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Your back and feet ached. Your head throbbed.
Doing your best to not shuffle your feet along the concrete as you walked, you made your way to your car across the parking lot. You felt heavy with exhaustion and the drive home was, while you usually appreciated it as a time to unwind and think, much too long to even think about without a venomous thought of once again wanting to quit your job.
You needed the money, you reminded yourself as you slipped into the driver’s seat. Key in the ignition, hand turns the key, the engine starts. Warmth flowed into the vehicle when the air kicked on and it was welcome compared to the unforgiving chill outside. You buckled up and got your shit together, putting the vehicle in gear and pulling out of the parking lot of your job moments later.
It was easy to get bored on the drive home, if not heavy-lidded on a night like this. The weariness of having rushed around a busy store for 10 hours set in as trees flew past you on a winding road. You kept hoping you were closer to home than you were, but you knew better than to expect to get home any sooner than half an hour without speeding at nearly dangerous levels and you couldn’t risk it.
“Jesus Christ,” you spoke softly to yourself.
You turned the radio on, letting your phone automatically connect from where it sat in your bag, the last song to play on your playlist starting somewhere towards the end of the song. You sighed and hummed along, tapping your fingers to give yourself some kind of active stimulation, keep yourself awake. It was working, but just barely. Several minutes passed like this, fighting exhaustion and repeatedly blinking your eyes wide open as if it would help.
Then it hit you.
You were off work for the next two days, a fact that somehow slipped your mind and brought you so much joy that you gasped at the realization that you’d get to relax and catch up on sleep and laundry.
“Who knew I’d get excited about the opportunity to do laundry just because I finally have a few days off?” You asked yourself, a bemused laugh at the fact you kept talking to yourself. It wasn’t that out of the ordinary, but you still felt silly about it.
“Sounds like cause for celebration, if you ask me.”
You went still, hands tightening around the steering wheel as frozen fear dropped in your gut. You blinked several times, hoping that you’d imagined the gravely, snarky voice that came from behind you. You went through your most recent memory, tearing up when you realized that you hadn’t checked the back seats or the hatch before getting into the vehicle as you always made sure to do.
“What-” The word barely finished passing your lips before a hand was clamped around your mouth, making a sob surprise you and muffle into the leather glove.
“Shh. We’re not gonna play twenty-one questions tonight. Pull over,” the voice cooed, to which you whimpered and shook your head, tears spilling over and pooling against your cheeks and the slick fabric pressing into them. Another hand came into view, your eyes fixed on the road in fear of crashing even then, silver glinting in the dim light from the dash and your headlights. You sobbed again as the metal was pressed to your throat, thin and menacing.
“I won’t fucking repeat myself,” he hummed, words harsher than the tone he took with you. You wrung your grip on the wheel slightly, considering pulling into a stranger’s driveway, but the hand on your mouth squeezed into the flesh of your face and he spoke again.
“Up there on the right, the field behind the trees,” he ordered, pointing ahead with the knife. You knew exactly what he was talking about and it caught you off guard. You stilled with the realization that he knew exactly where you were and the surroundings on the road leading to your house. Did he know you? Did he know where you lived? Had he been in your home? It was empty, save for your pets, all day. Nearly every day.
You wanted to pass the entrance to the shallow area of woods that lead to the field, the knife returning to your throat as a reminder and a threat of what your priorities should be. You blinked stinging tears out of your eyes and turned into the path when approached it a moment later, stomach sick at the realness and the mystery of how intimately this assailant knew you.
“Good boy, such a good boy,” the man cooed, voice toeing the line of seduction, “Keep driving for about a minute up the pathway and park. Don’t forget to turn the lights off and give me your keys.”
You flushed and panted softly through what little space he gave you to breathe through your nose, trying your best to keep your composure and think of any way out of this that wouldn’t result in you rotting in a field grave. Your hands shook as you put the car in park and took the key out of the ignition, the keychain jingling softly as you held it out to him.
“You’re better than I thought you would be. Pathetically obedient, worn out. I didn’t expect a man to be this submissive, honestly. It’s kind of embarrassing,” he said sweetly, every word dripping with a tenderness that you didn’t expect. You felt sick at the hope it was meant to instill. You felt sick that it was working, even a little.
It didn’t last long, the emasculation making shame and the uncomfortable, familiar anxiety of dysphoria curl in your gut, along with something still unrecognizable yet to the adrenaline in your system. You dropped the keys into the backseat, the shake in your hand causing you to lose your grip just enough that you couldn’t catch it. You whimpered, almost jerking to reach back and pick them up, fearful of what he’d do if you didn’t, but the impulse was cut short by the tightening of the blade to your throat.
You leaned back, pressing your head to the seat as much as possible, chin up as you tried to make distance between your skin and the edge. It sliced thinly and the hand on your mouth clamped down and pinched your nose, making you choke on the gasp that tried to snake out at the pain. You jerked and tried to squirm away, your scream muffled and vibrating against your skin.
“Distractions aren’t going to work with me, sweetheart,” he said harshly, pressing his body to the back of your seat, leering around and talking directly in your ear. You shook your head as best as you could, crying out when the knife dug in, hands wrapped around the wrist of the hand on your mouth, trying to push it away and failing.
He seemed to take the hint that you were trying to dispute his accusation, pulling the knife away from your throat but leaving his gloved hand where it was, holding it there until your cries died into whimpers and your eyes started to flutter, pulling it off at the last second, when your vision was spotting and ringed in black.
You could hear him laughing from the back seat as you gasped harshly and panted, tears rushing down your face as warmth rushed to it.
