, pussy, stomach, tits. You can feel him starting to coax your legs open with his other hand, then cupping your pussy.

“Gonna let me in again, darlin?” You tense up but slowly open them, with tears still streaming down your face. “Atta girl-always my good girl.” You gush at the praise as he sucks on his fingertips and rubs the wetness over his tip, hooking your leg over his hip and with no warning his rams up. “Fuuck, baby-never gets old.” He begins to slightly roll his hips, his tip stabbing at your cervix, dragging whines out of you. “Joel please-move faster -please.” He nuzzles into your neck, “Nuh uh, baby-this feels too good.” You whine out more pleas and Joel drags his cock out, teases your hole and rams it back in, starting with a rough pace.

He squeezes your thigh where he’s marked you, making you clench around him, “dirty bitch liking that, huh? Liking the pain? Ya just as fucking twisted.” He wraps his giant hand around your throat, placing his mouth right by your ear as he ruts into you to hear his grunts and moans. “Can you hear me, baby? Hear what you do to me with your pretty pussy?” You’re yelping at every thrust, unable to form a fuckin thought, let alone an answer.

He lets go of your throat and slaps your face, hard enough to sting. “Fuckin-answer-me.” He grits it out as he rolls his hips. “Yes Joel -I can hear -I hear it.” Joel moves his hand between your bodies, circles your swollen bud, you bite your lip. That tight snap that’ll send you over is right there, you tense your pussy around his cock, “is my darlin ready? I think she is.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing hold of your hip he pounds your pussy, fucking relentlessly, he wants to cum with you. “We getting there, baby-yeah I think we are.” he smirks as you clench around him-that band snapping. You both cum, it’s almost violent-tights grips, nails digging in so deep, crimson crescents form, bruising thrusts.

His hips stutter as he grabs yours, making you take every drop of him as his thrusts get sloppy. “Fuck me, baby.” You hiss as rubs his heavy hand along your new scar. “it looks so pretty, baby.”, he whispers leaning down kissing it. Just as you come back to the planet, you whine in pain as something hot attacks your thigh. He fucking stabbed you, right in the leg. Asshole.

“Joel! What-what the fuck-ahh! You fucking asshole!” You grip tight of where blood was gushing out, fuck, it hurt! “Joel fucking help me-.oh my god-I can’t believe -.” He stands towering over tucking himself back in his pants. “Ya didn’t think I’ll let you off the hook for having some guy round did ya? Baby-no man is ever fucking you while I’m around-sorry darlin, had to punish somehow-the cuttin wasn’t enough.” You crawl, dragging your leg then resting your back on Tommys dead body a few feet away.

You feel like the winds been knock outta you, trying to gasp for breath and the wound is stinging-burning up your whole leg, it’s starting to go numb. Joel’s in the kitchen grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink, acting so casual like you’ve cut your finger chopping onions or something, after he fixes you up, Joel pulls you up, dressing you again-doing only half of the buttons, he yanks you against his chest and just as he’s about to say something, the phone in your dads office rings, followed by a beep on the answering machine-then your Moms voice;

Hey honey, we’re on our way back, should be home in ten minutes-,” then she whispers down the phone so your Dad won’t hear, “-please finish any shenanigans you and Ike are upto.” followed by a little giggle.

You quickly think-ten minutes-you could run out the door, down the road until your parents came into view. Joel brings back your attention by grabbing your chin between his finger and thumb with a harsh grip, “so mommy dearest knew about Ike as well? Knew you’d fuck him…well she’s gotta go-and daddy will be with her-so he’s gotta too I’m afraid.” Your eyes widen with fear, you gotta act fast, cause this fucker ain’t joking.

Coincidentally, a very expensive and heavy looking vase is to your right, it seems the perfect weapon to knock Joel out, he sees you eyeing it but just this once-you’re too quick for him. You grab it in a tight grip and smash it against his head, he lets you go and falls to the floor and stills, he’s not unconscious but girl, fucking run! You hear weak moans behind you as you dart out the door but you don’t look back. Running barefoot, the gravel is hurting like a motherfucker but grass is on the horizon-you just gotta keep running.

There’s no sound coming from the house, hopefully you knocked him out hard enough til the cops get here.

You see the long stretch of dark green and your feet welcome the wet grass, you take a quick breather-wriggling your toes between the green strands then you see them…car lights. “MOM! DAD!” You’re waving frantically knowing damn well they can’t see you, so you run. After a few minutes you stop just feet away from the car, you Dad stomps on the brake making the car drag the dirt with its tyres. “Jesus Christ!” He barks out. “Baby what the hells goin on!” You run to open the door of back passenger seat and jumps in. “Dad drive back! Go back! Don’t go home! Joel’s there!” They both froze.

