Page 26 of Scary In Love

Jenna

Anyone who’s watched a horror movie knows you should never try to escape the killer by running upstairs, but I suspect you shouldn’t let a masked man wielding a chainsaw chase you into the cellars of an abandoned old mansion, either.

Yet here I am, and I love it.

Like every room in this fucking house, things lurk in the shadows, dusty bottles and wooden barrels that seem to go on forever. In the middle of the room is a chair, almost throne-like, positioned underneath a single flickering bulb.

If Mason keeps this place, I swear the electrics are the first thing he needs to fix.

With his hockey mask still on, he nods for me to sit. I’m just getting comfortable when a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning has me leaping to my feet.

Mason pushes me back down, and the room fills with the sound of a heavy rainstorm.

I wonder how he’s doing all of this, but he’s a master of props and special effects.

This was never going to be a normal hookup.

The thought makes me laugh so loudly it echoes off the old stone walls.

Literally, nothing about this is normal.

“Been waiting a long time for someone like you to visit the house.” He drags a finger down my cheek. “Someone to play games with. ”

“What kind of games?” I ask nervously.

My back sinks into the old velvet as he towers over me. It doesn’t really matter what they are, I definitely want to play. He tosses something in my lap, and my eyes widen when I pick it up. A burlap sack.

“Put that on.”

His harsh tone makes me fumble with the drawstring, but finally it’s open and I pull it over my head.

The material is rough against my cheeks, but it’s breathable, and I can just make out the shape of him through the loose weave.

Light flickers behind him, bringing his shadow in and out of focus as he moves around in silence.

He disappears behind the chair, and my head jerks when he lifts one of my wrists. The pad of his thumb strokes the thin skin there, a moment of tender reassurance, before he presses it down on the armrest. My other arm copies without thinking, fingers gripping around the curved ends.

The unmistakable sound of tape being pulled from a roll has my core throbbing, though I’m not sure it ever stopped.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, playing the innocent victim just for him. “If you let me go, I promise I’ll never tell a soul. You can trust me. I’ll be good.”

“Yes, you will.”

He pinches my nipples hard enough to make me curse. Through the rain noise in the background, I hear him make a gruff sound, and then my tits are in his big, warm hands, his thumbs rolling and tugging at my nipples.

I wish I could see. Watching him spit on them in his makeshift surgery was such a turn-on, and knowing he’s watching my body react to his touch is making me hornier than ever.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he mutters, dropping my tits and smacking downwards more gently than I’d like .

He pulls away and grips my face through the burlap. I can feel him breathing from the other side of it. So close, but not close enough. He shoves my face to one side, but it’s playful, and I love the feeling of being his to play with.

His touch is rougher than when he examined me in the surgery room, but I’m not complaining.

I’ve always wanted to be with someone who’s not afraid to manhandle me.

I want to be pinned down and thrown around and squeezed until he leaves marks.

I already can’t wait to see what state I’ll be in tomorrow.

Next, he straps my ankles to the legs of the chair, holding them spread apart. When he’s finished with his preparations, I hear his footsteps walk away, then another loud crack of thunder.

“Silly little girl,” he tuts. “Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. Gonna split you wide open down here, and no-one will ever know.”

The next sound is his chainsaw, and with each flash of lightning, his silhouette comes closer and closer. I try to take deep breaths and remind myself it’s not real, but when I feel a buzzing sensation right between my thighs, I scream louder than I have all night.

It only takes a second to understand it’s a vibrator, and I’m not actually about to be dismembered, but Mason’s chuckle is pure evil as I thrash in the chair.

He holds it lightly against my clit. It’s not enough, but somehow also exactly right. With my knees strapped, I’m powerless to do anything but sit here and take it, and I come shockingly fast, moaning my way through it.

I expect him to pull away, but he ups the speed and keeps it right there.

Oh god no.

Mason’s pleasure dom is here to play, and I understand now that everything up to this point was just a warmup. My hips buck, my pussy aches, and though I know I don’t stand a chance against him, my body still tries to fight it.

He presses harder, and when a second orgasm barrels through me, his laugh filters through the sack.

“You bastard,” I hiss from beneath it. “Please, no more. I can’t.”

“Then you know what to say.”

Red.

I don’t even want to think it. Unless I use my safeword, he won’t stop, so I press my lips together to keep my mouth shut.

“What a good toy,” he says, and I know he doesn’t mean the wand.

There’s barely a second to focus before I’m coming again. My head sags forward, shoulders rolling inward. When the wave stays at its crest, I twist my head and bury my face in my shoulder.

“You can scream all you want down here. Nobody will hear you.”

He says it like a threat, but I know it’s a promise.