“I’ll give you three seconds to start explaining yourself. Just remember that honesty is the best policy and rulebreakers lose pretty little fingers.”
“I- I didn’t mean to, I- It was an accident, I swear. T- Take them,” you sniffled, voice wavering. You kept your head reared back fearfully against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut.
“Hm.”
You heard a rustle of movement before a faint jingling, the keychain being picked up and soon tossed over his shoulder into the far back of the vehicle. It jangled on impact with the window, making you flinch and tense with your hands curled in, unsure of what to do.
The back driver’s side door swung open and closed, your door opening seconds later. Your eyes popped open, head jerking to stare at the person who’d derailed your life - if he didn’t plan on ending it, you’d consider yourself lucky - as he got closer. You pulled away from his hands as he approached, pushing yourself back in the seat and whimpering as he grabbed you by the wrists and wrapped rope around them harshly. You couldn’t tell if he was watching you or your hands through the nearly comical mask that covered every part of his face and then some, a shroud of black covering his entire body.
You shook your head and tried again to pull your hands away, earning a grunt and a pointed “look.”
“Please, I- Please let me go. I don’t know who you are, r-right? I couldn’t report you and,” the man ignored the faux clarity in your voice, reaching forward and grabbing you by the hair, “N-No, no, no, please,” you cried, gasping and grunting in pain as he jerked you forward and out of the car and to your knees on the ground.
The man crouched in front of you and tilted his head to one side, leaning forward and chuckling softly. You felt tears forming in your eyes again, threatening to spill when an impulse came over you. Without thinking, you reared your head back and swung forward as hard as you could, aiming with hope more than anything and connecting your forehead to the man’s jaw. You groaned in pain as you processed that your attacker had fallen backward and had made a similar noise.
The gravel of the field path scuffled beneath you as you rushed to your feet as quickly as you could, turning and running in the opposite direction.
It wasn’t like you wanted to get your hopes up. You didn’t even know you’d gotten your hopes up so much until the crunching of the gravel went from being beneath your boots to under your cheek, cutting into it harshly as you were tackled to the ground a mere fifteen seconds later, hands crushed painfully between your stomach and the ground.
You screamed out, a hand clamping over your mouth.
“Shut the fuck up. Shut your fucking mouth,” the man grunted, turning you onto your back with little effort, standing over you and replacing his hand, “And here I was thinking you were going to be a good boy for me. Shame on both of us.”
The disappointment in his voice came off of him in waves, even through whatever device he was using to alter his voice. You stared up at him, vision blurry with tears and cheek stinging harshly as he dug his fingers into the fresh cuts the rocks had given you. The wounds throbbed warmly in time with your pounding heart.
You closed your eyes and sobbed softly behind his hand, not caring that snot or drool would soon make an appearance. It wouldn’t really matter since you’d be dead in a few minutes anyway.
You didn’t even notice when he pulled his hand away, not until the ropes on your hands fell away and you opened your eyes, confused and hopeful that your captor had chosen to take mercy on you. You peered up at him while he untied you and he said nothing, just thumbed over your wrists.
“What-”
When you gasped as you were flipped yet again, you inhaled the dusty dirt under the gravel stones, coughing and soon squirming as your hands were jerked behind you, the man sitting on your hips to keep you from moving.
He laughed as he wrapped the ropes around your wrists again, tighter this time. You sobbed softly and lay there, limp and meeting the dejected feeling of accepting one’s fate.
“You thought I was going to let you go, didn’t you? Thought I had a little streak of mercy and was setting you free,” he asked, receiving no answer but the quiet sobs that met the ground. Tears and blood caked the dirt to your face, “You don’t have to tell me. I saw it in your eyes. The confusion, the little glimmer of hope that you’d get home on time to feed your pets or call your mom or take a long,” the man leaned down, breathing heavily and speaking gruffly next to your ear, “hot, relaxing shower.”
He tightened the final knot and stood up, leaving you where you lay. You could hardly move your arms at all, your forearms tied together from wrists to just shy of your elbows, effectively disarming you. It was uncomfortable and you weren’t used to the strain, but you didn’t care.
You didn’t have anything left but to beg. It hadn’t worked a single time and you knew it wouldn’t work this time either, but your wrecked, watery voice tumbled out anyways, “Please, don’t kill me. P-Please don’t. I- I have money put back if that’s what you want. I don’t- don’t care, anything. I’ll do it, just don’t kill me, please.”
It didn’t even sound like your voice. Your voice hadn’t ever sounded so small, so weak.
“Hm? What’s that?” Came a curious, interest-piqued voice, “Anything?”
You were ready to agree immediately, cutting yourself off at the excitement in his voice. You blinked and shook your head slightly.
“I- No, I- Not anything, no,” you attempted to backtrack, fingers slotting into your hair and pulling you up harshly, arching you into the ground by several inches.
“So you offered me anything I wanted only to take it away? You don’t even know what I want,” he sounded hurt, mocking you and kicking you gently in the side.
“I just- I didn’t mean-”
“I guess you don’t wanna live that bad then, huh? Cause if I was you, I wouldn’t be so quick to take the only playing piece I have off the board,” he cooed, kicking you in the side harshly. You gasped and curled in on yourself, sobbing and attempting to push yourself away from him with your feet. He flattened you to the ground with his boot.
“It’s a shame you took it back. I think I’d actually consider letting you go if you decided to be my good boy again,” the man sighed forlornly, cracking his knuckles in a muffled choir under the leather that concealed them, his neck following before he reached down for your hair, pulling your head off the ground enough to leverage the knife under your neck, ready to slice you open and bleed you out right there.
