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“Hello?”
The other line is quiet. She rolls her eyes at the silence and opens her mouth to repeat her greeting, but she gets an answer before anything more slips past her lips.
“What are you wearing?”
She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend’s question, resting her phone between her ear and shoulder as she pulls her garter belt up her body, shimmying her lower half to let it rest just above her hips. He laughs on the other end, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes again as she answers him.
“That’s a dumb question.” She reaches for her thigh highs, pulling the sheer material up her legs and clipping the garters to the tops, making sure they’re straight against her thighs. Her bra—it’s hardly a bra, really, more of a piece of fabric just hardly covering her nipples—is adjusted, and she sits on her bed and leans back on one hand, gripping her phone and dropping her shoulder.
“Just wanted to know if you’d lie to me, pretty,” he rasps cheekily. A shiver runs down her spine and her breath hitches at his tone—dominating, deep with the edge of something much more dark. Making her way to the floor to ceiling window of her bedroom, she opens the blinds a little to look outside; there’s nobody there. “Wanted to see if you would tell me you’re wearing your dress instead of parading around your room half naked in my favorite set like a dirty slut .”
“How do you know what I’m wearing?” She tries to keep her voice steady and stern, but there’s a clear waver in the way she speaks into the phone. He laughs a little louder this time, a little meaner. She can imagine him throwing his head back as he does, eyes half lidded and his smirk condescending with his ghost face mask sitting on his lap. She wonders briefly if he’s got the mask on , if he’s decided he wants to play the part of the peeping slasher.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out, now isn’t it, sweetheart?” He asks rhetorically. She swears she can hear that voice from her closet, but when she turns around the closet is wide open the same way she left it, and decidedly free of any tall masked boyfriends. She’s sure her door is locked—she always checks it twice when she comes home, and he reminded her to do so when he dropped her off to change earlier. She supposes that should’ve been the first warning. “Aw, you scared ?”
“N-no,” she speaks shakily. She pushes back the curtains of her bedroom window again, looking right, then left, then right again. It’s dark outside, nearly 9 pm, but she can see enough (she thinks) to be sure he isn’t lurking outside her bedroom. At least not close enough to see her through the sheer curtains. “I’m not scared of you.”
“No?” He questions quietly. She can hear his tongue ring click against his teeth as he talks, and for some reason it lets her take a deep breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth. She reminds herself that this is the same man she’s known since high school; the same one she’s been dating almost as long.
“How about now?”
Her phone is dropped out of her hand and she gasps at the cold metal digging into her throat. His arm snakes around her middle, pulling her body against his before his hand is skimming down her body and resting on her upper thigh, snapping the garter resting against it. Her earlier question of whether or not he’s wearing the mask is answered when the sharp plastic chin digs into her shoulder.
“Sir?” She asks dumbly. He snickers in her ear; it’s mean , the way the knife against her neck doesn’t let up but he still moves the hand on her leg to pull his mask up and press a sweet kiss to her cheek in greeting, dropping the mask back over his face so that he can put his hand back on her.
“Hi, pretty baby,” he drawls. She wants to be ashamed at how she squirms, at the way she whimpers when the cold blade in his grasp digs a little further into the skin of her throat when she moves a little too much; at the way she can feel herself becoming damp between her thighs in response to the way he holds her close—almost possessively. “Don’t move too much, sweetness. You might get yourself hurt .”
“Sir, please —” she isn’t even sure what she’s pleading for; whether she’s asking for him to let her go or touch her, she couldn’t say. It seems he makes that decision for her, though, because seconds after her plea passes her lips, his hand is cupping her damp pussy, pulling his mask all the way off and pressing his lips to her neck to suck at the thin, sensitive skin, his pierced tongue rolling against her pulse and sending shivers down her spine.
The knife is thrown aside onto her bed, and when she no longer feels the cold metal against her, she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and melts into his touch. He huffs against her neck, pushing her against the cold glass of her window, forcing her to arch her back so that she can keep from squishing her face against it too hard.
She doesn’t bother fighting it; it’s not like anyone will walk past her window anyways—it’s in the back of her house. She lets her chest press against the window and sticks her ass out, allowing him free reign of her bare cunt and exposed ass.
“You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He asks. She doesn’t answer as his hands roam her bottom half, running over the fat of her ass and pulling her cheeks apart to watch the way her cunt flutters around nothing. He watches smugly as her pussy drips down her inner thigh, and before she can respond to him, he’s kneeling and licking a fat stripe up her leg all the way to her cunt, where he stops to lap at her folds before he’s pulling back with a groan.
“Fuck, I’m really gonna enjoy devouring you.”
“Daddy—” she tries to push off the window, but he’s swift to press one hand to the middle of her back and push, keeping her in place firmly. The glass pressing against her skin is cold and she feels her skin erupt with goosebumps and her nipples harden, even with the thin layer of fabric sitting over them.
“Move and I’m getting the knife again. I won’t be so forgiving with it next time,” he growls. His voice makes her whimper and tremble beneath his hands, sweaty palms slipping against the window. “You’re lucky I didn’t wait ‘til the party and just hunt you down there. Keep still .”
There’s something in his voice that has her going stock still. Maybe it’s the edge she hasn't ever heard from him, maybe it’s the way she shamefully clenches around nothing as he says it. His fingers trail up her thigh on the same path his tongue took earlier, pushing two of them into her with no hesitation, chuckling meanly at the whine she lets out. The window fogs with her quick, unsteady breaths and he pushes his fingertips against her sweet spot, letting them rest there for just a moment before he’s leaning forward and lapping at the juices leaking around his fingers.
