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25

GHOST

T he back legs of the chair creak as I fall forward and spill straight down her pretty throat. My knees are weak, and I catch myself with one hand against the floor. The other keeps a tight hold on the back of her neck as I wait for my breathing to return to normal. She doesn’t fight me and there’s no tension in her body as I slowly straighten, bringing Delilah with me.

Her lashes don’t flutter and her head rolls as I remove my hand. For fuck’s sake, she’s passed out again. I’m beginning to lose my patience with her sudden onset narcolepsy. It’s because of the risperidone and diazepam she’s forcing herself to take, like that will do anything to get rid of me. That’s why she keeps having random bursts of insomnia and then just passing out like we’re not on borrowed time.

Rather than slap her awake again, I right the chair and tuck her hair behind her ear. She must have been awake to swallow my cum because there’s nothing in her mouth when I press my thumb against her chin. Her spit is thick and sticks to the glove, but I make no attempt to clean it away.

I used to love watching her sleep and I’d force myself to stay awake so I could do it every chance I could get. This is better, and I have the urge to remove the mask so I can taste the tears dampening her skin.

“You’re such a beautiful lie,” I whisper. “If only you were real then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

She doesn’t stir and I allow the honest moment to continue as I lower to my haunches.

“All I ever wanted was you, for you to be mine, but you chose him. You will always choose him when I loved you more.”

The organ that she took control of beats in an unfamiliar rhythm as my whisper turns weighted.

“I loved you so much, and all you ever did was kill that love. It was innocent— I was innocent before you. Why the fuck did you come into my life only to take it from me?”

Despite her head limply falling against my palm, I wait for an answer. Anything really. Just something to right her wrongs and to tell me that it was true. It’s ironic that she keeps saying I’m not real when we weren’t. I was a game to her, something to play with when her relationship became boring, but she was everything to me. The sun rose and set with Delilah.

Now the rules of the game have changed and she’s not the one in control anymore—I am.

I straighten and carelessly move my hand away. Her chin slaps against her chest and she doesn’t make a noise. The kitchen is a mess. I’ve already cleaned it once during her last forced nap. That was on my terms and now I resent her for passing out. For leaving me, again.

The mask is annoying as fuck, and the eyeholes are too small for me to see clearly, so I end up stepping on the shitty pastries she loves. It turns the floor into a mess of crumbs, and I slowly pick my foot up to check the bottom of my shoes.

Lemon curd is stuck in the grooves and I’m going to carry pieces of it until it manages to fall out. I look at the person who has caused all this shit and she’s cute as fuck as she drools on herself. My dick hardens at the sight of her bound for me when I’ve only just come.

Her spread legs give me an unobstructed view of her cunt, all soaked and needy. I miss sitting her on my face and how she’d pull my hair while riding my tongue with my thumb up her ass. She would always be so sweet for the promise of it, and she’d beg me to fuck her tits once I’d made her come.

Those memories stick with me, years of them, as I clean the floor again. The only thing that’s going to be on the shiny tile is her cum. Once it’s clean again, I collect the box of her things and sit opposite her, waiting for her lashes to flutter as I change my gloves for a clean pair.

That’s a lie. My eyes drop to between her thighs and my tongue hates me. The only thing sweet about Delilah is that cunt and I have to press the heel of my palm to my dick to get it to stop. I want her, madly, and it’ll never stop.

I’ve wanted her ever since she told me her name and promised I’d never forget her.

She groans groggily and rolls her chin against her chest. The plastic wrap crinkles as she slowly comes to awareness. There’s no tension this time. She wakes herself up and the first thing those puffy, swollen lips do is smile.

All the masks have significance and I think she’s pieced it together until she asks, “Can you tell me your name?”

Any pride I could feel at her hoarse voice showing how well her throat has been used is demolished because she keeps refusing to admit who I am. She has to know. I’m right in front of her with a literal fucking reminder. The gas mask, the plague doctor mask, the fucking clown mask I hate. They’re all reminders for her. The socks. Everything. How can she have forgotten?

I widen my thighs and ask, “What do you think it is, koukla mou?”