“Welp. Any last words?” He asked, crouching down enough that you could feel his tailbone hovering above your thighs, nearly sitting on you. You shook your head and wiggled underneath him, crying out and sputtering out what could only be described as babbling as you tried to find mental grounding.
Shame and fear flew out the window in your panic.
“Anything! I’ll do anything!” Your voice cracked and wavered.
He didn’t dignify you with a response, dropping your head and standing back, watching you as you groaned softly into the dirt. Your struggle was impressive enough to scoot the two of you a few inches into the soft grass of the field and he couldn’t help but look at how lovely a tied up, helpless body looked under a waning gibbous moon. There were no clouds out to obstruct his view of you or what he’d do to you.
“Well, well… Look at you. Got yourself in quite the predicament now. I could very well decide to go ahead and slit your handsome little throat and bleed you like the disrespectful pig you’ve behaved as tonight, you know that? It’s what you deserve. You don’t deserve the chance to apologize I’m giving you, sweet cheeks. Not one bit,” the man had crouched down again, head tilted as he spoke to you, tracing his fingers across your cheekbone while you forced yourself to not pull away in disgust. He hummed to himself, pleased with some thought or another that came over him.
“Get on your knees,” he said plainly, standing and keeping his feet planted near your head. You knitted your eyebrows, panting softly and trying to keep yourself calm, wanting the opportunity to survive if you could. Your chest hurt, only drawing one conclusion to the instruction you were given. You could detach, pretend this was a creative one-night-stand even though it’d been an obscene amount of time since the last time you’d even had the time to consider getting laid, so you had to be rusty.
You struggled to your knees, pulling them up to your chest and swaying on your shoulders as you pushed, grunting and huffing as you sat up, sitting on your knees instead of outright kneeling. You looked up at the masked man, shifting your shoulders and averting your eyes a few seconds later, swallowing.
He made no move to undress or expose himself to you, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at you.
“Kiss my boots and apologize.”
You flushed and let your eyes land on him once again, “What?”
“I didn’t stutter, did I?”
“N-No, but. I thought-”
“You’re not here to fucking think, are you? You do what I say or I cut you from sternum to taint and wiggle my fingers around in you like I’m fingerpainting. Do you understand?” His voice had become more terse, growing impatient with you already. Your stomach turned sickly and you nodded jerkily, shaking softly where you sat.
You shifted on your knees, scooting back slightly and trailing your eyes down his legs, landing on black leather boots. They looked clean enough, honestly, but you couldn’t be sure in this lighting. As if that was all you should have been worried about. Your mouth went dry, a shaky breath leaving you as you glanced up before leaning down slowly.
When your lips connected to the cold boot, you left it pressed there for a few seconds, tears forming in your eyes with the shame that was curling up in your stomach. You pulled away and sat up again, sniffling and clearing your throat, “I’m sorry.”
“For?” Fingers tapped impatiently against his bicep. You shifted and blinked, swallowing softly.
“F-For trying to run away,” you tried, sure it was what he wanted to hear. He tutted and shook his head.
“Nope. Try again. Start over.”
“Start over?” You asked. Your lip bottom lip quivered as he grabbed your jaw and dug his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks.
“Are you having a hard time with English tonight? If I have to repeat myself to you one more time, I’m going to castrate you, I swear to god,” he said, voice dripping with honey, his free hand pushing over your forehead into your hair gently. You whimpered when he dropped you, opening your mouth wide to stretch your jaw and alleviate the ache his fingers left. You would wake up with purple-black dots the size of his fingertips the following morning.
He nodded downward, wiggling his foot. You gasped softly, putting his request together and leaning down, licking your lips nervously before planting a briefer kiss to the boot than before, sitting up and looking up at him. You didn’t know what to apologize for.
The longer it took you to produce a correct apology, the more impatient he got, verbally sighing under the mask and making you curl in on yourself slightly, heart pounding.
“I-I’m sorry for. for uhm,” you stammered, shifting your uncomfortable shoulders in an attempt to stretch them, hoping for the best with the only thing you could think to apologize for, “I’m sorry for being bad- for being a bad boy.”
He seemed to relax, his shoulders falling and his irritated finger tapping slowly to a stop. His chest rose and fell even and deep.
“Was that so hard? Again.”
“Wh-” You stopped your line of questioning before it could even begin, glancing at the knife on his hip before gulping. It wasn’t hard to imagine the man raising an eyebrow at your sudden obedience.
“What are you waiting for? I said to do it again,” he urged gently, the malice and anger that had threatened you before were now nowhere to be found. You faltered and sighed, lukewarm shame washing over you as you bent down and hesitantly pressed your lips to his boot once more, rising slightly to apologize but your eyes landed on his hand first, flat and palm out at you to signal a stop.
“Stay down there. I can hear you from up here; I have ears, silly,” he cooed, amusement lacing his words. You shifted uncomfortably and nodded, leaning down and staring at his boot, finding this more palatable anyway. You didn’t have to look at your attacker. You could just close your eyes and do what you had to do.
Warmth in your gut nagged at the back of your mind and you kept it there.
You bent down further to place another kiss on the leather, clearing your throat softly, “I’m- I’m sorry for being a bad boy.”
“Again,” his voice was a little more strained and you could hear his breathing pick up, still even and deep but getting quicker, noticeable.
You squeezed your eyes closed tighter and kissed it again, sounding out another apology. He demanded another and another and another until you were zoned out, cheeks and the tips of your ears pink with shame as the ability to ignore the man himself dwindled and the heat everywhere else grew.
