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26

DELILAH

M y eyes burn along with every inch of my skin. It travels through me as he tortures me and changes the speed of the vibrations. The buzzing is more intense and shakes my thigh along with the rest of my body.

He slaps his wet fingers against my cheek and his voice is darker, more violent.

“Do not fucking drop it.”

I clench around the toy as he slowly pulls his hand back.

The box on the floor between us is mine, and every item other than the plastic wrap is something from the memories I thought weren’t real.

I can’t focus with the way he keeps changing the rhythm of the vibrator. It’s intense and the addition of the dildo has me clenching harder. Every time I do, it makes it press against my over-heightened nerves until I can’t take it anymore, so I scream.

My scream echoes off the glass and my vision doubles as I climax. It’s violent and my inner muscles work on the aftershocks as they make the dildo shallowly thrust. My ghost quickly presses his hand through the hole in the seat to keep it in place and awe wraps around his voice.

“Such an impatient little thing. Did I say you were allowed to come?”

I can’t draw enough air into my lungs and whimper as he slaps his fingers off my cheek again. There’s more force and it stings. But the awe remains as he says, “It’s okay, koukla mou, you’ll enjoy your punishment.”

The vibrations are more intense than they ever have been, and I thrash. My movements are fast and panicked, making the chair rock, but he grabs my shoulder and pushes down, forcing me to remain in place. It distracts me from his hand leaving between my thighs and going back into the box.

He pulls out another toy. This one is wider, and he coos, “Shhh, I told you not to break yet.”

The hand on my shoulder leaves and he gently brushes my hair off my forehead. Sweat coats my skin, making errant strands stick to it, but he remains gentle as he positions his hand back under me. I clench at the sensation of the new toy tracing the seam of the other that’s still inside me, but he hardens his voice.

“You are my little fucking doll.” Grabbing the hair at my crown in his fist, he pulls my head back. “Your devious cunt is mine, and if you stopped giving it away, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

He slowly pushes the other toy into me, and I whimper at the burn of them both stretching me. My breathing shallows and I hold my breath like that will help with the intensity of the vibrations. His palm glides forward until his fingers are pressed against my ass, and my muscles are too sore to clench. The frame of the seat digs into the back of my thighs and my shoulders burn with my arms tied behind my back, but the pain is satisfying.

My head falls forward as he pushes his palm up, so both of the toys are inside me. He pulses his palm and strokes my cheek with the knuckles of his free hand as he softly asks, “Do you remember what you did to me?”

I don’t have the energy to shake my head or answer with the way he’s torturing me, but I can hear the hurt in his voice. It’s deep and angry, no matter how much he attempts to disguise it. The ghost is real, and he hates me. He hates me to the point that he wants to ruin me when none of my memories, the ones without Asher and the ones with him, have anything to tell me who he is.

He gently taps his knuckles on my cheekbone. They barely dent my skin as he does it as though it’s a hint to who he is, then the words follow the two slow taps.

“Knock. Knock.”

I can’t think.

I can’t fucking do anything.

It’s too much, and frustrated tears burn a scalding path down my cheeks, dripping from my chin onto the plastic wrapped around my chest. The ghost slowly leans back, studying them. He collects one tear on the tip of his gloved finger and brings it up between our faces. Tilting his head to the side, he watches the curved drop the way someone would an intricate snowflake. The creepy clown mask is even more terrifying with that intrigue on display.

A deep rumble erupts from his chest and makes his admission animalistic.

“One day, I’m going to collect these little jewels and use them to fuck your ass.”

His palm slaps between my thighs, pushing the toys further inside me and making me gasp weakly as a sob cracks my voice.

“Please!”

I don’t know if I’m begging for him to stop or for more, all I know is that I need the constant vibrations to subside. There’s no change as I continue sobbing and look at him with my muscles twitching. Every part of my body is oversensitive, and I can feel his gaze as he slowly looks down my body.

Going back into the box, he takes out another toy. Then a bottle of lube. The cap clicking is loud in the quiet house, but he moves slowly, coating the plug in the liquid. It glistens as the midday sun rises above the tree line and he repeats his question.

“Do you remember?”

My tears run into my mouth as I beg, “No. Tell me, please. I can’t remember anything.”

