Chapter Text
It was nearing the end of the sunniest day of the week when you pulled your beat-up silver Toyota up at the end of the winding driveway that led to your aunt’s house. You parked, squinting into the golden light that was nearly level with the horizon, and made sure to grab the bag of snacks you had just picked up at the nearest corner store before locking the car and heading inside.
Your aunt’s house wasn’t exactly the most central, hence the 15 minute drive down the road to get to any proper civilization, but you had jumped at the opportunity to house-sit for her when she mentioned it a few days ago. The place was beautiful–clean as well, since she had no kids–and besides, there was nothing wrong with a bit of solitude for a little while. The only glaring issue had been the snacks, or lack thereof, really–could a childfree woman be described as an almond mom? If so, your aunt definitely fit the bill. It amazed you sometimes how similar she and your own mom could be in some ways, while being so very different in others.
You kicked off your shoes and tossed your keys onto the table by the front door with a clatter, then padded your way down the hall to the kitchen with the intent of making some dinner. The clock above the stove read 7:19 and your stomach growled right on cue, reminding you of the agonizing quarter of an hour you just spent bravely ignoring the tempting bags of chips and cookies on the car seat next to you.
You threw together a quick meal as the light continued to fade outside, casting the bushes and trees of the large backyard into ever deeper shadow, and then decided to see what you could find on TV to watch while you ate. TV dinners were something that happened once in a blue moon growing up, so it still felt like a real treat every time you had one. And what better time to indulge a little? With your aunt probably sunbathing on some beautiful beach, you could have a little vacation of your own. A stay-cation, if you will.
You flipped through the channels for a while, mindful of the food getting cold on your plate, until you came across a channel that had just started showing The Evil Dead. You settled in happily–you considered yourself something of a classic horror fan, and The Evil Dead was one of your favourites. Something about the graphic practical effects always made you laugh.
Night had properly fallen, your plate was clean, and demon-Cheryl had just been locked in the cellar when you were pulled away from the movie by the jarring sound of the landline ringing. You stood and stretched, then answered from the receiver in the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Hi, darling! Just wanted to check in on ya, see how everything’s going at home!”
Your aunt’s tinny voice blasted through the speaker and you winced, holding it a couple inches further from your ear.
“Hi auntie,” you replied. “I’m doing well–” a grating scream followed by the crash of falling furniture cut you off, emanating from the TV speakers.
“Pardon? What was that noise? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, hold on–” stretching the phone’s cord as far as it would go, you snagged the remote and hit the mute button, silencing the noise. “Sorry about that. I was just watching a movie with dinner. The Evil Dead.”
“Oh, you did always like that one, didn’t you?” Your aunt chuckled. “Can’t say that would be my pick for a mealtime flick, but whatever floats your boat!” A low voice said something in the background of the call, and your aunt responded indistinctly before returning back to you. “Alright, I’ve gotta run–I met the most handsome man on the beach this morning, and he’s taking me out for drinks.” She stage-whispered the last part conspiratorially into the receiver, and you stifled a laugh at the mental image it conjured.
“Alright, have fun! I’ll call if I need anything, I promise.”
“That’s a good girl. Bye!”
A click, and the line went quiet.
You were glad your aunt was having a good time, even though you knew from experience that this latest man would be forgotten by the time she boarded her return flight in a week. The sudden silence after the phone call did make you realize just how quiet the house was at night, though. With the TV still muted and no cars or trains passing by outside, you could practically hear a pin drop. It struck you then, as you set the phone back in its cradle, just how utterly alone you really were at that moment. The realization sent a shiver down your spine.
You sat back down on the couch, rubbing your exposed arms absentmindedly. You had a couple sweaters tucked in your duffel upstairs and you considered grabbing one, since your tank top and thin sweatpants were beginning to feel chilly in the gradually cooling house.