You wrung your fingers together where they lay behind your back, panting softly as your pattern of kiss, apology, kiss, apology, kiss, apology, kiss continued even after the man’s voice no longer commanded it. If asked, you’d never be able to answer why you kept going, not truthfully. You told yourself it was fear, later.
He lifted his boot off the ground by a few inches and you barely noticed until you smacked your mouth against it, not expecting it to be so close. You grunted and felt coolness against your cheek where the cool breeze of the night highlighted the trails of tears on your cheeks to your senses. When had you started crying?
You felt a hand wrap around the back of your neck gently, massaging in place just long enough to make you tense and force yourself to relax, shivering and wondering how long he let you slip away like that. He laced his fingers into your hair and you winced prematurely, pulled up and back by your hair into sitting on your knees again.
You lost balance as he puppeteered you, falling backward and landing on your shoulder awkwardly. You yelled out in pain, wrenching yourself to the side to alleviate the pain of nearly dislocating your shoulder, but you were shoved to the flat of your back on top of your hands instead. You groaned and whined, arching your back just in time to have your hips plant to the ground as the man straddled you, clamping a hand over your mouth.
“I know we’re in the middle of nowhere, but I’d encourage you to not be so goddamn loud every time you have a silly little moment,” he growled. You stared up at him, panting and squirming painfully against your hands. Even in the night, you could see the faintest glisten of his eyes behind the mask’s eye fabric.
“‘m s’rry,” you offered, slurred and muffled behind the hand, “It ‘urt.” You swallowed hard, shaking underneath him. You wanted him off of you, the heat in your stomach stirring slowly with adrenaline and hormones. You needed a shower and a twenty-four-hour coma.
“You gonna live?” He asked with venom-tinged sweetness, backing off of you and pulling you up with a fist balled into the front of your shirt.
“Am I?” You asked softly, panting softly when you settled on your knees, hissing when the indents and scrapes from the gravel digging in for so long were irritated.
“Maybe! You’re being a very good boy. I don’t even think you were showing off for brownie points a minute ago, you were really into it,” he teased, gently kicking the side of your thigh in jest. You looked up at him hopefully before you could catch yourself, face warming in shame. The shadow of the moonlight obstructed the bulge in his jeans that would have told you how much he appreciated the show you gave.
“Now, I have a fantastic idea. I think we both know how you’re earning your freedom tonight,” your eyes widened at the bluntness of the statement, panic rising in your chest, but he continued as if your reaction went unnoticed - or uncared about, “but I’m a gentleman. So, I’m going to flip a coin and you’re going to call out a side, hm? It’s a surprise what for, though.”
You stared at him as he pulled back the shroud, sighing as it fell back into his way twice before he turned around, ripping the thing off over the mask and leaving himself in the basic tee tucked into belted jeans outfit that hid underneath. You would have laughed at the drama of it if you weren’t in a situation where you were to choose between being sexually assaulted or murdered in a field where the closest house was your own, five miles out.
You wondered how long he’d been watching you, what he’d seen. He must’ve known you weren’t born male, you guessed. It wasn’t like you kept all of your curtains pulled and you regularly slept with the windows open, even when you slept with little to no clothing. You lived in the middle of nowhere and were a light sleeper, it didn’t feel like a terribly unsafe idea.
He pulled a quarter out of his pocket as you were pondering what his exact reasoning for all of this was, how long he’d been planning it.
“Now, I’m gonna flip and you’re going to call out a side, okay?” He instructed, all too patient compared to earlier. You shifted anxiously, stretching your hands out behind you. He flipped the coin into the air and you watched it fly up, squeezing your eyes closed and muttering.
“Tails.”
The man caught the coin and clapped it to the back of his opposite hand, gasping softly, “Hey! Looks like it’s your lucky day! Being a good boy does pay off, cause I’d kill to demolish your throat for all that hollering you’ve been doing,” he rambled, making your eyebrows furrow and head turn. You blinked at him, chewing your lip.
“S-So you’re not going to hurt me?” You asked, confused. He laughed, looking up at you instead of the coin, tucking it back into his pocket.
“I never said that, stupid. I said that you get proper foreplay instead of me fucking your throat and using that as lube before I blow your little back out,” he said as if you should have put two and two together, “But if you keep asking dumbass questions, I’ll end up doing both.”
Your eyes dropped slightly, swallowing hard and shifting on your knees as your gut twisted hotly with a chill down your spine. You panted softly as your chest pounded, the realization that your underwear was sticking to your sex, sticky and cool against you as you shifted.
“Stand up.”
You tensed your jaw, shifting carefully and whimpering when your skin dug in and tore into the gravel through your jeans as you tried to stand on shaky legs. You looked down at your knees, curling in on yourself slightly when the harsh soreness from being kicked set into your side as you stretched and moved with more intention.
“Go to the car, I’ll be right behind you,” he assured you. You didn’t like the reassurance. You didn’t want to be comfortable or calm or obedient. Not with him. Your stomach was sick with the anticipation of unwanted pleasure.
You nodded and stepped toward the car, watching him walk to the front and glance inside, checking something unknown to you. You stared at the door handle, shifting anxiously on your feet.
The gravel crunched under his feet as he stepped closer to you, stopping when he was directly behind you. He ran his hands up your sides, fingers gripping your shirt when you squirmed forward, leaning against the car and stepping forward.
“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he whined teasingly, pulling you back by your hips. You stayed leaned forward, not exactly fighting him actively but trying to stay away from him. Fighting enough to convince yourself you fought at all past a certain point.