Joel. The bane of their existence. The pain in their ass. Your Dads ex best friend. Your dad puts the car in reverse and speeds back, turning the car around with fast precision and then demands to know whats going on. “What the fuck you mean Joel’s there?!” He stares at you through the mirror. “He called me then-fuck-he and Tommy broke into the house, killed Ike and was gonna kill you guys.” They both looked at each other. “Then what?!” He barked at you. “Then I smashed a vase over his head and ran. He was unconscious I think.”

“You think? Goddamn it, you’re a fucking idiot! I told you he was trouble, I fucking told you!” The tears are streaming down your face. “I know! I know! Just-call the cops and send them there.” The tyres left dust as your dad drove the car faster, heading to town. Your Mom called the cops and a squad team was sent to the house.

You were escorted to hospital to get your wound stitched up, your mom held your hand, wiped away your tears and soothed her baby girl. Your dad paced the room, clearly still furious. You didn’t tell them you had sex with Joel, what would be the point. They wouldn’t believe you’d just let it happen and conclude that he assaulted you. Joel’s a lot of things but a rapist, he ain’t.

“So-,” your Dad starts, looking like he’s going to give you grief about your life choices, but he sighs, “Ya gonna need some sleep, I’ll wake you in a few hours-your moms gonna go your aunts.” You nod, wiping tears away. “I’m so sorry-I’m so sorry this happened. You guys were right about him.” The nurse finishes up the bandages and leaves, giving your parents the chance to sit beside you and hug you so fucking tight, the stitches are tugging at your skin, little reminders of tonight. You don’t know how long they hugged you for, but a few taps on the door broke the moment. Sheriff Arquette.

“Howdy, Beckers. How we doing?” The sheriff was such a humble man, the nicest man you know, all he brings is goodness. “She’s fine-,” your Mom answered, “-just needs sleep.” Your Dad interrupts, “well? The house-him?” The sheriff adjusts his belt buckle, looking down at the floor, “well uh-they didn’t find anything. Joel wasn’t in the house, they searched the surrounding areas, he was nowhere to be found-nothing. Only Isaac’s and Tommys bodies were found.” You knit your brows together and shudder at the thought that he’s still alive and still out there.

Until the two of you meet again…

The End?

Fun fact: I saw Matthew Lillard on a New York City street in 2008 while on vacay and shouted over to him “you hit me with the phone dick!” He laughed and pointed at me and that was that. A great memory.

I couldn’t think of a good enough title so just-work with me here😂and obv our reader is a Final Girl😁so she had to live.

a/n: I would really appreciate to hear from readers about this, cause I wanna perfect these fics, so please be nice. Was it too long? Not entertaining enough?

Thanks x

It was a quiet fall evening. You sat on your boyfriend’s couch, ankles crossed along the extent of the cushions as you leafed through what was available on different streaming services. You wanted something spooky for Halloween but not something that would over-excite your imagination while alone. You’re wearing the same thing he left you in, red panties and an oversized black tee you had snagged from his closet. 

You figure your boyfriend should be home soon, so you start a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You sit up on the counter and kick your feet gently against the cabinets as you watch the time tick down, listening to each pop as it slowly rattles up its pace. 

Your phone’s ring catches your attention back in the living room. You assume it’s your boyfriend as you hop off the counter and swipe it from the arm of the chair. 

Unknown Caller

With a roll of your eyes, your tongue rutting out against your cheek, you deny the call. Probably a wrong number or an asshole troll since Halloween was nearing. You’re about to turn back to the kitchen, hearing the popcorn bag rattling with intensity when your phone goes off again. 

Stopped in your tracks, you watch your phone buzz with uncertainty as the screen flashes with the Unknown Caller tag once more. 

All of a sudden, the air is tight in your lungs, and your body is riddled with goosebumps. Now you were annoyed. You slid across the call button and pushed the phone to your ear. 

“You have the wrong number. Stop fucking calling me.”  You jam the blaring red end call button before huffing and returning to your popcorn. 

The timer slowly counts down, but each pop from the bag makes you jump. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 

Your body jolts as you hear something pound against the windows, throwing yourself back against the counter with wide eyes. 

“What the fuck!” You gasp as you rotate your head, searching from open window to open window where the banging was coming from. But there was nothing. No one. Your heart rate is slowly increasing, you can feel it jumping in your wrist and your neck.

Your feet quickly skid across the room, locking the house’s back door before running back towards the front entrance, flicking the lock in place. Even if it was nothing, at least you were safe. 

Standing still in the entryway, you observed the home to be dead quiet. Your fears were still nesting on your shoulders, that you weren’t alone. 

Your phone rings again, causing you to jump from the silence you had grown used to. With a distasteful grimace, you glance around as you walk towards your phone. You accept the call with hesitancy.  