His other hand grips her hip and his fingers—still buried inside her—crook again until he’s building up to a mean, punishing pace, his palm smacking against her clit with every punishing thrust. She doesn’t bother trying to hold back her moans; her glossed lips part on each needy sound and she has to force herself not to move. For a minute she thinks that maybe she should move—should see what he might do with the knife sitting on her bed.
She thinks she might find out later. She hopes she finds out later.
“Want you to suck me off, pretty girl,” He grunts. She mourns the loss of his fingers when he pulls them out of her, dragging his fingertips against her g-spot on the way out. It takes not even ten seconds for him to stand and start pushing her to the ground with absolutely no regard for her comfort. She can’t help the way his manhandling makes her throb. “Hurry up, on your knees—don’t make me wait, you won’t like what happens if you do.”
Her knees ache already. The way he pushed her made her hit the floor with a dull thud, and she’s sure that her knees will be bruised tomorrow. She’s not sure she cares that much.
Mean fingers grip her face and dig into her cheeks harshly until she’s forced to open her mouth. He presses his thumb against her tongue just to hear her gag wetly, chuckling when she looks up at him with tear filled eyes. He pulls down his pants with his other hand; just enough to pull his hard cock free from its confines. The fact that he won’t even put the effort into shedding his clothes entirely makes her feel like a cheap whore—and a little voice in the back of her head says that maybe that’s exactly what she is. Or maybe that’s what he’s telling her.
She doesn’t get a warning before he’s moving his thumb and pulling her by her hair to force her mouth onto him. He doesn’t let her set a pace, only moves his other hand to grip her hair in a tight fist too and pulls until he meets the resistance of her throat; and then he pulls harder , groaning at the way she convulses around him. She can’t breathe. His cock is painfully deep in her throat—choking her and not letting her get any oxygen. Her lungs burn and her eyes water, but he only crushes her nose into his pubes further. Just as her eyes roll back in her head and the edges of her vision grow fuzzy, he pulls her back, laughing at the way she coughs and gags and heaves breaths.
“Y’look so pretty when you can’t breathe, sweetheart,” he rasps. His fingers run through her hair and down over her saliva covered chin in a deceptively sweet display of affection before he’s gripping her hair again and pushing his hips forward to invade her throat. “Let’s see it again.”
He doesn’t force her onto him nearly as much this time around. Her eyes still water and she still gags, but this time she can at least breathe through her nose.
At least at first.
That is, until he moves one of his hands to her nose and pinches tightly, smiling wickedly at the way her eyes widen and she squirms and tries to whine to get him to let go—to let her breathe .
“Stop squirming, pretty, or I’ll have to get my knife again. You don’t want me to ruin your pretty skin, do you?”
She can’t believe she’s turned on by his threats—her cunt is drooling and clenching, thighs pressed together as she watches the way his throat bobs and he growls when she tries to swallow around him.
There’s no transition from the way he holds her still to the way he fucks her face. He just pulls back and lets go of her nose before he’s battering her throat, pushing as hard and fast as he can to hear her wet gags and gurgling moans.
“God—fuck—you’re so good, such a good, tight, wet hole—”
She can feel the way his cock twitches in her mouth; feel the way his balls draw up towards his body and see the way his thighs and stomach tense. But before he can shoot his load down her throat, he pulls away, letting her gasp and cough and letting go of her hair to watch her curl in on herself. A gentle touch forces her to meet his eyes again. He wipes his thumb over her messy chin and bottom lip, and he smiles.
“You gonna be good and stay still while I fuck you?”
Before she can even gasp out a full uh huh , he’s pulling her up by her arms and pushing her onto the bed. Her feet stay flat on the ground and her cheek is pressed into the mattress; in her direct line of sight sits the shiny, sharp and huge blade that her boyfriend brought with him. The thought that it’s within his reach makes her pussy clench.
He kicks her legs apart and steps between them. He still doesn’t pull his pants down—he leaves them where they rest at his mid thigh and grips his spit slick cock in one fist to line it up to her twitching cunt.
Her boyfriend is almost never a truly gentle lover. He’s sweet, and he never hurts her—unless she asks him to—but he isn’t exactly the type to be soft and doting during sex.
But he’s not usually rough either—not like this, anyways. This is feral; it’s carnal and mean and nothing but growls and pleading and tears and drool. Nothing but the lewd, wet sounds of her dripping cunt being carved out by his fat cock and the mean, teasing tone of his voice.
“You’re this wet just from me using and threatening you? Disgusting.” He spits, pressing one hand to the back of her neck to keep her still. She can’t even speak; she just nods her head the best she can and whines when he hits her sweet spot just right.
He doesn’t say anything further, but he does reach for the knife with his free hand and grabs it before he’s moving the palm on her back in favor of gripping her throat and pulling her back against his chest. The knife gets pressed gently to her throat and she seizes up, muscles tensing as she approaches her climax faster than she even thought possible. She knows he can feel how she clamps around him, because he laughs in her ear and presses the blade of the knife a little harder against her pulse point.
“Gonna cum, princess? Don’t move too much, one slllice and you could bleed out.”
She’ll probably hate herself later for the way she falls over the edge from his words.
Her cunt pulses around his cock and he fucks her through her orgasm and his own subsequent one, overstimulating the both of them until she can’t take it anymore and he’s throwing the knife back onto the bed as he pulls out. When she collapses next to it, there’s rustling behind her and when she turns around to look at her boyfriend, he’s fully clothed again, looking for the most part like he never even fucked her. Cum drools out of her cunt, and he watches it with sharp eyes before licking his lips and saying,
“Get up and get dressed, baby, we still have a party to get to.”