He looked you over, eyed how your back arched as you leaned forward and away from him with your hips pulled back, bending you over enough for him to become a little more amenable and patient.
“I don’t know what’d be hotter: If you were peacocking for me intentionally or not.”
You flushed and looked over your shoulder at him, standing up and attempting to turn to face him, not knowing what he was talking about. He put a hand on the back of your neck and pushed you back against the side of the car, his other hand holding your hip as he did so.
“Tsk, tsk. I’ll take that as ‘not,’ then, hm? I gotta say, you’re the cutest thing I’ve come across yet. I could just eat you up,” he purred, slotting his clothed hips against yours and sighing. You made a noise and squirmed away, pulling yourself against the car entirely. He gruffed a sigh of disappointment and grabbed the highest loop of rope on your arms and jerked you back, opening the back door you’d slotted yourself against and shoved you inside, closing the door.
You landed face down against the backseat and felt a pressure pop, groaning loudly at the pain, squirming, and trying to un-smash your face against the cushion. You sniffled and could smell iron, blood sliding down to your opposite cheek where it lay against the seat.
The back hatch opened and closed within seconds. Moments later, the door ahead of you opened and the man was muttering to himself, leaning over you and cutting the rope around your arms and giving you no time to stretch or adjust before jerking your arms forward and wrapping fresh rope around your wrists and leaving a train attached to it, effectively tying you to the oh-shit-handle in the ceiling.
You pulled at it hard, testing the give and hoping it wasn’t solid but it didn’t budge. You sat up on your knee, one foot planted on the ground as you looked at him. He pulled out of the car and closed the door. When you tried the handle, the door didn’t move at all. When had he child locked it?
You watched him circle your vehicle, coming to the door he’d shoved you into and opening it, grabbing for the foot propped on the seat. You tried to kick at him, only giving him an opening to drag you backward and slam your face right back into the seat, giving your hands a slight rope burn as you grabbed for it when you were pulled back.
“Please- Please, let me go,” you sobbed, muffled into the seat as he slotted your hips over the edge of the seat, bending you over and looping his fingers into the loops of your jeans. When he felt your belt, he wrapped his arms around your hips and unfastened your belt and pants carefully, pulling the belt through every loop and folding it up.
“A mystery mousekatool has been revealed, I think,” he singsonged sweetly, snapping the belt against itself between his two hands loudly. You flinched away from him and gasped, shaking your head.
“You think I could spank you like this? I probably could. You deserve it, too, which is sad. You’ve been so wishy-washy. You gotta be good for me. You wanna know what I think?” He asked, the device altering his voice still managing to make a chill run down your spine. You didn’t move, didn’t give any indication that you cared but you did. You wanted to know and you hated yourself for it. You already knew what he was going to say and you didn’t want to hear it, face it.
“I think you’re enjoying this just a little bit, just enough that you’re overcompensating, panicking, and fighting it harder,” he hummed sweetly, pulling your jeans over your hips and down the swell of your ass, leaving your boxer briefs. You whimpered and shook your head.
“I say why fight it? I’m taking it regardless, it’d be so much more fun if we both enjoyed it. Plus, after I whoop your ass for being a stupid little shit again, I’m gonna give you, like, toe-curling, eye-rolling orgasms that I only give- Well, I don’t usually shit where I eat, baby, so just know you’re getting the most premium package deal and you’ll walk away in one piece. Probably limping, but still,” he explained, pushing the jeans down your thighs and standing back to pull them down, discarding them on the ground of the vehicle. You squirmed and panted into the seat, whining when he threatened you, whimpering when he made the promise he did.
You felt dizzy and warm, stomach twisting up in anxiety and need and shame.
“So, maybe think on it between lashes one through ten and we’ll see how accepting of a kind touch you are, yeah?” You shook your head and jerked at the rope, unable to find any footing as you kicked your legs.
“Please don’t, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad,” you tried, listening to the belt jingle as he pulled it off the seat and wrapped it around his hand enough times that it wouldn’t his the door when he swung, only you. You were silently thankful he left your underwear on for this, not wanting to nurse a split open ass in any scenario but a willing one.
He gave no warning of the first swing, ignoring every word and beg that came out of your mouth. You yelped and jerked your hips away and into the seat. You hissed and whimpered, wringing your hands.
“St-Stop-”
“Count.”
“Please, I-”
Another lash, harsher this time, whipped across your ass and you arched, gasping and groaning, the sound dying off into a sob.
“Count!” He roared, pulling your hips back when you squirmed a little too much. You sniffed and cleared your throat.
“T-Two. Two.”
“Good boy.”
You couldn’t help but whine at the praise. He lashed the belt across your ass once, twice, three times more and you sounded off yelps and numbers and pained moans, panting and shaking after the fifth strike. He grunted softly behind you, rubbing a gloved hand over the bulge in his jeans unseen to your eyes. You shifted from side to side anxiously, subconsciously trying to alleviate the stinging pain.
Your legs shook, stomach tight and hot. With every number you sounded off, it was paired with hot pain in your skin and the fluster of sweet nerves that come hand in hand with praise.
You felt cool leather loop under your boxer briefs, pulling them down slowly. You squirmed and panted, panicking at the change in punishment. He shoved them down completely, letting them drop to the ground.
He stayed quiet for a moment, running the backs of his hands up the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs, giving a slap to the side of your ass when you tensed and attempted to scoot away.