“Who is this?” You ask, already maneuvering around the house and shutting all the curtains and blinds in your wake. “Whoever the hell you are, just stop fucking calling me.”  You try not to let the panic that’s sitting in your throat be exposed over the phone. Whoever has called you hasn’t spoken yet. 

“Hello?” You ask, pausing in the kitchen as you finish your rounds around the first floor. 

“Now that is how you answer a phone call.” The voice isn’t familiar, it’s almost… animatronic? It didn’t sound like a person, but the languidness of their voice was all too human. It was low, primal. 

Now, you’ve seen these movies before, you weren’t an idiot, and you weren’t going to be one tonight. 

“What are you going to ask me? What’s my favorite scary movie?” You taunt, yanking the microwave door open and retrieving the piping hot bag of popcorn from inside, sucking in a harsh breath as your fingertips branded red from the heat. 

The voice on the line laughs. It’s almost sinister, not at all comforting. You’re not even sure why you’re entertaining this jackass who’s calling you when all they’ve done so far is giggle at your expense. 

“How did you even get this number, you fucking troll?” You probe, frowning as you squeeze your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you pry open the popcorn bag. Of course, it bursts, sending a few pieces scattered around the kitchen. You simply roll your eyes and sigh at the inconvenience. 

“Why don’t you be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?” 

You squat down to pick up the kernels you dropped, only realizing the extent of what the voice said a moment later. Your eyes widen, and your chest surges with panic. You look around, but all the windows are closed and covered. Was that just a lucky guess, or is someone watching you? 

Out of instinct, you reach for the knife block on the kitchen counter and yank out the biggest one. The blade gleams silver in the light, and you realize how exposed you are. 

You set down the knife on the counter and quickly move around the house, shutting off the lights and concealing you in a dim darkness. 

“What happened to the show? Why did the curtain close?” The low, sinister voice asks, and you whimper quietly in your hand to conceal your fear. “I liked watching you walk around,” he pauses, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, “in those red little panties.” 

You hate to admit that this flicks a nasty switch in you, chased and taunted, talked down to by an unknown figure. As much as you’re scared, a small churning begins low in your tummy, and you clench your thighs tighter together. 

With a shaky breath, you nibble on your lower lip and slowly move towards the front windows. You slowly peek them open, seeing nothing but your reflection and darkness. 

“Can you see me?” You ask nervously, licking at your lower lip. 

“Ahhh, there she is.” The voice praises, forcing you to swallow a lump down your throat. “Push those curtains open all the way. Want to see all of you.” You shiver, and the pooling in your panties only becomes more urgent. Someone’s watching you, and they like what they see. 

Following the anonymous caller’s instructions, you slowly push open the curtains, your body backlist by a dim light still on in the kitchen. The voice hums in appreciation. 

You blame it on your state of panic for not thinking clearly or logically for that manner. This creep wanted you, you could hear the slight desperation clinging to their voice. 

“Promise me you won’t fuckin’ harm me, and I-I’ll put on a show for you. Isn’t that what you want? You said you liked my panties.” You breathily point out, opting to put the phone on speakerphone and setting it down on the bench in front of the now curtain-drawn windows. 

The voice on the other line hums, pondering your offer. A shiver rolls over your spine as you subconsciously cross your arms in front of your body, scared and nerve-wracked. 

“You have a gorgeous body. Let me see it. All of it.” The voice echoes within the quiet home, and you blink back the fear that is resting heavily on your chest. You take in a shaky breath and do as you are told. 

Your hands go to the hem of your top, about to lazily toss it off when you are tsk tsk-ed at. You frown and quickly pull the t-shirt back down. 

“Not like that!” The voice barks, angry and condescending, making you whimper. The voice pauses and takes a breath. “Slower.” 

“Slower..” you whisper back, hearing the voice hum. You still couldn’t see outside, merely darkness and your reflection. You were fucking terrified, but if this was what they wanted, just maybe they’d let you be. 

You try again. Your hands slowly start at the sides of your neck, pretty and dainty fingers cascading down to your clavicle. You push one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, lightly ruffling the strands while the other skims lower to more dangerous territory. 

The heel of your palm skirts down the front of your shirt until your fingers flitter over the hem of your panties. 

It feels stupid what you’re doing, but it makes you feel alive. Your heart has never beat faster. You’ve never turned on a complete stranger, stalker, even. You were in control of the show here. 

You’re not exactly sure what to look at in the window, so you admire the reflection. You hum sweetly as you hook your thumbs into the tops of your panties. You loop them around, from front to back, stopping at the sides and lightly pushing down to show glimpses of your hips. 

The breathing on the other end shuffles. It almost makes you stop. 

“This turn you on?” You ask. “Does this make you have your hand around your cock?” You ask into the phone, smiling lightly as you turn around, lifting up the shirt from covering your ass, giving them a peek-a-boo of you from the back. 