The movie was still playing silently on the TV so you paused it, and brought your plate into the kitchen. You left it in the sink–washing it would be a problem to be dealt with tomorrow–and were about to make your way upstairs when a thump from outside made you pause. It sounded like something hitting the outside of the house, and your memory flashed back to your aunt describing the raccoons that would dig through her trash and destroy her garden at night if no one stopped them.
Grimacing at the thought of having to go outside in the cold night air, you peered through the sliding glass doors just beside the kitchen. You flicked on the outside light, leaning your forearms against the glass to try to block the light reflecting from behind you, the cold glass against your skin making you shiver.
Suddenly, a pair of shining eyes appeared in the darkness, followed by a fluffy grey body and tiny, humanoid hands scrabbling in the dirt. You pounded a fist against the glass and the raccoon startled, dashing away into the bushes and vanishing completely. You sighed, and turned off the light.
The phone rang and you flinched, jumpier than you realized from the tense moment peering into the darkness. It was probably your aunt again, calling about something completely inane–she had a tendency to be a bit overbearing sometimes. It was probably a good thing she never had children.
“Hello?” You didn’t bother trying to hide your mild annoyance this time. It’s not like your aunt would get the hint anyways.
“Hello,” came the response, in a voice that was most definitely not your aunt’s. It was a smooth, male voice, deep, and a little raspy, and it caught you entirely off guard.
“Oh, um… hi? Can I help you with something?” You asked, unsure if this was perhaps one of your aunt’s many flings, or just a wrong number. He certainly didn’t sound like a phone salesman.
“I don’t know, can you?” He replied.
You frowned. “I think you might have the wrong number, buddy.”
“I don’t think I do,” came his response, still in that same low, even tone.
“Yeah, well, I have no idea who you are so I’m going to hang up now. Goodnight.” You were about to hang the phone back in the cradle when you heard his voice call out.
“Wait, wait–I just want to ask you a question!”
You paused, tentatively bringing the phone back up to your ear, saying nothing. The man on the other end waited a moment, before clearly deciding you were still on the line.
“What are you doing right now?”
You ignored the way his raspy voice seemed to give you a millisecond of butterflies there and scoffed. “Okay, I get it. You’re just some pervert, aren’t you? Goodnight.” Once again, you went to hang up the receiver when his exclamation gave you pause.
“No, I promise it’s nothing like that! I’m just curious. Genuinely.”
You didn’t know why, but something in you decided to entertain him, at least for a little bit longer.
“Alright,” you said, “I’m watching a movie. Happy?”
“Which movie? Is it a scary one?”
You were a little taken aback by the accuracy of his guess.
“Yeah… The Evil Dead. How did you know?”
“I love scary movies,” was all he replied, and the hint of a growl he put into emphasizing ‘love’ made your heart–and perhaps somewhere else–flutter. You had a sudden vision of some middle aged dude with sweat stains and a beer belly clutching his own phone in smoke-stained fingers, and it snapped you back to the reality of your current situation.
“Hang on, I really think you’ve got the wrong person. You’re probably looking for my aunt, she’s away right now.”
The grin in the man’s voice was palpable, even through the phone. “No, it’s definitely you that I’m looking at.”
“Ok, well–” your blood ran ice cold as you processed what you thought he had just said. “What?” You couldn’t breathe as the silence on the line stretched longer and longer, but your muscles wouldn’t let you move to hang up either.
“I’m looking at you, standing there in that pretty little tank top–”
Your eyes flew to the kitchen window overlooking the pitch black yard and finally, finally your muscles kicked back into gear. You slammed the phone back onto the cradle and threw yourself to the window, frantically dragging the curtains shut before stumbling to the glass doors and doing the same. You shut the lights off then, remembering that you can always see better into a lit room when it’s dark outside, and crouched on the linoleum floor below the counters.
Your heart slammed against the inside of your ribcage and you very nearly cried out when the phone rang once again. You debated just not answering, but the fear of not knowing what this psycho was doing outweighed your desire to avoid the machine. Plus, you tried to rationalize, this was most likely some creep sitting in his own home and scaring the shit out of girls so he could get a boner. He just got lucky with the tank top comment, that’s all. And the scary movie one.