“I bet you were expecting some kind of reaction to finding a pussy here, maybe something along the lines of,” he dramatically gasped, “‘What the fuck! Why am I finding a vagina under these undies!? I expected a dick and balls!’ Well, sunshine, it’s 2023. Sometimes men have vaginas. Also, I’ve been stalking you. But I swear this isn’t like, a fetish kinda dealio. I think you’re hot, really, but I mean it, wanting to fuck you is an older occurrence than knowing what caliber you’re rockin’,” the man seemed to go on forever and you figured that he liked the sound of his own voice. Or the way the device made him sound. Menacing, gruff.
“I wish I could say anything about this was surprising, right down to the wetness running down your thighs. I knew you were dirty,” he cooed, thumbing over a welt with pressure, making your gasp. You shook your head at the accusation, but the cool night air blowing against the streaks smeared on your legs where you’d soaked into the briefs told you he was right. You whimpered and pulled at the rope anxiously.
“Now, you’re gonna take the rest of your punishment, then I’m gonna be so, so very merciful with you that you might just let me keep you when I’m done, how’s that sound?” He patted the side of your ass reassuringly as if you weren’t revolted with yourself at that moment. You shook your head weakly still shivering lightly from the last round.
“Don’t forget to count, dollface,” he hummed, whipping your belt across your bare ass for the first time, harsher than all of the other lashes. You cried out and sobbed, arching your back in slightly.
“S-Six, what the f-fuck,” you panted softly, not appreciating that it was harder to hide your natural response to pain, the pleasure of it intermingling and making you choke on a sob. You could just let it go and enjoy yourself, you were doing it to survive anyhow.
Guilt washed over you. It felt wrong, dirty.
But the hurt felt so good, and you knew even better was coming regardless of if you wanted it or not. Maybe if you let go, you’d come away from this less traumatized, you considered. You laughed shortly to yourself, cut off by another harsh lash, making you gasp and choke on a cough, sobbing and moaning.
“Sev-Seven!”
He dug the seam of one gloved finger into the fresh welt where the skin had barely broken at the top. He thought it was pretty and suited you. He wanted to cover you in pretty wounds that suited you.
He stood back and reared his arm, swinging down harder each time. He took joy in hurting you, but he knew you were fighting giving in. He was going to break you down.
He listened to you yell out each number and sob and moan and push your face into the seat to stifle the noises that paired with the growing wetness at your cunt. After the tenth lash, he spat on your sex, watching the slickness of it drip over your cock and mound, some dripping straight off when you jerked and flinched away from it and some sliding down your leg.
He groped himself through his jeans again, gripping the belt tight and considering his options.
“Keep counting,” he reminded, though he knew you had just begun relaxing, telling yourself the punishment was over. It made his fingertips tingle with excitement and his chest clench with affection.
“Wha- Y-You said ten. You said-”
“And you said you were sorry for being bad,” he reminded you, listening to the pitiful sob fall from your chest as you kicked your feet and squirmed, frustrated and upset, unable to free yourself.
You huffed and breathed and tried to calm yourself before he started swinging, but when he did, he swung several times in quick succession, making you scream and writhe before him as you struggled to count and keep up, kicking your feet and shaking by the time you got to twenty lashes just seconds later.
You heard the belt hit the ground, metal jingling as it met rock. You panted and shivered, crying softly and floating on a rush of endorphins.
“Good boy, look at you. Took that so fucking well, so well. Gonna make you feel so good, I promise,” the man cooed as if tending to a lover, giving you verbal aftercare that made you melt into the seat where you lay, spacing out a little. You could distantly feel your legs shaking as they were spread gently, short, warm puffs of hair hitting your damp sex and thighs.
You didn’t have the energy to look behind you knowing that you wouldn’t be able to turn at the angle you needed to see whatever the man was doing, so you laid there, recharging and limp, close to if not in subspace.
It was kind of nice.
A tongue striped up your cunt, from your cock to your hole before pushing in briefly, followed by a gruff moan. You whined, clenching your hands weakly and keeping yourself from moving. He scooted closer and you could hear the gravel crunch and shift beneath him as he used one hand to grab your ass and thigh, spreading you open.
You huffed softly and felt two bare fingers push at your hole, twisting gently, dipping into you only to the first knuckle and pulling out as the tongue returned to your cock, laving over it hungrily.
Your hips jerked and pushed back before you could stop yourself, whining softly. He laughed against you, closing his lips over your cock and sucking then pushing the two fingers deep inside you with a twist and a curl. You gasped and grabbed at the rope, arching your back slightly and shuddering as he thrust his fingers into you quick and shallow, massaging inside you in gentle, desperate circles as you pushed your hips back and moaned, the noise coming out stammered and high.
“F-Fuck- Wait, I’m-” you cursed, your thighs closing around his head. He allowed it, squeezing your ass harshly where he was spreading you open to take his fingers, the fingers he was drilling into you while swirling the tongue that never shut the fuck up.
You tensed up, curling in on yourself and arching your back as much as you were physically able with the rope and the seat, “I’m gonna, I- Jesus, fuck, I’m going to come,” you groaned and panted, still tense and whining.
He popped off of your cock gently and licked over it, using his lips to massage and close over it again, making you fuck your hips back before shuddering as you came around his fingers. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it with curling and expert fingers until your aftershock became another orgasm, ripping out of you as you panted and weakly pushed your hips back, legs spread and needy for it.
You panted quick and soft against the backseat, arms hanging limply by the handle on the ceiling.
“Look at you, baby. You ready for my cock? Hm? You’re fucking dripping for me,” he growled softly, licking a long, flat stripe over your cunt and slurping, groaning into you. You whined and nodded despite yourself, listening to him stand and watch you.