Mason knows how much I’ve longed for this, a chance to come loudly and proudly without holding back. I want it so much, but I’m not giving him what he wants that easily.

My moans become whines, so he grabs a handful of my breast and sucks at my nipple while massaging the buzzing head up and down my throbbing sex. The rhythmic motion pulls me closer to the precipice.

“Come on, Jenna. You can do better than that. Scream for me. Let it all out, you needy fucking whore.”

He bites into my breast, sucking hard as I hiss through my teeth. I should hate this, but at this moment, I am a whore.

His whore.

My body was made for nothing but pleasing him. It just so happens that pleasing him means I have to keep orgasming until I’m on the brink of death, apparently .

He turns off the wand, but my relief is short-lived when I hear him spit, then feel it, hot and slippery, dripping over my clit. He spreads it around slowly, pinching me between his fingers, rolling, flicking, pulling.

It’s too much.

Unbearable.

Everything.

All he gets from me is a series of high-pitched squeals, so he switches tactics, rubbing my clit from side to side with short, fast strokes that have me coming all over again.

When I’m done, he spanks me right between the legs, and I almost howl, but manage to pull it back.

“Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

He squirts something—lube, I assume, and lots of it—between my legs, and I shiver at the change in temperature while it dribbles all over me. Then he’s gone, somewhere out of reach.

The rain sounds make it impossible to place him in the room, but soon I feel the cold sensation of something hard and curved being pushed inside me.

He slips it in and out, twisting and turning, pushing deeper each time. Whatever it is, it’s big, and it feels phenomenal. Nobody has ever used toys on me before. I want to see myself through his eyes, stretched and soaking and helpless.

“You will scream for me,” he says, stern and impatient.

The toy buzzes to life inside me. I groan loudly and try to push it out to be a little bratty, but he just tuts and fucks me harder.

Mason presses his cheek hard against mine. His ragged, hot breath is primal in my ear.

“Scream, you pathetic slut. ”

He bites into my exposed shoulder, and when he puts the wand back on my clit, I lose the fight.

I scream and come, and I come and scream. My release floods every part of me, the pressure still somehow building while unholy noises roar out of my chest. I scream until my voice cracks, and the only sounds left are my wracked sobs.

He pulls the sack off my head, cups my face and lifts it to look at him. His mask is gone, abandoned on the floor in a pool of liquid I think might have come from me.

“Are you crying?”

His eyes search mine for reassurance I’m in no state to give. I gulp down air, unable to speak as he tenderly wipes the tears and drool from my face with his hand.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because you’re crying .” He kisses my cheek, one hand cupping the back of my head gently. “Why didn’t you use your safeword?”

Did I forget? Did I even want to? I don’t think I was even close to saying it.

“It feels so good. Please, Mason?” I beg. “More.”

I don’t know if I can even handle more than what he’s already given me, but I’m desperate to try. He grips my jaw, then angles my head to run his tongue from my chin to my temple.

“Fuck, your tears taste good,” he moans. “You’re so pretty when you cry, baby.”

Such a strange compliment, but it melts every part of me.

Deep in a place where nobody would find us, he’s cracked me open, torn me apart, hunted for the things I’ve always tried to hide.

Yes, I’m half-naked and exposed and vulnerable, but I’m not afraid or ashamed. These aren’t tears of sadness or fear. They’re the rich tears of life and freedom and mind-altering pleasure .

Mason called me baby, and that one word burrowed deeper, tearing down my walls to reach the part of me that craves softness and care. It makes me cry harder, but he knows it’s a good thing.

Working quickly, he rips open the ties at my feet, and reaches behind me to pull me to the edge of the seat. He pushes my knees wider and caresses the spot where my hip meets the top of my thigh.

“I love this part of you.”

My skin is thinner there, dappled with stretch-marks I’ve had since my teens. He kisses them all, then switches to make sure I’m just as cared for on the other side. Then, his hands grip my calves, urging my knees up.

“Hook your knees over your hands. Keep them nice and wide.”

He flattens his tongue and presses it against my entrance, dragging it from side to side.

Thank fuck he removed the sack so I can finally get a proper look.

His eyes never leave mine, and I watch him eat me so slowly, it’s torture.

He uses his tongue the same way he kisses, unhurried, then ravenous.

My thigh muscles twitch from the pressure of keeping them up, but that only heightens my pleasure.

Mason curls his fingers up inside me, pushing against the tender spot that feels so damn good. My body spasms again, and I give in to it, my mind slipping under as he unleashes an orgasm so powerful I swear I black out.

I scream until he pulls his hand away, muffling me with his soaked fingers. My tongue wants more, and he feeds them into my mouth, watching me taste myself and whimper the only word I’m capable of forming.

Mason.