Your hand trembled as you reached up for the phone, taking heaving, shaky breaths into the receiver.
“Why did you do that?” The man asked, and his voice contained an edge that it hadn’t had before.
“Leave me alone!” You sobbed into the receiver, but the man just tsked.
“Now, now, I could never leave a pretty thing like you alone, could I? We were having such a lovely conversation!”
“Please…” you whispered, the phone beginning to slip in your sweating palm.
“Please what?” The man asked–no, growled. “By the way,” he continued, still in that same low tone, “you should really remember to lock your front door. It’s not safe for a girl like you to be all alone out here.”
You gasped, eyes widening as your mind flew back to arriving at the house, how you had had carefully locked your car but hadn’t locked the fucking front door before tossing your keys on the table.
You dropped the phone, scrambling to your feet and sprinting down the hall as best you could while still staying a bit crouched, trying to avoid any windows. You didn’t even slow down, slamming your shoulder into the front door and scrabbling for the lock, flicking it into place with a relieved breath. You slid to the floor, panting, when you glanced at the table to your right and realized with icy cold shock that your keys were no longer sitting on top of it.
“No, no, oh no no no–” you moaned desperately and turned, trying to wrench the door open despite having locked it yourself only moments earlier. On your knees, you were hysterically grabbing at the lock with slippery fingers when a strong hand suddenly seized you by a fistful of hair and dragged you away from the door.
You screamed, the kind of scream that would put the horror movie girls to shame, but it was muffled by a heavy hand clapping across your mouth. You bit down as hard as you could, but all it resulted in was a slight grunt from the dark figure above you. You realized when the taste flooded your mouth that the man was wearing thick leather gloves that protected and concealed his fingers and you sobbed again, thrashing and struggling against the vice grip that held you.
He didn’t let go until you reached the kitchen once again, at which point he practically threw you down to the floor. You slid a bit, gasping through your now-uncovered nose and mouth, and stared in horror at the figure looming above you.
The only light in the room was emanating from the paused TV behind him, and it gave him a spooky silhouette that made details very hard to make out, especially since he appeared to be wearing all black. That is, except for his mask shaped like a screaming ghoul, which was so white against the black backdrop of his body that it almost glowed. He seemed to be wearing some kind of tattered black cowl that framed the mask and softened the line of his broad shoulders, followed below by a black tunic of sorts that narrowed at his waist. Below his waist, the tunic was split along the length of each black-clad leg to presumably allow ease of movement, and he wore black boots, heaviness belying how silently he could apparently move in them. In one of his gloved hands he now held a wickedly sharp knife that glinted in the dim light, and in the other he dangled your keychain tauntingly.
“Looking for these?” Somehow he seemed able to smirk even without showing a hint of facial expression.
“Please…” you whimpered once again, scooting away from him with slippery hands and socked feet.
“‘Please’ this, ‘please’ that,” he mocked, “you’re really not one for holding a conversation, you know that?”
You nodded fervently, thinking that perhaps if you could placate him, he might let you go.
“What do you–” you cleared your throat, trying to erase some of the trembling. “What do you want to talk about?”
The masked man tilted his head at you as if thinking deeply about it, then he sighed.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for chit-chat anymore.” He tucked your keys into some hidden pocket beneath his robe and began to walk slowly towards you, twirling the knife casually in his other hand. You tried to move back further, but your back was pressed to the cupboards already. You could feel the round handles digging sharply into the muscle between your shoulder blades as you pressed yourself against them.
When he reached your feet he crouched abruptly and you let out a small cry, pressing a hand to your mouth to stifle it. With one hand he grabbed your ankle and tugged hard, dragging you away from the cupboards so you were lying with him practically straddling you. There was absolutely no way you could escape from this vantage point, and you were sure he knew that.
You began to struggle again, though deep down you knew it was futile at this point, and he slammed a large hand down against your sternum, just below your throat, before leaning his crushing weight forward to pin your arms down with his knees.