Delilah lifts one shoulder, and her eyes are brighter. “No idea. How do you know me?”

I ignore her question and open the box. Her eyes narrow as she recognizes the items. It’s filled with inanimate objects. Those she remembers, but not me. Not the person she ruined, never me.

Her tone hardens as she attempts to sit taller in her seat. “Take your mask off.”

I smile at the demand. It has so much authority in it as though she actually believes she’s in a position of power, when she can only move her head because the chair isn’t high-backed, and I couldn’t tie her neck to it. Circumstance and poor planning on my part are the only reasons that she has that much control, but she stares at me, waiting for me to obey.

Resting my forearms on my knees, I lean forward into the foot of space between us and agree. “Okay, if you do it for me.” Her eyes harden and I laugh to myself. “Oh wait, I forgot your hands are tied.”

The examining stare manages to find my eyes despite the mask, and she just watches me, so I return the favor. I’d watch her alone in a locked room because she is my singular focus in life. If my skull was cracked open, all that would be between the matter is one word: Delilah. She’s entwined herself into my DNA and cutting her out wouldn’t be possible when I would have to deconstruct each strand to remove her.

“Who are you?” she asks slowly, with a crease forming between her brows. Her eyes dip to the open box and she shakes her head. “What do you want from me?”

Everything . I want everything that she took from me. My life, my fucking sanity. I want to go back to the exact moment before I met her and punch that stupid fuck in the balls because it would be less painful than watching her live her life. Just knowing that she’s forgotten me, forgotten everything we had, is a brutality I’ve never experienced before when there’s nothing in my life left untainted by her.

I can’t fucking eat, sleep, work, fuck. Anything. Even breathing without her seeing me—really seeing me—and the monster that she’s created tears me apart.

She’s not innocent, yet that innocent fool who loved her is still there. He wants her to ask for forgiveness so that we can be. Every moment I’ve been plagued by her deceit forces it back and I stare at the reason I’m a shell.

But I can’t tell her that, or more like I refuse to. She doesn’t deserve the truth or care after her betrayal. So, I give a different truth.

“You’ve forgotten your promises, and you’ve broken all of them. So, I’m here to right your wrongs.”

“What promises?”

I’m done with the conversation and take out the wand vibrator she loves. That crease between her brows deepens when she sees the stain on the handle, slowly looking from it to me. She opens her mouth, but I know what she’s going to say, and become her mouthpiece.

“You were packing,” I say and watch her eyes bore into me. “You didn’t realize one of the bottles of your paint was undone and it leaked everywhere.”

She nods and her voice is a slow, haunted whisper. “It ruined all of my clothes, my?—”

“Favorite dress?” I finish for her.

Another nod and there’s so much confusion on her face, I just want to hold her.

Preferably by the neck.

With both hands.

Until her lips and eyes switch colors.

Her face would be paler, eyes bloodshot and pained, her lips blue and lifeless.

But I’d end up fucking hating myself. If I kill her, I’ll follow her.

Fucking mindfuck of a woman.

Her voice is still low but there’s more confidence in it as she asks, “I know you?”

“Yes.”

“Those things,” she gestures to the box between us with her chin, “are mine? I didn’t make them up?”

“They’re yours. You didn’t make them up.”

She just blinks without absorbing the information. Does she remember me now? Equal parts fear and excitement fill me—if she knows who I am, will she be more afraid? Or will she still choose that prick?

There’s no response, so I grip the front of her chair and pull her forward. The loose base of the seat slips against my hand, and I free it from under her so she’s ready for me. Her ass pushes through the gap, and she tenses her thighs to remain on the thin edge of the frame.

A small, meek gasp parts her lips as I cup between her thighs in the exposed gap underneath her. My doll has always loved the attention, the feeling of being free, and it’s no different now as she coats my palm. I slowly move my hand side to side as I watch her pupils eat up all that bright blue. Her moans are restrained but that’ll change soon, and I push two fingers inside her without any warning.

She clenches and the latex pulls against my fingers.

“Do you miss being called princess?” I ask with genuine curiosity.