The evil voice echoes a laugh. “How did you know?” 

Being correct makes you all the more turned on. “How could you not?” 

I mean, look at you. You looked gorgeous and confident, silhouetted by the light, awed by a strange man. You can hear them jerking it on the line, murmuring little grunts to try and not get ahead of themselves. The show had just begun. 

With your back turned to the window still, you cross your arms over your threshold, retrieve your shirt, and lift it up and off of you. Your hair cascades and dances around your back and shoulders. You felt bare, cold. Part of you wished they would come inside and warm you up. 

You peer over your shoulder, hearing the approving grunt on speakerphone. You bit on your thumbnail, looking through the glass with big doe eyes. 

“You’re not so innocent, pretty girl. Let me see you.” 

Now, with your body to show, you felt a bit more nervous. Your fingertips twitched, and you felt shaky on your legs. You did as the voice asked, turning to face the window. Your arms are crossed, covering your bare breasts meekly. 

That’s when you see him. A masked man standing a fair distance away out your window. It quickens your pulse and surges you with adrenaline. 

Yet you don’t run. You don’t hide. 

Your eyes flitter down to their hand shuffling up and down the extent of their cock. The sight alone, even in the dark, being able to see his impressive length was enough to make you let out a needy whimper.

“I-I don’t know about this,” you whimper, your head falling a bit shamefully. It’s like your head caught up with your foolish actions. 

“I’m warning you. Put down your fucking arms.” 

You let out a shaky breath and wince at the voice, tears simmering on your waterline. You put yourself in this position, you can’t believe you thought this would work. 

You slowly drop your hands to your sides, exposing your breasts. And how embarrassing they were, taut and at peaks. They were flush with color, begging for attention. You interlocked your fingers behind your back and chewed on your bottom lip, shyly looking down at the floor as you clamped your thighs tightly together. 

“You’re a real beautiful girl,” the voice grunted, flattering you with attention. “Why don’t you let me in.” 

The demand didn’t frighten you like maybe it should have. Frankly, you were turned on to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t know who this mystery person was or what their intentions were, but they were getting off to seeing you exposed, scared, and alone. 

“Come on,” the voice continues. You hear shuffling, and when you look up, the masked man outside your window is gone. You move closer and peer outside, but it’s quiet. Empty. 

“Let me take care of you, sweet girl.” 

Breaths fans out hastily from your nostrils, panicked as you looked around slowly from the front entrance to the back. 

The doorbell rings, and it makes you jump nonetheless. 

You bite down on your bottom lip as you retrieve your phone and slowly cross to the door in just your socks and underwear. Your forearm covers your breasts. Your hand rests on the handle, but you have a hard time willing yourself to open it. 

The doorbell rings again, another jump through your bones, but this time, it implores you to swing the door open. And there he was. 

He was tall, you had to crane your neck to look up. Your lips part, doe eyes taking in how close he is, stepping back in shock at his appearance. Broad shoulders cloaked by a black hooded robe. It was tattered, lined with rips and tears at the seams that draped from his arms. He also wore large, black, combat boots. The scariest thing of all was the mask. It was white with black eyes and a sloped open black mouth. 

Whoever was behind the mask was fit. Their toned body could be discovered even behind the robust black robe. He wore black gloves, too. You don’t realize that as you’re taking him in, the protective arm you had concealing your breasts has since lowered. 

“Scary night to be alone, isn’t it?” The voice is still animatronic as the masked man’s head tilts and observes you through the black cloth eye holes. 

You nod your head, its pace quick. 

“Invite me in. Don’t want you to catch a chill.” 

It was disturbing to admit how stupid you felt letting this freakshow stalker into your boyfriend’s home, but in a really weird and taboo way, you found the anonymity of the man attractive. You saw his cock while he stood outside, his large hand stroking over himself at the sight of your body. You figure he must have put the gloves back on once he wanted to come inside. 

As if he could read your mind, the masked man stepped inside with his tall stature looming over yours. He slowly plucked off one of his gloves, and you see his flesh. 

You watch him carefully as he brings his hand to cup your cheek. You flinch at first, but there is truly nothing to be frightened of. He strokes away a dry, panicked tear from earlier. You can’t help but let out a shaky, wavering whimper. He touches you with such delicacy but hides behind a mask that scares you to your core. 

“Just as I thought,” His animatronic voice echoed, his hand dropping to your hair that fell around your face and sweeping it behind your shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hair was no longer concealing your breasts. You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh. 

You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him. 

“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him. 

“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties. 

“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more. 

The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame. 

“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.” He aggressively cups your sex, feeling his fingers squish with the soaked material of your red panties. You whimper and clutch his arm, biting back whimpery moans that you’re so desperate to let out. You were secretly begging to be touched. Your thighs clamp around the man’s hand. 