The mask hovered directly above your face now, and he drew the knife forward to examine it mere inches above your nose. It looked like a large hunting knife, now that you could see it clearly, with a curved tip and serrated base, and every instinct in your body was telling you that it should be nowhere near you. You bucked your hips–as much as you could with him on top of you–and the hand on your chest slid higher, past your collarbones, until it was resting lightly on your throat. He paused, gazing impassively at you, and you realized that you could feel your pulse hammering in the artery just below his gloved fingertips. Clearly, he could feel it too.
“Are you scared?” He asked, quietly. You just nodded.
“Good.” With that, he withdrew his hand from your neck and leaned back slightly. “Scared is always more fun.”
You tensed as he touched the tip of the knife to the bare skin above the neckline of your tank top holding unbelievably still as he silently dragged the metal down your skin, snagging slightly on the material of your shirt but not tearing it as he worked his way down to around your belly button.
The gentleness surprised you, from this man who had been so rough with you earlier as he dragged you from the door and threw you to the ground. He clearly cared for the knife and it was razor-sharp, yet it never once broke your skin or sliced your shirt.
Your eyes had followed the knife as it traced lower on your stomach, and now your mind focused on the sight of his muscular thighs where they emerged from the slits in his tunic to kneel on either side of your hips. Those black pants hugged the firm lines of his thighs much tighter than they had any right to, and your heart skipped a beat at the thought of the power this man had available to him.
Eyes skating upwards, you were now able to see the way his tunic hugged his chest and was cinched at his narrow waist by a heavy duty black belt, where you could see the leather sheath for his knife above one hip. He still hadn’t said anything by this point, but you realized he had paused with the tip of the knife resting on the spot right above your belly button, and now he laughed low in his throat.
“You like what you see?”
You flushed, embarrassed at being caught examining his body in such a ridiculous situation for it.
“It’s alright,” he purred, bringing his free hand up beside your head and leaning his weight against it, so that you were face to face–or mask–once more. “I’ve been looking at you too.”
The thought sent a shiver through your body, and you were suddenly keenly aware of just how exposed you were, wearing a tank top with no bra and such light pants. The linoleum was cold against your body, which you hadn't realized had begun to overheat slightly. Your nipples hardened as another shiver wracked you, and the mask tilted downwards slightly to examine them as the man caught notice.
He brought the knife up, slowly, almost non-threateningly, and carefully circled one nipple through your shirt with the sharp tip. You gasped quietly at the sensation, surprised by how much you enjoyed it.
“Such a pretty, pretty girl,” the man crooned, “it’s impossible to understand how you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“How do you–” you squirmed, breath catching as he moved the knife to your other breast. “How do you know I don’t?”
“Oh, come on,” he admonished, “you should know by now that I know everything about you.”
You gulped, mind flashing back to the previous night, which you had spent in your own room riding your hand like your life depended on it and moaning into your bedsheets. You only realized now that you had forgotten to close your blinds.
“Everything?” You queried, growing red once again.
The knife paused emphatically.
“Everything.”
His weight shifted slightly on top of you as he removed the hand by your head and leaned back to sheath the knife, and you realized with a start that you could feel the hard bulge of his cock as it pressed against you through his pants. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, and he gazed down at you in what you thought might be an appraising manner.
“Would you like to play a little game?” He asked. You just nodded.
“Alright. It’s called ‘you do everything I say or I will gut you like a fucking pig.’ Do you need to hear the rules?”
You shook your head rapidly, heart pounding, but he continued regardless.
“You are going to do exactly what I tell you to, when I say it, and we can both have a good time here. I don’t want to kill you, you know.”
“I– I understand,” you whispered, though you were positive he would kill you without hesitation or remorse given half the chance. It was a dangerous thought, and it filled you with a sick sense of adrenaline.
“Good. Turn over.”
He lifted himself onto his knees and you complied, flipping yourself onto your stomach and resting your chin on the backs of your hands. It scared you, not being able to see what the masked man was doing behind you, but you also found that it turned you on.