“Yeah? Get up, cushion those poor knees on the seat for me, baby,” he ordered you gently, helping your legs into the car and letting you kneel on the seat. You sighed at the change, the pressure a major downside but the coolness of the seat made you relax a little more. He crawled in behind you, pushing you to lean and hold onto the windowsill of the car.
By the time you even realized that the man had been maskless for several minutes and that you’d heard his voice without the device and it’d been just as rough and warm as it was with, if not more so, he had already returned the accessory to its place on his head, covering his face.
He leaned over you and cut the rope around your wrists, pulling them off quickly before pulling and situating you a few feet away, bending you over the middle console between the front seats, and giving himself enough space to do whatever he wanted to you. You were pliant, letting him move and position you, even staying still when he took a blade to your shirt and sliced through it like butter.
You crossed your arms over yourself, expecting a chill to come over you but it never did. He reached around you and palmed your chest gently, pinkies grazing your scars as thumbs and index fingers worked together to stroke and gently twist your nipples. You pushed your chest into his hands, holding his wrists gently. You whined and looked down, watching the treatment he gave you.
You reached back and grabbed the sides of his legs, tugging at his jeans and bending over as you kept his hands on you.
“You were begging me to stop 10 minutes ago,” he teased you, leaning forward and bending over you, rutting against your ass with now-open jeans, his boxers bunched up as he had briefly messed with them before getting his hands on you instead. You pushed your hips back, the friction and pressure just enough to have you wanting more.
You didn’t answer him with words, ignored the sentiment, and reached back to pull his hips closer. He grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arm behind your back, pinning it against you and using his free hand to work his cock free and shove his pants down impatiently.
“See? I was right,” he hummed, stroking himself and letting his head fall back slightly with relief. He looked down and watched you arch your back and sway your hips slightly, wiggling from where you were bent over. He pushed the head of his cock through your cunt, swiping down and back up through your folds and covering himself in your slick.
You panted softly, stretching your fingers with the need to reach back again, pushing your hips back to hopefully coax him into hurrying up instead. He smacked your ass over stinging, scabbing welts and watched you jerk harshly, a small, whining sob escaping your lips.
He pushed the slick head of his cock against your ass, tilting his head and keeping his eyes trained there. He was gentle and slow, but you were tight and no longer trained, not as much as you used to be at least. He knew your schedule had drastically changed at work, plus he hadn’t seen you fuck your ass or have a hookup partner of any kind in months. Just quicker self-sessions of you grinding the heel of your hand into your cock, jerking your hips in needy, wanting bucks that had him nearly falling out of the tree in your yard.
He should have brought lube. If he wanted to genuinely fucking hurt you, lay claim over your pain and pleasure, he could just fuck his hips forward harsh and uncaring, rip into you and hold you down until you adjusted. Then he’d ruin you. He’d force you to come on his cock like that so you’d beg him to fuck you raw and dry like that again and again.
The thought made his hips jerk forward gently, just the smallest bit more pressure at your hole.
You were panting and whimpering, nails digging into the seat and your palm, he could see that. You didn’t stop him, but you knew you couldn’t take it just then, knew it would be enough to send you to the hospital whether you wanted to or not.
“I could do it, could hold you down like this and give you nothing else, just jerk off into you like you’re a sock or a napkin, slotted into your asshole just enough to fill you up,” he threatened, feeling your ass flutter around the tip of his head, as much as he could get in without truly hurting you. He groaned, tempted through and through, and you were tempted to let him, the threat unique and baffling and it had you shaking all over again. The warm shocks of need paired with the stinging pain in your ass cheeks and thighs had you dizzy.
“Better be glad I want to take my time on your ass, gonna break into your lovely home and work you open slow and nice while you’re sleeping. You’re gonna wake up begging for my cock in your ass,” he rambled, voice rumbling as he pulled his dick away from your ass and pushed it down, letting the head catch on your hole with one shallow stroke of his hips before grabbing your hips with both hands and pulling you back harshly as he thrust forward, filling you entirely with one thrust. You yelped and it twisted and died into a deep groan.
You didn’t know what exactly you had expected. You couldn’t be sure how large he was as you hadn’t seen it, not even a hard outline of a bulge at any point. You hadn’t touched it, nor had he fucked your mouth as he’d wanted. You didn’t know why you hadn’t expected to have to physically adjust, but you had clambered up onto the middle console, back arched and holding onto it, catching your breath.
He leaned over you slightly, a hand placing on your shoulder and keeping you as close to him as possible while he rolled his hips, letting you get comfortable and listening to you nearly gag on moans forced out of you with the movement. You whined and grabbed at the seat for purchase with your free hand. He leaned back, hand kept on your shoulder and digging his fingers in gently as he pulled his hips back and sunk back into you, slowly both times.
He stirred and repeated this several times with controlled groans, listening to the high-pitched, needy noises snaking from your throat from where you were holding onto the seat and the console. It wasn’t as if he was the most verbal partner in that sense, but he kept the volume to a minimum for the sake of listening to you. His prey. It didn’t take much to trap you.
You clenched around him hard, fluttering and squeezing in a tell-tale way and feeling him stop moving entirely despite having already been taking his time teasing you even with his cock inside of you. The tautness in your core started to dissipate, relaxing your joints as the orgasm faded and didn’t come to pass.
“It’s nice to know you’re such a sensitive, pathetic whore that that was what almost did it for ya,” he hummed, “I’m gonna have a lot of fun taking you apart, seeing what makes you tick.”