He deviously chuckles. “This is all for me, sweet girl?” 

The man walks you backward until your back is flushed to the wall. You’re still holding his arm in place between your thighs. His fingers add pressure to your bundle of nerves. You lightly grind your hips down into his fingers and let out an embarrassed little moan. 

“Y-Yes.” Admitting in defeat made your stomach churn. “But I want to hear your voice.” You whisper, unsure if you can even make demands in your position right now. 

Ghostface sighs weakly but plucks something out from under his mask. It looks sort of like a smaller walkie-talkie. It was a voice changer. Your eyes flitter to the eyes of his mask. It was black, empty. Finally, you would hear his true voice, and you prayed it was as sexy as he looked. 

“Is this what you wanted to hear, darlin’?” 

You lightly gasp at the southern drawl, deep and guttural, musk-filled and leaving you in a tailspin. His voice was hot, causing a pool of your white-hot heat to leak once more into your panties. You finally nod to his question and let your hands skim across the man’s front. He was toned, like you imagined, with hardened plains and a toughened, thick torso under his black cloak. 

“You’re comin’ with me.” The voice growls. He leans down and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you gasp and whimper, feeling him trail you up the stairs. His black combat boots echo loudly through the stairwell. He’s so strong. How he knows the layout of the house scares you and implores you. It’s like he knows you, and you may know him. 

He takes you to the master bedroom, the one you share with your boyfriend. Fuck, your boyfriend. A naughty sin to cheat, a naughty sin to like it. It’s hard to picture him right now with the man above you captivating your full attention. 

Your breasts jiggle when he throws you back onto the mattress. You scramble further up it, putting a safe distance between you and Ghostface. He grips you at your ankles and pulls you to him in an eager yank. A cry escapes your throat, but it’s just because you’re nervous. You saw how big he was in his hand outside, and now, soon, you’d hope he would be inside of you. 

“Please,” you whimper, and Ghostface tilts his head. “I-I..” you trail off and shake your head, embarrassment and shame pumping through your veins. 

“You, what? Spit it out, pretty girl.” The voice says as he slowly takes off the hooded robe. He wears black pants and a black t-shirt under it but keeps the mask on. You like the mask on. 

“I… I need you, Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. Since he pulled you by your ankles back to the edge of the bed, your centers lightly graze one another. You make it a point to grind your hips eagerly into his, smearing the front of his pants with your slick. 

The masked man hums in appreciation. You feel his hardened length concealed by his pants. Whimpers leave your mouth as you sit up and reach forward, unbuttoning the black pants with shaky hands. You unzip him and yank him free of his confines. You nearly freeze at his length, prominent veins lining up and down his cock from his pink tip to his swollen balls. 

“You wanna live tonight, baby girl?” The low southern voice asks. You quickly nod, big, desperate eyes wanting to fill his every carnal need. 

“Then get on your fucking knees, m’gonna fuck your throat.” 

He’s aggressive as he pulls you down onto the floor by your hair. You scream out of instinct, but the heat on your scalp brings needy relief. 

You quickly scramble properly to your knees and shuffle your hand over him. One hand isn’t enough, so you add your second. He’s so large and girthy. Fucking your mouth would hurt so good. You hope you’re a slobbering mess for him once he’s done with you. 

“Did I say your hands?” You frown and slowly stop, shaking your head. “I said your throat, want your fucking throat, you little slut.” 

You whimper and force yourself to put your hands behind your back, your breasts perking out more as you spit over him, watching it glide down his shaft and spill onto your shaking thighs. You lick your lips and wrap your mouth around his sensitive tip. 

The masked man seethes through his teeth. He takes off both gloves and knots his fingers into your hair. You’re intimidated by his size, anyone would be, so you try to relax your throat and let him sink further and further in. 

Your eyes go wide as he rams himself down your throat impatiently. Your hands instinctively fly up to his thighs, smacking at them and clutching desperately, trying to explain with a lack of words that you’re choking on him. You cry out, but his cock muffles you. 

“M’not a patient man, I’m warning you now.” 

You clench your teary eyes closed and sniffle, trying your best to swallow around him and breathe through your nose. Your black mascara tears turns him on, and he twitches in your mouth. 

With a shaky breath, you try again. You have to start slow at first, but you remember how impatient he is. You slick his cock with your spit, trying to work up his shaft inch by inch. 

“Open your mouth up, nice and wide for me.” The sight of his mask makes you twitch, but you do as he says and drop your jaw for him. You even go as far as to stick out your tongue for him. 

“Wow,” he admires, as both of his hands wind up into your hair and carve out sections of your hair to create ponytails in his fists. “Such a good girl f’me.” 