His weight returned, this time with his bulge pressed firmly against the curve of your ass, and the fabric of his cowl brushed the exposed skin on your back as he leaned in close to your ear.
“You are going to call me Ghostface,” he commanded, and you nodded yet again.
“Let me hear you,” he snarled, tugging your head back so your chin was raised into the air.
“Yes, Ghostface,” you managed, and he released his hold on your head.
“Good girl.”
He ground his hips once against your ass and you groaned, unaware until that moment the amount of tension that had been building in your body.
“What do you want?” He said it like a question, but you knew it was another command.
“I want–” you moaned as he rutted his hips against yours once again. “I want you to fuck me, Ghostface.”
The pressure on your back vanished and you panicked for a moment, thinking you said something wrong already, but then you felt his gloved hands come to rest on your buttocks. He kneaded and pulled at the soft flesh for a moment before digging his fingers against you almost painfully, and then you felt the rip and a rush of cool air as your thin pants tore.
“Whoops!” Ghostface said it sarcastically. “I think we need to take these old things off, don’t you?”
You nodded fervently, and risked a glance at him over your shoulder. He drew the knife again and you flinched, but he just used it to slice through the waistband of your pants with the serrated edge, dragging the frayed fabric down your hips to fully expose the fact that you weren’t wearing any underwear beneath.
He groaned softly, low in his throat, and tossed the knife across the room with a clatter. You were surprised to see him peel off his gloves next, but you absolutely weren’t complaining when the sensation of his large, warm hands slid past your butt and underneath your tank top to grip the narrowness of your waist. His fingers dug into the soft spot between your ribs and hips, and the rough fabric of his pants slid against your exposed ass in an explosion of delicious sensations.
He dragged his hands away from your sides then, letting his fingertips linger on your skin, and your heart skipped a beat when one large finger passed quickly against your now throbbing cunt. Sneaking another peek over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of him removing the offending finger from under his mask, now slick with spit. If you weren’t fully turned on before, you certainly were now.
Ghostface stood then, and you resisted the urge to whine at the loss of contact.
“Get up,” he growled, and one strong hand wrapped around your bicep, pulling you to your shaky feet. He led you to the adjacent living room, where the TV was still emitting a gentle blue light from a scene of exaggerated demonic gore, and he made you kneel in front of it, settling himself comfortably on the couch before you.
You gulped, very aware of Ghostface’s “problem”, which was becoming more and more apparent as you were now eye level with it. You watched as his thick fingers deftly tucked the loose part of his robe into his belt, with the ease of someone who has a lot of practice, and your mouth watered at the sight of the mound in his pants fully revealed.
Suddenly emboldened–by what, you didn’t know–you reached tentatively for his waist. He made no move to stop you. Slightly reassured, you placed a hand on his cock and gave it a gentle squeeze through the fabric of his pants, his thighs tensing in response. Something told you this man wasn’t super interested in clear consent, so without asking you began to slowly undo his belt, finally unzipping his pants.
He was wearing underwear, unlike you, a pair of dark grey briefs, and in a fit of sudden impatience he wrenched the waistband down and let his swollen member spring forth.
It was big, just as big as you had hoped from the size of the rest of him, and a beautiful pink shade fading into a darker tip. A glistening drop of milky precum beaded at the end as you watched, fascinated, until his rasping voice snapped you out of it.
“Choke on it,” was all he said, and you were more than happy to oblige.
You began by taking just the tip into your mouth, relishing in the taste of his salty precum and circling your tongue around the sensitive skin. He groaned, fists clenching, and you resisted the urge to smile as you took more of him in.
You went as slow as he would let you, unused to the size of him, but he was not a patient man and soon had his fingers wrapped roughly in the hair on the back of your head. You wrapped your hands around the base, which you couldn’t quite reach with your mouth, and began to bob and suck, hollowing your cheeks each time.