It’s the wrong thing to do because her acceptance of me is blinked away and she spits out, “Why the fuck would you ask that?”

I shrug and there’s no emotion in my voice. “You told me you were a daddy’s girl, his princess, but he hasn’t visited you. Do you miss it?”

Anger has always suited her features, it brings out the golden tones in her hair and adds new depth. It’s no different now as she rages and attempts to pull herself free from the restraints I made.

“I am not his fucking anything.”

Curling my fingers inside her, I circle her clit with my thumb as she works herself up. Each time she thrashes, it forces her to ride my hand, and I amend her declaration.

“But you are mine. I can call you princess. Would you like that, Delilah?”

Tears fill her eyes but they’re a different type of pain and she shakes her head so fast that they skim the tops of her cheeks as she begs, “No. Please no.”

That’s the first time she’s said the word no. I fucked her hand, and she didn’t say it. Held a knife to her, and it wasn’t on her tongue. But it is now.

So I don’t use that word again.

“Good. I like you being koukla mou. It suits you,” I say and watch the relief settle into her.

I stand, pulling my fingers free. The black latex is shiny and perfect against the duller edges that she hasn’t touched. Bringing my fingers to her lips, I push them into her mouth and press them against the middle of her tongue, causing her to gag and look up at me.

Such a fucking mess. There’s dried spit on her chin, tears tracked on her cheeks, more collecting in her eyes, but she is fucking art. The type of art that is priceless and would be sealed in a controlled environment so even the elements couldn’t access it.

Her eyes remain on my hands as I pick up the roll of plastic wrap from the box. It’s a heavy-duty catering roll and my fingers don’t touch as I hold it in one hand. But she doesn’t ask questions as I lean forward and hold the wand vibrator against her inner thigh. It’s not on yet, so she can’t get the pleasure she so desperately wants. I still push it forward and rub her clit with the head just to hear her moan.

Her thighs tense, making my job easier as I unravel the end of the plastic wrap. It squeaks as I pull it taut and wrap it around her thigh and the wand.

“Wha—” she whispers and audibly gulps. “What are you doing?”

I keep passing the roll through the empty part of the chair where the seat should be as I look up. Her eyes are huge, all big and frightened, like an innocent little deer in a hunter’s crosshairs.

My voice comes out deeper with the excitement coursing through me. “We’re going to play a game.”

She tries to kick her way out of the plastic banded around her calf and all it does is cause noise. The sound is irritating as fuck, and it causes the wrapping around her thigh to twist, but it also moves the wand directly against what controls my filthy whore.

“Fuck,” she breathes out and stretches her neck back.

I can barely make out the color of the paint or the buttons on the wand from how layered her binds are. Her stomach tenses and she’s already close. My excitement skyrockets at the thought of the mess she’s going to make on the floor. There’ll be puddles, fucking rivers flowing in my honor.

The toy is hers, but I’ve made my own modifications to it, and I pick up the new remote control and power cord. Her eyes are still closed, and she slowly drops her chin to her chest. I fuck with her and use more force than required to insert the power cable. Jolting it for good measure, I can’t contain my laugh as she groans.

I have to move away to plug it in and it comes to life as soon as the pins click into the power outlet. Buzzing fills the air, mixing with her mumbled cursing.

“Fuck, oh fuck.”

Holding the small remote control against my fingers, I slowly roll my thumb over the ball to alternate the intensity while I watch her. She shudders and works so hard to escape the restraints I’ve made. They pull tighter around her skin to the point her flesh bulges at each edge where the plastic wrap ends. The wooden chair legs creak and she continues cursing as she screws her eyes shut.

I watch her skin turn red as I walk to the back of her chair. The binding around her tits makes her look flat when she has the perfect handful, but it would distract me from looking down her body and being able to see just how swollen her clit is from the vibrations.

She’s not where I need her to be yet, and I gently push my fingers through her hair until my palm is flat against her scalp and my wrist is flat against her nape. She lies too sweetly.

“It’s too much, I can’t take it.”

My fingers tighten against her scalp, each strand of her hair getting stuck against the latex, and my voice is rougher at her thinking she can tap out.

