Page 11

Nine

Harlan pulls his hand from my mouth abruptly, bringing it to my head. His callouses scratch and tangle my hair as he pushes me to my knees.

“Well, don’t just stare at it,” he groans. “Show me that burn you keep promising me. You can start by wrapping those pretty lips around this.” He jolts his hips forward, his concealed cock knocks into my face.

Skimming my greedy hands to his pants, I begin to lower his zipper, though it’s not fast enough for him. Harlan takes a step back, brushing my hands away, so he can unzip his pants himself.

A loud moan from the side of us distracts me. Just as Harlan lowers his pants, I turn my head wanting to see the actions that match the carnal screams filling the air.

“Eyes over here,” he roars, slapping my cheek before bringing his hands to my cheeks, hollowing them.

Another growl sounds from Harlan. His hand is now pinching my chin as he tries to force my attention to him.

His grip intensifies, and my eyes bulge in response.

“Don’t look so afraid. Isn’t this what you wanted? A big brother to look up to?”

Yes.

“Isn’ t it?”

“Yes,” I say this time out loud.

I don’t know what has overcome Harlan but I’ll take it. I salivate at the sight of the pre-cum dripping from his tip.

“Good.” He takes a step forward, closing the gap between us. Fisting his cock, he lines it up to my lips. “Time to take your punishment before it’s too late,” he says, sadistic and unrecognizable. Those words might have leaked from his mouth, but, that voice, it wasn’t him. It’s not him. It has to be the drugs or the influence of the scene around us.

With both hands on my head, he breaks the barrier between my lips. “That’s it,” he mewls, increasing the pressure on my head, shoving himself to the back of my throat.

My eyes water on impact, and a warmth fills my mouth. His cock is burning hot, and the more he thrusts himself between my lips, the more it builds until the heat spreads down my throat, tightening it.

“Fuck. Your mouth feels so… so … good,” Harlan pants. His breath, a warm current, tickling the top of my head.

My hollowed cheeks take all of him. Sucking him in like he really is punishing my mouth. Like I want to be punished.

I continue gliding my mouth up and down his shaft. Maintaining suction on him, I flick my tongue, back and forth, playing with the bulging vein that protrudes from his impressive length.

He pulls my hair, and I can feel his release nearing. I close my eyes to brace myself for him to spill down my throat, though as I my lids close, the heat from before increases. This time moving past my throat. It spreads violently down across my shoulder, trickling down my spine, until it whips its fiery burn at my thighs before finding solace in my aching center.

“I’m almost there,” Harlan announces. I open my eyes and the inferno dissipates. Through watery eyes, I peer up at him. His head is thrown back, and his body relaxed.

I increase suction around his thick, long cock, humming as I draw him in deeper. My hands lift to his balls, massaging them .

“Don’t stop,” he mewls, shoving my head as far as it can go, choking me with his cock as he spills down my throat.

A breath hitches in my throat, trapped there, as an abundant load fills my mouth. I keep still, swallowing every warm drop. His cock continues to twitch as he pours into me.

Harlan’s boot knocks into my knee as he takes a step closer, and my jaw acts on instinct, hollowing around his length, even though he’s finished coming.

“The initiation has begun,” a stranger shouts in the distance, but as I flick my gaze over to my side, a hooded figure appears, staring at me before running off.

“Get up,” Harlan instructs, pulling himself from my mouth.

A solid drop of his cum leaks onto my chin as I rise to my feet. He catches it with his finger, swiping his thumb in a short horizontal line first before dragging it down my chin.

“There isn’t much time,” he deadpans. Not exactly what I was expecting after he just fucked my goddamn throat.

Insulted, I stare at him. “You’re welcome, dick. What’s the rush?”

He ignores me, pulling up his pants. I peer into the dark-rimmed slits of his mask, waiting for him to say something, but we remain in tense silence until another chant breaks through, stealing both our attention. It’s not one word like all the others have been. It’s three words strung together consecutively over and over.

“Fatum enim eligimus.”

“Fatum enim eligimus.”

“Fatum…”

“… enim.”

“… eligimus.”

Over and over on repeat. I know I’ve heard that before, but my brain feels scrambled.

A growl erupts from his throat as he rips off his mask, tossing it to the ground, and the disappointed pout on my lips is a stark contrast to his chest heaving with excitement.

“Boo,” I shout playfully. “I liked you better with the mask on, remember?”

Once again, he charges me, this time tossing me over his shoulder.

“I think you’ll like me better when I can use my mouth to show you how much I don’t care if He is watching. Let Him. I want to put on a show with you, little sister. I want you to christen my tongue.”

Harlan moves with speed throughout the crowd. People bump into us as he brings us closer to the fire. A dizzy rush floats over my body when he places me onto a hay barrel that holds one of the many crosses around the flames.

“Hold still,” he instructs, lifting one of my wrists up to the horizontal stalk. He fastens it with a piece of rope that hangs down from the stalk before repeating the same with the other wrist.

“Such an obedient sinner,” he praises. “So willing to do whatever your big brother says.”

Yes. Yes, I fucking am.