His praise makes you purr, bringing your hands up to your front as you massage over the squishy flesh of your tits. 

You let out a low mewl as he stuffs your mouth again, stuffing your face with his cock. It takes a few moments, but you gradually learn how to accommodate him. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, and he likes it when you choke around him. You try to see him through your teary eyes, whimpering around his cock. 

The masked man’s grip on your hair tightens as he pulls you into his cock and holds you there, balls flushed to your mouth as they smack against your chin. He groans, long and low, holding you down as his cock suffocates your throat. You swallow around him, tasting drops of precum, whimpering around him as you struggle to breathe. Despite it causing you to choke even more around him, you stick out as much of your tongue as you can and teasingly lick at his balls. 

He sucks in harshly through his teeth and moans, gripping the ponytails even tighter, making your scalp sear in pain. But it was all worth it because he was so goddamn big in your throat. You hoped he would split your pussy. 

With a harsh yank, the masked man rips you from his cock. You instantly cough and gag, trying to swallow around the excessive puddles of saliva grouping in the back of your throat and now dripping out of your mouth. You looked like a disgusting mess.

You plant your hands on the floor and drop your head, looking like a dog as you shakily regain your breathing. You slowly look up, seeing his hardened cock slap up against his toned stomach, dripping with your slobber. 

You meekly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand up, your legs shaking beneath you. With as much courage as you can muster, you reach for Ghostface’s hand and slowly pull it to your center as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Please,” you beg in a meek whisper, swallowing the messy amount of existing saliva and precum down your throat as you blink through black, mucky, mascara tears. Your eyes flutter as his long, meaty fingers slowly circle around your clit through your panties. It’s jaw-dropping, stomach-fluttering madness. It’s like he knows you like the back of your hand. “Please, fuck me.” You whisper desperately, pulling him slowly towards the direction of the bed. Towards you. 

You don’t feel any more safe with him, but you like the excitement of feeling on the fence. Would he be rough or gentle with you? Call you his sweet girl or his little slut? The edging of unsureness and torrid manipulation has forced white hot heat to pool into your core, and you sure as hell spoiled these red panties enough. 

The masked man drops his gaze to your mound. His hands reach up to the sides of your hips. 

It’s slow and desperate at first, he almost fools you. Ghostface weakly chuckles before he begins to rip the measly material from your lower half. You yelp out as it causes your body to get tugged around. Your panties are now a mess of threads on the floor. You whimper desperately, clamping your thighs closed on instinct despite wanting the opposite. 

Ghostface grabs your ankles and forcibly parts your legs, turning his head slowly as he watches your glistening core. 

“Y-You could have a taste, y’know, if you take off the mask.” You offer, your heart pounding in your chest. You loosely hook your leg around his hip and pull him closer. Ghostface plants his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you as his heavy breath puffs through the mask. 

Ghostface pulls one hand away to his side and shucks something off his belt. You gasp and flinch your eyes closed as a large knife glimmers in the moon’s light. 

“You think I’m going to show you my face, you stupid bitch? Huh?” He taunts you, wielding the knife closer and closer to your throat as you cry out, but clamp your legs tighter around his waist and pull your centers together. You can feel his fat cock sliding up and down your exposed folds. You’re so needy, and it’s repulsive. 

He sickeningly laughs, jutting the tip of his knife against the underside of your chin. It hurts, it stings, and you hope it leaves a mark from him so you can look at it later when you replay this night in your mind. You hope he spares you so you can think endlessly about him. 

“I-I want you to keep the mask on.” You purr nervously, your hand drifting down your stomach towards your exposed mound. 

Ghostface chuckles, low and demonic. “You want me to fuck you with the mask on?”  He asks slowly, trilled with curiosity. 

It fills you with a pit of guilt and shame in your stomach. But you slowly nod. You were willing to risk everything, your boyfriend, your safety, your life, just to ensure this man filled you to the brim like you know he could. 

“Please do. Fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.” You beg. Though you can’t see, you imagine him smirking behind his mask, looking at you with a sense of intrigue and disgust. How could you be so twisted? 

“My pleasure.” He says goadingly, ripping the hold you had on the sheets and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You cry out as he forcibly spreads your legs with his body and slaps his cock against your aching center. You’re so sensitive from waiting, you needed to have him this very second. 

A smirk twitched on your lips, but you forced yourself to bite it down, shakily moaning as Ghostface tucks away his knife and wraps his large hand around his cock, lining up his tip to your dripping center. You flinch every time he purposely flicks your anxious bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand clutching his bicep greedily. “Please, need to feel you inside of me.” You whimper. 

Ghostface reaches up and smears his hand down your face, your cheeks smudged with your mucky tears as you whine like a little brat. For your insolence, he strikes you across the face before nastily grabbing you by your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. 