He was beginning to breathe hard now, and you felt his dick hitting deeper and deeper in your throat as his hips started to buck up to meet your movements. With him holding your head in place, you could do nothing but try to relax your throat as much as possible while he started to fuck into your mouth.
The silent room was filled now with the obscene wet sounds of his cock thrusting against the back of your throat, and your eyes watered from the size of it. Ghostface cursed quietly under his breath, head lolling as he brought his other hand to your jaw, cupping it and further holding your head in just the right spot.
Slowly, with the hope that he might not notice, you began to sneak one of your own hands down to your throbbing pussy, which you could feel beginning to leak onto your inner thighs. You desperately craved some relief of your own, but Ghostface’s movements lurched to a halt and he wrenched your head away from him.
“Did I say you could touch yourself? Huh?” He hissed it, still breathing heavily, and you shook your head ashamedly, wiping the side of your mouth.
“You’re such a little slut. Just want to get fucked, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ghostface. Please.” You whimpered pathetically, and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so painfully turned on at the moment.
“Look at you. So desperate for my cock.” He practically crooned it. “I shouldn’t be rewarding you for disobeying me just there, but I’m a gracious man. Come here.”
You instantly obeyed, climbing onto the couch next to him with shaky legs.
“Lie on your back. I want to see your face.”
He was illuminated by the TV from only one side now, and you watched as he brought himself up on one knee in front of your spread legs. He reached an open hand up to your face and paused, waiting expectantly, and you spat in it after a moment’s hesitation. Satisfied, he brought his slick hand down to his cock and began to rub up and down its length. With the other hand, he pushed your tank top up, exposing your breasts and nipples that felt hard enough to cut diamonds.
You wished for a moment that he didn’t have the mask on so he could put his mouth on your breasts, when the startling feeling of a warm tongue on your clit sent a shockwave through your system. Astonished, you realized that he had pushed the mask up just enough to expose his mouth, though it still concealed every part of his face from your view at this angle. Your eyes fluttered shut and you clawed at the couch cushion in search of some sort of purchase as he lapped and sucked and dragged his teeth across your clit in the most wonderful ways possible. In that moment you were sure you had never felt pleasure more complete.
An unbelievable pressure began to build in your abdomen as he continued to eat you out, leaving you writhing and gasping.
“I’m–” you gasped, “I’m gonna–”
He pulled away completely then, sucking all the air out of your lungs with the abrupt lack of stimulation. You were about to complain, but you held your tongue, seeing that he was still softly pulling at his cock as he lined it up with your hole.
He didn’t ask if you were ready, didn’t prepare you at all for the blinding moment he slammed into you, forcing out a cry as his clothed thighs met your sweaty, bare ass. He grunted, pausing for a moment as his powerful thighs trembled, re-exerting control over his own body as he sheathed himself deep inside you. He kneaded his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, hard enough that you knew it would leave bruises in the morning, and then slammed into you once more.
He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t exactly expect him to be, so you were mentally prepared. Physically, you weren’t sure you could have done anything to prepare yourself for the sweetness that was his dick inside of you. It was like he had been made for you, or you for him, and his cock filled you perfectly, hitting every little spot just right as his thrusts began to pick up speed.
Soon enough he had set a breathtaking pace and settled into it, unwavering. You could feel your head rock against the arm of the couch with every inward motion and you tried your best to angle your hips in a way that let you move against him as well.
One of his large hands shifted to grasp at one of your breasts, and he leaned over you as he somehow managed to pick up the pace even more. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open at this point, overwhelmed by the sensations of his dick spearing you and his hands holding you down on your chest and hip, and you let out a whimpering cry as you felt that white-hot sensation bubbling in your core once again.
“Are you going to come for me, pretty girl?” Ghostface grunted, not slowing in the slightest. “Gonna come on my cock like the little slut you are?”
You couldn’t even respond, entirely blissed out by the sensation building in your body. Suddenly the wave broke, like something snapping inside of you, and your legs clenched uncontrollably as your orgasm hit you. In the back of your mind you were vaguely aware of the ragged cry that escaped your throat, more concerned with the feeling of your walls clenching around the cock that continued to hit the deepest spots within you, forcing more and more pleasure as your climax continued.