“Stop fucking lying. We haven’t even started playing yet.”

A low whimper stutters against her lips but she doesn’t have any other bullshit argument. One thing Delilah knows is that she needs this, she needs to be broken and fucking used. Only ever by me.

She pushes her head back into my hand as I undo my belt. Her eyes open and she looks around, trying to entice me. All she has to do is be honest and I’ll bury my dick in her throat again. But she doesn’t. She looks at me, waiting for me to snap and do what she wants. Whoever crafted her demonic soul made it the most fascinating and addictive thing in existence.

Soft features, bright eyes, a soothing voice, everything that tricks people into thinking she’s innocent.

The leather swishes through the loops until I hold it loosely in my fist and Delilah’s heart thuds against her chest. I can hear each chamber constrict in a repetition of two and the plastic wrap creaks as her chest rapidly rises and falls.

A scream vibrates around the kitchen as I roughly push her forward with my hold on her head. She sways on the two front legs of the chair, and I take my time wrapping my belt around my fist with the buckle against my palm. Her fingers intertwine with each other as I tighten my hold on her head and the change in position pushes her into the vibrations.

But that’s not what has my attention.

It’s her ass pushing through the frame of the chair without the support. Red lines have formed on the backs of her thighs from the pressure of sitting on it and her beautiful ass is left out, free of any marks.

My arm cocks back and the leather cracks against the back of her thigh. She screams, again. Such a beautiful fucking sound and I lean her further forward. It takes every ounce of control I possess not to tip her over and fall to my knees at the sight of her glistening thighs.

“Who am I?” I ask.

She tries to shake her head, but I pull against the strands. It causes her to moan, and I can’t keep the awe from my voice.

“My filthy little pain whore. Who am I?”

“I don’t know!” she screams.

I sigh and cock my arm back again, this time aiming where I want the belt to hit and give more slack. It curls up, the tip snapping against her cunt as the flat edge hits her tight little asshole, and her groan is more of a low keen.

Pulling her back, I rip my hand out of her hair as the chair legs slam against the floor and jolt her body. Her tits can’t shake with the way they’re bound and she tenses when pain usually helps her, but I have to change my plan and I step around her seat to take my own.

Her cheeks are flushed, bottom lip all pink and puffy from where she’s been biting it, and there are already tears in her eyes. A masterpiece.

Leaning back in my seat, I take out her phone and load the camera. Her eyes are brighter with the tears, and she tries to straighten her shoulders as the shutter sounds echo through her moans. It’s too easy for her, too effortless, to be so beautiful. I hate it and I increase the vibrations as I slowly pan down her body.

“Look at you,” I say low in my throat. “Swollen already when that soul-sucking cunt hasn’t even been filled.”

I can’t resist her and stretch my arm forward to circle her entrance. She whimpers and looks down, watching how she soaks my fingers as I drop her phone into the box.

“Who am I, koukla mou?” I whisper.

Her eyes slowly travel from between her legs to my face—the mask—and she just stares. The bright blue has nearly been fully eaten up by her pupils, but the small ring is even more hypnotic against her reddened cheeks.

She doesn’t answer, so I add in the same low whisper, “Remember me, Delilah. Who am I?”

Her brows slowly come together as she fights the tension in her body to answer.

“You’re the ghost,” she whispers back. “The one who was chasing me?”

I pull my hand back and nod. “I’m the only one who chases you. Now, be my good little whore and try not to break.”

All of her old toys I stole have been cleaned since I’ve kept them for her, but she stares at the fake dick, then to me as I take it out of the box. It’s not the largest in her collection, but she’ll earn them all one by one. I lower the vibrations as I slowly feed the tip of the fake dick into her. She clenches and mumbles a bunch of incoherent nonsense.

I don’t watch the dick entering her when I can replay it back on the cameras whenever I want. I watch her face. Her mouth opens, elongating the sounds she’s making as I lose the gentleness and push the dildo inside her until the base is pressed against her lips.

Her groan is fucking feral and there’s going to be a wet spot on my boxers from how much my dick leaks precum at the sound of it, but we’re still playing my game and it isn’t over yet.