“Bein’ a real fuckin’ brat for a stranger’s dick, such a fucking hungry cock slut, aren’t you?” He degraded you to your very core, soiling his cock in your gushing slick. You were pretty sure that if he even just breathed over your mound, you would come. 

Ghostface enjoys your desperate whimpers for his dick. He’s more than happy to deliver. He angles his tip to your entrance and notches himself inside. Your gasp surges his adrenaline as he parts you egregiously. 

You hook your hands on the underside of your legs, keeping yourself wide and spread for the masked man above you. Inch by inch, you feel your head lose focus, your mind floating as you see stars that consume your vision. 

The moans you give him are heavenly, he thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful thing. He’s a sadist watching you take his cock, knowing it hurts, knowing you’re forcing yourself open for him, knowing how much you’re drunk off it. He just can’t help himself to wait. 

Air is knocked from your lungs when Ghostface decides he’s, again, not a patient man. He fucks the last few inches into you and hard, pushing you to your limits and filling you to the brim. 

Your head is thrown back as you scream in shock, never having been fucked by someone who feels so good. You sob as your walls flutter around him, attempting to accommodate the size in such a short amount of time.

“Yes! Jesus Christ- Fuck!” You moan out, to which Ghostface chuckles lowly. 

“Take me so well,” he’s trying to breathe through being squeezed so tightly by your walls, even he finds it difficult. “Such a pretty girl, just needs to be fucked to keep her- shit - her goddamn mouth shut.” The man growls behind the mask and starts to fuck you at an earth-shattering pace. 

You cry out in shock, gripping Ghostface at his biceps and whimpering at how strong he is. He pulls himself nearly all the way out of you before he flushes his hips right back to you, slapping your ass cheeks with his clothed thighs. That’s when he really begins to rail you. 

You see stars, still adjusting to his size, your slick pooling around him with excitement. You hazily smile, fucked dumb by a stranger, filled to the brim as you stare at the ceiling. Your visions jumps up and down as Ghostface pounds you senselessly. The bedframe rattles and the legs skirt against the hardwood floors. 

Impatient whines from you fill the room as he pulls himself from your pussy, moaning out for him needily. He manhandles you, grabbing your hips forcefully and flipping you over onto your stomach. 

“Ass up, let’s go.” He commands. 

You were still in a funk, head wiped empty of any palpable information. You whimpered as you tried to move but at the pace of a snail. 

His impatient hands grip you tightly at your hips, forcing a broken yelp from your throat as he pulls you up to bend over, shoving your face into the mattress and angling your ass up for him to use. 

“Yes, please use me,” you whimper desperately, reaching your hands back and parting your ass cheeks for him. “Finish inside me, use me as your cum dumpster.” Where was this language coming from?! This wasn’t you, you didn’t sound or look like you. He was turning you into someone new, someone satisfied by his anonymity. You’d never know who was fucking you senseless, and it might drive you mad until you find out, if you ever will, that is. 

Your thoughts are squashed from your mind as a harsh slap followed by a greedy grip is splayed across your ass. A yelp is pulled from your throat, instincts telling you to flinch away and protect yourself. 

“Ah-ah,” the man teases, his angry fingers creating bruises on your hips as he pulls you back to the edge of the bed to be his little sex servant. “Good girls take what they are given, so take it,” Ghostface says as he smacks your other cheek, reddening them both, jiggling the flesh much to his appeal. 

His large palms seared his prints into your ass, gripping your ass and pulling you to his cock. He lines himself up, and you take him again. 

You don’t understand unless it’s happening to you, how it feels like you’re floating in space, fucked numb but also feeling like you’re on pins and needles. It’s indescribable to enjoy being fucked by a stranger, but it’s happening, and it’s happening to you. 

He penetrates you, parting your walls, making himself a home inside you. You squeeze around him, and he moans. It satisfies you so intensely.   

“Beg for me,” he mutters through the mask, grunting with each thrust. He must be close.

“P-Please, keep fucking me so good, please Mr. Ghostface-”

“No!” He strikes your pretty ass again, hard, and your warm flesh singes with heat. You whimper, imagining how red, angry, and large his handprint looks stamped on your ass. 

“Want you to beg... for your life.” His voice had turned as cold as stone, ridged with a sadist tone that left goosebumps bubbling on the surface of your skin. A scared feeling sunk into the pit of your stomach. You swallowed a lump down your throat and shyly peeked around your shoulder to take him in. 

“P-Please… I want to live,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets as Ghostface slowly picks back up the paces of his thrusts. He’s turned on by this. 

“Oh my- please, I know you d-don’t know me, but I’m good, l-look how good I’m being for you,” you begin to cry as he fucks you harder, your ass clapping aggressively against his thighs and the grip he has on your hips intensifies. 

He loves fucking you until you cry. Such a sadist. 