He assesses me for a beat and pauses with his palm wrapped around the glistening steel plug. I want the mask to be removed, I want to see him, and I need to know his name so I don’t have to scream sounds in place of it.

The movements are even slower as the mask stares at me. He doesn’t tilt his head to the side or look down as he positions the plug at my ass and venom drips off his tongue.

“You promised you were mine.”

I moan low in my throat as he slowly twists the plug, applying more pressure. I never understood his threat of breaking me, but now I do. He fucks my ass with the plug without looking away from me. Everything is stretched and my muscles are already sore from being stuck in place, but it isn’t enough for him. He slowly presses his hand to my stomach and strokes up, making my breath shudder and goosebumps rise on my skin.

Heat emanates from his palm through the latex glove screeching against the plastic wrap as he moves up my chest while pressing his other fingers against the base of the plug, so it’s flush between my cheeks. The tension in my body finds an outlet as I scream, and he taps against the plug twice.

“Knock,” he says slowly, “knock.”

Twisted pleasure erupts and my mouth is still open, extending my hoarse, sobbed scream. Hot tears drip against my tongue, and I twitch as he curls his fingers over my heart. My climax was even more intense than the last and the vibrations push more sobs out of me as his sinister whisper penetrates the echoes of my screams.

“I want to hold this, your black heart, and have proof that you possess one.”

My jaw wobbles as I whisper, “I didn’t do anything to you.”

He tuts and leans back with his fingers still clawing against my chest. I shiver as he picks something up out of the box, but he doesn’t take out a toy. It’s a small square with a ball switch that is smaller than my palm. My gaze is fixed on his hand. The gloves are becoming something I’m attracted to, they make his hands look bigger, and he scrolls the ball with his thumb.

My thighs tense at the change in the vibrations, and he just watches me. They lower but still make me twitch with how sensitive I am, and he repeats, “You promised you were mine.” He flicks his thumb up, setting the vibrations on the highest rhythm. “Then you went to him. You went back to him, Delilah!”

The plastic wrap tears as his fingers tighten against my chest like he can reach behind my ribcage to get his wish. It’s only the top layer but I can breathe easier, and he removes his hand to stroke a switch at the side of the square control. The plug in my ass begins to vibrate with each pass of his thumb. He does the same to the other side and the toy in my pussy begins vibrating too.

I whimper and cry, my face contorting and my limbs twisting to try and get away from it. But he just watches me and says, “There’s still space in that little asshole of yours. Don’t pretend it’s too much when you can take more.”

I try to power through the pleasure wrecking my body, but my mind is melting. The vibrations make each thing filling me thrust. They pulse against each other, and I can feel it down to my bones.

Ghost stands up. The bulge in front of me makes my jaw drop, spit flowing from the corner of my mouth as I come again. It’s stronger and lasts too long. Something splashes against the floor and my feet. Light bursts behind my eyes and my ears ring before I’ve even begun screaming.

There’s no energy to scream. It comes out a low, keening whimper as my chest stutters.

My muscles are clenched so tightly that there’s a metallic thud against the tile beneath me and the pressure against my ass is removed. It’s followed by the other toys. They continue vibrating and splashing against the floor, kicking up droplets against the plastic wrapped around my calves, and I cry harder because it’s fucking humiliating.

He cups my cheek, and I lean into the touch as he dries the tears that have slipped into my ear. Does he know me well enough to know that I hate that wet feeling in my ear? Is that why he’s doing it?

His voice softens as he strokes my cheeks and hair.

“It’s okay, koukla mou. You’re beautiful when you cry, and you’re such a good little whore for me.”

The vibrations finally fucking stop, but he doesn’t undo the restraints and traces my quivering lip with his thumb. I make the mistake of looking up through my tears and begging, “Please, can I see you?”

I don’t want him to be some faceless thing that I’ve made up. I want to see him, to know he’s real, but he hardens and steps back, taking his seat again and leaning his elbows on his thighs. He steeples his fingers together and flattens them, making a rectangle. I’ve never seen anyone do it before, but that hit of familiarity is there again. “You already have.” He moves closer. The mask smells of rubber and there’s no other scent on him. “I gave you all of me, Delilah. Just remember what you stole from me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I cry out and my throat burns.