The air is thick, drenched with as much anticipation as it is in darkness. I feel Harlan’s body heat mixing with mine as my corset rips slightly from the tight grip he has on it, the frayed fabric disintegrating in his palms.

A cloaked stranger holding a bucket walks over to us, tapping Harlan on the shoulder. “Here. Take some.” The stranger offers Harlan the bucket, and without hesitation, Harlan dips his hand into it—surprising me—before the stranger walks off. Rivulets of crimson fall from his hand as he brings it back in front of me. His fingertips still for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s having second thoughts or what, but a tormented look fills his irises.

He locks eyes with mine, and without saying a word, he drives his free hand to my corset, and rips it completely off me in one shot. I let out a gasp as my tits bounce from the impact, and the remaining sweat-soaked drugs fall to the ground. Harlan brings his mouth to my chest, licking my sticky, sweaty skin before taking my nipple in his mouth and sucking.

“Fuck!” he exclaims. “You taste so fucking good, and I’ve barely gotten started.” His words surprise me, and I remain absolutely transfixed by him, as he uses his fingers as a paintbrush. Circling them repeatedly at my chest before he does the same to my sternum, and then my belly so that there’s three consecutive circles in a straight line on my skin.

I don’t know why he did it. I don’t care, but all I know is that once he does, everything around me begins to spin. I close my eyes, but they open the second his gravelly voice cuts in the air.

“I lied.”

“About?” I swallow, fighting the urge again to close my eyes fully.

“My biggest fear.”

“Okay?” My tone drags impatiently.

“It’s you . You’re my biggest fear, and tonight I’m going to conquer it. You.” His cryptic words like music to my ears, giving me the strength to keep my eyes open. Thank fuck I do. I witness him fall to his knees, aligning his face with my waiting pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he hums, shimmying my skirt down my thighs, guiding each ankle out of it.

“Show me,” I breathe, desperate for him. “Show me how bad you’ve wanted to sin with me, church boy.”

His fingers crawl up my leg, tangling themselves in my fishnets until he reaches the apex of my thighs and stops. He spanks my thigh. The sting is heightened by the drugs wreaking sweet havoc on my body. “Stop calling me that,” he groans.

“Then show me you're corruptible,” I challenge him by draping one leg over his shoulder, and then the other, resting my weight on his shoulders, locking him into place. “Let me feel what that bitch felt when you ate her pussy pretending it was mine .” I push my pussy into his face. I’m making it so easy for him. He already tore the crotch of my fishnets, so all he has to do is slip his tongue in and I’m his to consume.

“You sound jealous,” he murmurs.

I am.

“I like how jealousy sounds on you.” He inhales me like a starved man, and the groan that follows vibrates my entire pussy and my spine. “Jesus. Fucking. Christ .” He moans. “You smell so sweet.”

“I taste even sweeter,” I hum. “Go ahead and—”

He buries his face at my center, silencing me. With an attentive stroke he drags his tongue slow and steady from my ass, up to my pussy until he captures my clit between his teeth. Kneading it with the perfect amount of pressure, he sucks my sensitive bud relentlessly, eliciting a moan that I didn’t know I was capable of.

My thighs squeeze around his head, wanting more of what he’s giving me. I want him deeper. So deep that he doesn’t just consume me, but becomes a part of me.

I roll my hips forward, riding and grinding against his face. My head bangs against the bone on the cross he tied me to as he crawls his hand up my body, through the blood, before settling on the pentagram necklace dangling from my neck.

I jerk my neck forward, giving him more of the pentagram to pull, hoping he chokes me with it.

Like a good boy, he does just that. Wrapping the chain around his hand and twisting, I gasp as the cool silver tightens around my throat. Stars line my vision from the pressure he’s placing on my windpipe. “Fuck yes,” I mewl.

“Mmm,” he bellows into my center before rolling his entire face in and around my wet pussy, coating it in my arousal.

“Har—” I begin to pant his name when a cloaked figure on stilts towers above me.

Harlan doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s too lost in licking me to care.

The person moves closer and beneath the hood, I can see they’re wearing Harlan’s mask—the one he tossed on the ground.

They wobble on the stilts as they near me.

“Harlan.” I mean to say his name with the intention of getting his attention, but it comes out as a breathy whimper. Which the person hovering above us doesn’t seem to like, apparently. They’re now leaning over and right in front of my face. The mask, somehow filthier than it was just a few moments before, scratches my face as it scrapes against my forehead.

I turn my head in the opposite direction, but a gloved hand wraps around my jaw, twisting my neck to face them.

“Harlan.” I cry.

The masked person nods their head. A mechanical voice follows. “That’s it.”

“Rainey.” I say without thought.

“Keep going,” they encourage me, standing up straight, yet still hovering over us. My heart rate accelerates as red drips from the eyeholes of the mask. Rivulets of blood pour and stain the cracked and dirty plaster.

“Harlan!” I shout, thrashing my wrists, trying to undo the ties. Adrenaline on my side, the restraints break, falling to the ground.

“Harlan,” I repeat his name again, this time taking my hand to his head, trying to shake him for his attention. It doesn’t work. I take my hand and bring it to the mound above my pussy, trying to wiggle my way to his mouth to break the seal, but all he does is lick and bite at my fingers, still too busy licking me.