Ghostface gives a few last gut-twisting thrusts, and his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly. He’s so large you can feel him in your tummy. His hand reaches around your hip, and the other stays gripping your ass while he spanks your clit lightly with his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, beginning to throw your ass back into him, creating your own unique rhythm together. You’re so sensitive, and you’re coming before you can even fully register it. 

“Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. “I-I’m coming so fu-ucking hard,” you mewl for him, your thighs twitching along with your walls that squeeze around him, begging to milk him for his seed. 

Ghostface’s thick and angry cock twitches inside of you, desperate to fill your needy hole with his sperm. He grunts and pants into the mask, filling his own body with a heat that makes him sweat. He pounds himself into you until you’re flattened against the mattress, begging for release, begging to live. 

There’s something about your obedience that he gives into, his cock twitching deep inside the warm comfort of your walls and between your beautiful ass cheeks. He pulls out and pants, handling his cock as he paints your ass white. 

The warm droplets of come make you twitch, but it’s so hot to be painted white by the man who praised you and degraded you all night long. 

You’re a heap of nothing strewn about the mattress. You can’t seem to calm your shaky breath. You lay there limp, unable to move, unable to think. All you can think about is the man behind the mask and how irate and perverted he is. And how much you fell into his trap. 

Shame twisted your guts enough, forcing you to get up and turn around and face your stalker. But when you turned back, he was gone. How long were you not paying attention? 

You quickly retrieved your robe, forcing yourself to walk despite your legs feeling like liquid gelatin. Checking room to room, you survey your boyfriend's home and are left empty-handed. It’s like he was never here. 

From the top of the stairs, you hear the door open and close.

“Honey?” Your heart sinks, hearing your boyfriend kick off his shoes on the mat. 

Rushing down the stairs, you collapse into his arms and cry out of guilt. You tell him everything. Everything besides the show in front of the windows and getting fucked by Ghostface in his own bed. There’s more to leave out than to leave in, but the short story is that you were taunted over the phone by a masked man, scared to death, and begged for your life. 

His first reaction was to call the police, and despite how much you hesitated, you let him. Two nice offers responded to the call. They sat you two down separately and asked you what had happened. You were wrapped in a blanket and your robe, shaking in disappointment. 

It was scary, lying to the cops, withholding all of the truth. Making sure not to overshare any details. You also didn’t want to give away that you liked it. To the bone, you liked it. 

You were hunted like prey tonight, used, fucked hard until you couldn’t breathe. Left in the dark, feeling a little crazy if it even happened in the first place. But you could feel him still inside of you, stretched and still leaking between your thighs. You tugged your robe tighter, smiling weakly at the officer as he closed his notebook. 

“We’ll figure out what we can ma’am. For now, keep everything locked up. I wouldn’t leave the house alone.” You wipe away the mucky mascara on your cheeks and sigh, nodding as you walk with the officer to the door. 

His badge read J. Miller. He was older, stippled with grey hair within his dark curly locks. He had an aquiline nose and plumish-rose lips. His broad chest strikes something somewhat familiar to you. He glances behind you at the officer who is still asking your boyfriend a few questions. 

Officer Miller sighed, looking over the door frame curiously. 

“Said you locked the doors?”

You hesitate but nod compliantly. 

His pointer finger shapes over the lock, then the entry metal hinge. “No forced entry.” He notes, looking at you curiously. 

You evade his eye contact and conceal yourself tighter in your blanket and robe. “I.. I don’t know how he got in.” Your eyes find the floor, planting themselves there as you stare at Officer Miller’s familiar black police boots. 

He hums curiously, looking over you slowly. 

“You’re tellin’ me everythin’ that happen to you tonight?” 

Your doe eyes go wide, your head snapping up to Officer Miller’s. “I-I promise, please, Officer Miller-” 

He holds up a hand to cut you off, and you weakly stand there with your lips parted. Then he starts to nod and slowly smile. “That’s a good girl.” 

It strikes you like a bolt of lightning, fear and curiosity consume you. You hear footsteps behind you, the other officer, and your boyfriend, who collects his arm around your shoulders. 

Officer Miller watches you with a glint of intrigue but nothing more. His eyes shift to your boyfriend’s arm protectively wrapped around you. It makes him twitch up a stomach-twisting smile before he turns to his fellow officer. 

“Got everything you need?” Officer Miller asks, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt while he observes the other officer’s notepad. The officer nods and places his small notebook and pen in his breast pocket. 

“Got everything we need. You two stay safe.” 

The other officer ducks out first and nods curtly, Officer J. Miller stands there a moment longer. 

“Happy Halloween.” He said with a sickening smile. “Be sure to lock the door behind me.” 

You gulp as you look over Officer Miller meekly before he disappears outside and into the night. Where he belonged.   

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