I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I grew up with enough money to wipe my ass with a hundred-dollar bill and never wear the same pair of underwear twice. There was no need to steal, and I wasn’t like Scarlet, who acted out as a “fuck you” to our parents.

He sighs and pushes up to stand, the mask skimming my lips, and there’s a faint smell of nicotine lingering in his sigh. I try to think of anyone I know who smokes, but I don’t know which people in my memories are real, so anyone on the planet could be a suspect when I don’t know who I’ve met and who I haven’t.

The box is still open as he walks around me, and I look into it. Each item is something I remember being in my apartment in Connecticut. The toys were in the drawer beside my bed. There’s a bright green thong that I never wore because it would show through my uniform at the diner, and a smashed photo frame that holds the last photo I had with my sisters. The sharp edges of the glass have scratched the aged surface, but I can still see Ruby’s face.

She’s not smiling, she never smiled, and Scarlet stands beside her, refusing to look at the camera. The pink dress I’m wearing is covered in flowers and my smile stretches from ear to ear because it was the day we moved to Wainscott, and I was excited about my new room.

The faucet runs, shuts off, and then Ghost walks towards me. He stops directly behind the chair and cups my jaw. The gloved hand slowly massages until he gently tips my head back and presses his thumb against my chin to open my mouth. His voice is softer, and that familiarity is back but I can’t place it.

“You need to hydrate so we can play again.”

He brings a bottle of room temperature water to my lips and slowly drips it into my mouth as frustrated tears burn the back of my nose and heat behind my eyes. There’s care in the movement despite everything he’s done. I’m not in a position to stop him and it soothes my throat, so I silently drink while I stare up at the edge of his mask where it meets his neck. There’s black material covering his skin, and the only parts of him I’ve seen are his dick and the smallest inch above his hips while he was fucking my throat.

Capping the bottle, he walks around me and takes his seat again. I try to gauge anything about his appearance under the dark clothes and mask, but there’s nothing to tell me who he is. There’s no branding or anything memorable about his attire, the only thing that sticks out is the mask. Especially the way it’s smudged. Little flakes have broken off, revealing a pink stain on the skin-toned rubber underneath.

He’s done it himself. Does it have some significance that I’m supposed to know about or is he just a fucking crazy person with a mask-making hobby?

At least it isn’t taxidermy.

His calm demeanor is unnerving, and I try to get him to speak as I croak, “They’ll find you, you know.”

He hums and rests back in the seat. His legs are long, and he sits like an obnoxious prick, stretching them out with his knees spread and his fingers threaded together before he stretches to push them behind his head. It pulls the sleeves of his hoodie taut and shows he’s lean. His biceps aren’t huge, but they’re defined against the black material. The hood is pulled back slightly, and I get a peek of his dark hair. There’s a small curl to the strands near the top of the mask.

“And who do you think will find you?” he asks teasingly as he discreetly adjusts his hands to cover his hair.

My voice comes out stronger than I feel given my position as I watch his mannerisms. “The police. They’ll lock you the fuck up, and I’ll watch you get strapped to a chair.”

He laughs and the insult sticks to my skin. I don’t have any escape, so I throw out, “Asher is going to come home and see what you’ve done.”

The laugh dies, and he slowly drops his hands to his sides to lean into me.

“He’ll see me?” he muses. “Will he see how hard you came for another man and defend you? Or will he see how you’re still unsatisfied?”

My throat tightens and I ignore the fear taking over me.

“Everyone will know I’m not crazy and that you’re a fucking weirdo,” I say as my blood turns cold.

He cocks his head to the side and sweeps his gaze over my bound body. It’s sadistic and the painted smile on his mask only adds to the icy sensation taking over my body with every moment he stares.

The cold seeps into his voice, mixing with smug pride. “Hmm, they will, will they?”

“Yes, you sick fucking cunt,” I hiss. “Your DNA is all over this house, all over me. They’ll test it and know?—”

“Like last time?” His head returns to an upright position and the back legs of the chair slowly lift off the floor as he leans closer to me. “Tell me, did you have any evidence last time I visited you?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Other than that gluttonous cunt salivating over me, I mean.”