You gasped, face twisting, as the pleasure began to track into the territory of overstimulation at the relentless pace Ghostface still somehow maintained. He was grunting with every thrust now, and then, abruptly, he pulled out and stilled, chest heaving.
You lay there, trying to catch your breath, feeling your pussy fluttering at the sudden emptiness, when Ghostface roughly pulled you off the couch and set you on the floor in front of the TV. You were face down now, and your sensitive nipples rubbed almost painfully on the carpet below you.
“What are you…” you began to inquire, but a sharp smack of one of his hands across your ass cheek silenced you with a pant. He massaged the stinging flesh to somewhat ease the pain, and you realized–eyeing his figure over your shoulder–that he still hadn’t come.
You let your cheek drop to the carpet as you sensed more than saw or felt him lining up once again, and then the pleasurable stretch returned as he slid in once more. It felt different this time, the new angle allowing him to hit you even deeper than before, and you let out a trembling cry as he slapped you once again. The pain mixed with the perfect feeling of his cock inside of you was so unimaginably good, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to feel this way again.
This time you began to move first, grinding your ass against his hips in an attempt to get him to fuck you like he did before, and he obliged readily. You let your eyes flutter shut as he rammed into you from behind, his strong hands on your hips the only thing keeping you up at this point, so boneless with pleasure had you become.
“Ghostf–face…” you moaned, his rhythmic thrusts interrupting the word, and his hips stuttered, revealing the human reaction behind his ever-impassive mask. One hand came to rest on the small of your back and you felt his nails scrape your skin as he fought against clenching his fist.
You let your own hand drift towards your pussy, and this time he made no move to stop you as you began to touch yourself, further heightening the frantic pool of pleasure that was back again in your stomach.
Ghostface’s thrusts were becoming erratic now as he groaned and cursed, hissing out names that switched between complimentary and demeaning with no clear rhyme or reason, and your hips slammed against his as your own climax approached for the second time.
It was like someone had lit every nerve in your body on fire when the wave crashed over you again, electrifying every muscle in spasms that had you choking into the carpet and tightening around Ghostface with a vice grip. It was this final clench that pushed him over the edge, as you cried out on the floor below him, he buried himself deep inside you and you felt the warmth of his come as it filled you.
You felt his hand smear something wet across your back as he breathed heavily above and you wondered faintly what it was, though you didn’t quite have the energy to care. His fingers appeared, then, pushing against your parted lips, and you instantly took them into your mouth, sucking gently.
The metallic tang of iron hit your tongue and your eyes flew open, focusing on the hand at your face with some effort. His fingertips were covered in a thin sheen of blood, you realized, presumably from where he had been gripping your back and hips. Slowly, you became aware of the slow ache that was beginning to make itself known beneath the stickiness of your skin.
The hand withdrew and with it went his softening dick, followed by a warm rivulet of his seed running down from your hole. There was a rustling of fabric and you looked back to see him rearranging his tunic, letting it fall back in front of his already zipped pants, carefully keeping his more bloodied hand free. Then, with what you can only imagine was direct, piercing eye contact behind the dark ghoul eyes, he slipped his hand below the mask and made a show of cleaning every last spot from his skin.
It sent a shiver through your tired, battered body, seeing this bloodthirsty man standing above you after performing such incredible, sinful acts.
He reached a clean hand into his robe then, and carefully withdrew your spare house key from the ring before tossing the rest onto the carpet by your face. With that, he strode silently into the kitchen and picked up his gloves and knife, once more becoming the impenetrable masked killer you recognized him as from earlier.
“Thanks, pretty girl. And don’t forget to lock your door!” He held the spare key in two fingers, mockingly, and you could imagine his grin as he backed out of the room and vanished in a swish of dark clothes.
You groaned, head thumping against the floor as you relaxed your aching neck. If that guy had the key now… well, it looked like it was going to be a long and eventful week.