The masked figure meanwhile watches, now moving closer, as their head tilts to a ninety-degree angle, their concealed face inching closer to mine.

Nausea fills my mouth as the smell of rot invades my every sense.

“What do you want?!” I yell out.

“Sing for him,” it says, as cryptic as can be. “Sing for him and let him sail .”

“Who?” I cry. “What?”

The stranger straightens their spine, towering over us again, but this time it raises an arm. A gloved hand opens, and dirt pours over us, causing me to cough, my lungs burning on impact .

“Sing for him and let him sail,” it repeats. “Sing,” it whispers as it walks backward and away from us.

My lips move, but I hear no sound.

All I know is as my clit pulses like a drum, I’m about to come, and I can feel everything, but hear nothing.

Harlan

My whole body is on fire. I’m not sure what’s sweat and what’s her arousal anymore. I can’t tell the difference—everything is warm and wet. Well, everything but my mouth. I don’t know how it’s possible. She’s so wet—sloppy, fucking wet, but somehow the more I dip my tongue in her, the dryer my mouth becomes. It continues with every stroke, mystifying me.

She squeals, drawing my attention up to her. Blotches of red diluted by sweat mar her abdomen as she claws at her skin.

I lift my hand to move hers, so she stops hurting herself, but she slaps it away.

Wait. How is she swatting at me? I thought her hands were tied.

I peer up and over at the cross, but broken strands of rope hang off either side—she broke through them.

“Lick,” she instructs. Cold. Sinister.

With one hand on my head, she guides my head to her pussy. “I said lick.” She seals her demand with a harsh smack. Pain ricochets from my cheek to my core.

“Harlan,” she mewls.

That’s it, sister, say my name.

Desperate to taste more of her, and for her cum to coat my tongue again, I drag it up her slit. I feel something rough; it tastes bitter. I ignore the dry powdery substance falling on my head and filtering into my mouth, robbing my taste buds, and continue to lick up her release .

She mumbles something to herself, her voice somewhat distorted. I can’t tell what, though, from the euphoria her pussy is giving me. Every sound she makes is not clear, just vibrating through me.

The first syllable of my name falls from her lips, but she doesn’t follow through. She does this again, over and over.

“Ha—” she pants. Each time not finishing.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.”

The beginning of my name is reminiscent of a laugh, and she does it over and over again as she locks my head in a chokehold with her thighs.

She says something else, but all I can focus on is how loud her wetness slaps against my tongue, and the closer she is to coming.

She thrashes against me.

“Has to die. Blood for blood. Eye for an eye,” she mewls as she comes undone on my face.

My heart stalls in my chest. Its beat, slowing down each time she repeats the last part of her song.

“Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye.”

What is she talking about?

It’s the drugs.

I have to be hallucinating.

I pull away from her, gasping for air, but the blood in my veins runs cold when the night air doesn’t meet my eyes.

Daylight does.

How fucking long have we been here?

The amber hues of dawn in autumn mixed with red and blue flashing lights consume my vision. A shiver runs down my spine because there’s no one here.

No fire.

No naked people.

No one fucking.

No. One. Is. Here.

No one .

Except us and whoever has come here to help us.

“I want to come again.” I hear her whisper, but it’s impossible because when I turn to look at her, she’s just laying there naked… unconscious. Dried, bloody symbols written all over her body that’s slumped over the hay barrel.

“Brother, I want to come again. Make me come again. Make me come here again. Come. Here. Again…”

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop it! Stop it!” I throw my hands up to my ears but guilt washes over me, because she’s not okay. I need to make sure she’s okay.

I keep hearing her voice. Begging me to make her come. Taunting me.

This isn’t how tonight is supposed to go.

This isn’t right.

I throw myself onto her.

Relief, though fleeting, claws at my mind.

I can feel her heart beating.

She’s still here with me.

She’s here.

She’s okay.

We’re okay.

“Two possible overdoses, I need assistance!” a voice calls out, but everything becomes fuzzy.

I see Araceli being strapped to a stretcher and taken to an ambulance in the distance.

Fuck. Dad is going to kill us when he finds out.

My eyelids feel heavy. I want to close them, but a hooded figure kneels next to me. The patch on their sleeve—or I think it’s their sleeve—matches one of the emblems on the sheet of acid we took.

“You didn’t pay.” It says.

“What?” I manage, but barely.

“You didn’t pay ,” it repeats.

“Didn’t pay for what?” I argue.

“To get in. You’ll sink if you don’t pay. ”

I grab onto the man’s cloak, shaking him.

A radio scratches at my ear. I blink for just a second and the fabric I’m yanking on isn’t black or a cloak. It’s blue with a medic’s patch sewn on.

“We’re going to need backup, one is aggressive,” the paramedic speaks into the radio before turning his attention back to me. “It’s okay, you can rest now. We’re going to transport you to the hospital.” The paramedic’s voice adjusts. Deep and eerie. “You didn’t pay. We have to take you there.”

Pay for what? I ask internally, unable to move my lips as sleep finds me. Ready for the nap that Araceli says is the best part of the crash.