It was real and he did sneak into my room while I was sleeping beside Asher. He took the pillow and changed me. Why did I even think it was a possibility that it wasn’t real?

But he keeps asking questions and adding to my self-hatred.

“Why didn’t you go to them after I covered that cunt in my cum?”

I shake my head, attempting to block him out.

“Was it because…” he slowly sing songs before his voice drops lower, darker, “you loved it?” The smell of rubber gets closer. “Or was it because you wanted me to visit you again?”

“Shut the fuck up!” I snap and my breathing escalates.

I have to remind myself of my life, or the one I woke up to, and ignore the literal stranger trying to turn it upside down again. I’d regulated my medication, become accustomed to dealing with my shit, and actively told myself the memories weren’t real. But now he’s sitting here telling me a different version of a life I still have no part in. Between my memories, Asher, and the ghost, I’ve got three different lives. They all seem unknown to me now. Even the memories I was confident about are becoming fuzzy.

“Just stop,” I whisper as my vision blurs and my bottom lip wobbles. “Stop lying to me.”

He stretches his arm forward and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, reaching my jaw, and he holds my chin and traces my lips with his thumb as he softens his voice.

“Oh, Delilah, I have never lied to you. I’m the only one telling you the truth.” His fingers tighten around my chin, and he pulls my face forward as he adds, “You lie to yourself when you only have to remember.”

His touch turns gentle as he strokes my bottom lip and his other hand wraps around my thigh above my knee. I wait for something, anything, to help me out of this haze. Each second is longer and adds more tears to the stream flowing down my cheeks, but he prolongs the silence while staring at me.

The familiarity is there again as he makes small circles on the inside of my knee and looks down when his thumb brushes the small scar in the crease of my knee. He traces the jagged line as he asks, “How did you get that?”

I follow his line of sight and watch him caress the two-inch scar from when I tried to escape the hospital my parents forced me into. My plan wasn’t very solid, and I got trapped between the window I broke and the bars that were supposed to deter me from leaving. The design was stupid with the casing going around the frame and having a few inches of space. Those few inches gave me hope.

“I don’t like being trapped,” I say.

He presses his thumb to the scar and slowly looks up as the double meaning sinks in. He’s trapped me, literally, but it doesn’t feel the same as those years in that hospital. The soft tracing restarts as he asks, “Do you feel trapped with me?”

The gentle voice just adds to my confusion. I can’t tell him the truth because that proves I’m insane, but he voices it as though he’s aware of my thoughts.

“Or do you feel free only when I bind you?”

I don’t answer, and I don’t need to. We can both see it as my body relaxes, and he cups my cheek. The latex is even warmer as he pushes his finger around the side of my neck to my nape. His fingers dig in, massaging the tension away, and my eyes roll at the feeling of the knots being broken.

“You’ve forgotten so many things,” he whispers brokenly and continues his massage. “I wish I could have forgotten you.”

Guilt floods me at the desolation in his deep voice. It’s like a physical entity in the room, robbing it of any light as I keep my eyes closed. Whoever he is, I knew him. I knew him well enough to hurt him, and I have no idea who he is.

The mask brushes my collarbone and I slowly look between my lashes to see him press the lips to my skin above my heart.

His voice is even lower as though he’s confessing to the organ. “I’ve missed you.”

Before I can ask him to remove the mask, he turns his head, aware of me looking at him and hardens his voice. “Do you trust him?”

Asher.

He’s asking about Asher, and I don’t think about my answer. “Yes.”

Ghost sits back and stops massaging my nape. His hand doesn’t leave my thigh as he implores, “Have you seen the scar on his back? It runs from near the middle of his spine, just near his heart,” he traces the path against his chest, “to his kidneys. Ask him how he got it.”

I audibly swallow and my heart rate picks up, drowning out my voice as I ask, “Did you hurt him?”

There’s going to be a bruise on my ribs from how hard it’s pounding in his silence, yet he’s comfortable and open in it as my emotions burn a path up the back of my throat. They break loose as he says, “No, you did.” Then he stands and picks up the roll of plastic wrap.

He roughly tugs the free edge and pulls until it’s taut. I don’t know what he’s going to attach to me next and look at the box, but he doesn’t pick anything up and I jerk my head back as he wraps the clear film over my face.