You hadn’t been fucked in so long, fucked well in even longer, and you were on your last rope with this man tonight. You could feel his pulse inside you from the stillness, making you shiver and push back a fraction. He chuckled when the whining huff - a pouting, shameful noise - came from in front of him, pushing your hips forward harshly and slotting you against the console fully before fucking you in earnest, no care that you were awkwardly holding yourself up slash hugging the console.
Cut off whimpers, moans, and curses danced out of your mouth with punched out groans and the fast up and coming feeling of shaking once again, this time with the man very nearly bent in half over you in an attempt to shove his dick as deep as humanly possible, make you feel every part of him. He was making sure you’d never forget him, no matter how the night went.
He leaned back and looked down, tearing his eyes away from the sweet and pitiful sight ahead of him while panting deeply. He squeezed both sides of your ass, keeping you spread open for him, watching his thrusts vibrate through you, hearing slick and wet noises as he fucked into you and watched himself disappear into you. He pushed a hand closer to your hole, thumbing over where you met and feeling you flutter and jerk with sensitivity. He swiped your wetness over your ass, barely adding pressure as he thumbed the hole.
You arched slightly, pushing back without thinking, feeling more fingers swiping at where you were stretched around the man. You breathed heavily, bending your legs and wrapping them up and back into the man, urging him closer as his thrusts faltered just slightly.
He pushed two fingers covered in your come and wetness into your ass slowly, twisting gently and shifting them, his thrusts picking back up as you squirmed and gasped. He pushed your back down when you arched and scooted back, keeping you planted to the console as he worked his fingers into you and fucked into you harshly, making it hard to think.
“Y-Yes, yes- Fucking Christ,” you groaned, nails digging into the fabric of the passenger seat.
“Correction: Fucking me. Well, Fucking you. You’re the bottom, actually, you’re the bottom twice right now,” he laughed, soft groans and huffs making their way into his speech. You started to tell him to shut up, please just shut the fuck up for a few seconds, but he wiggled the fingers in your ass slowly and curled them, feeling his cock sliding in and out of you and you both moaned in tandem at the friction and pressure. He pressed down, fucking into you harder and you felt tense everywhere yet again.
“Please, please, please, I’m- I’m gonna-” you chanted softly, voice wavering with need and tension. He snapped his hips forward, not faltering or even changing speed.
“Do it, come for me,” he gruffed, keeping his fingers inside of you even as he leaned over you, pinning his hand between his hips and yours, “Serial killer dick gonna make you come? That’s filthy, you’re disgusting. Such a good boy for a bad man.”
You could barely process shame or guilt or disgust at the moment, your insides coiling up as tightly as they could before snapping, their foundation crumbling and all surface tension ripping apart at the same time. A burst bubble of euphoria.
The curse that fell from your lips was hardly coherent, coming out as a stuttered, shaky mumble.
A kiss pressed to the back of your head, plastic rubber smooshing against you as you heard the muffled noise of the smooch. You shook your head, laughing at the absurdity of it and panting, brain not catching up with your body quick enough to feel the man continuously fuck into you.
You had the vague thought to wonder if the man was clean just as he clamped down on your hips, fingers slipping from your ass and making you whine, and rutted himself closer, pumping into you as deeply as he could before you felt the throb and pulse of his cock as he came inside you, directing your hips partially as he gave weaker, uncoordinated thrusts to ride it out, breathy and nearly broken huffs and moans falling from his chest and getting the slightest bit staticky.
He stayed buried inside of you for several long moments where the two of you panted and regained consciousness, you completely still against the middle console where you lay, aware of how sore you were going to be and not looking forward to it.
That was a lie.
The man in the mask pulled out of you, letting only a few small, leaking beads of come roll out of you before pulling your boxer briefs up and over your ass, hoping to deter the exit.
“You better keep that in until you get home.”
You looked over your shoulder at him, shifting slightly and feeling your face warm. You nodded slowly, blinking at him.
“Attaboy.”
You curled in slightly on the warmth that followed his praise. You sat up and clenched up inside on purpose, making an effort to listen despite the fear you’d had earlier. You still had it, shaking and anxious about the man and if he was going to switch up or hurt you again.
He handed you your pants and let you awkwardly shift around him to put them on and get redressed. He was already decent again by the time you had your underwear on. You looked at the scraps of your shirt and scrunched your nose, huffing to yourself.
“Well, if you don’t appreciate it, I’ll keep it, then,” he said defensively, snatching the two barely-together halves of your shirt and tucking it harshly into his back pocket as you watched in confusion. You furrowed your brow line and sniffed softly, wiping your face and wincing.
“I’m sorry,” you offered needlessly, earning a shrug. He slid out of the vehicle and helped you from the back seat, letting you take your time and knowing you were doing your best to do what he asked and keep that creampie safe and sound until you shower. He grinned under the mask, cock stirring in his jeans already. He thought about shoving you against the car door and using you again, really giving you a real load to hold inside, but you were limping, bleeding in multiple ways, and looked close to passing out.
If he’d had any real intention of hurting you from the beginning, he would have gone through with it and shoved you into bending over into the window of the vehicle and took what belonged to him. He’d put too much time into you already for you to be anything but his.
You’d know that soon if you didn’t already.
You looked up at him, soon looking around on the ground when you realized that, at some point, your shoes were removed from your body. You didn’t recall them ever being actively taken off of you and looked to the area you’d been tied up in, kicked to the ground.
They were spaced apart by several feet, having come off at separate times while you were traumatized. You picked up the shoes and silently slipped them on, not appreciating the cool breeze against your bare torso.
You stood and stretched, already feeling soreness and angry bruises rising to the surface. There was a patch on your stomach near your ribs spotted with red and purple, the vague shape of the top of his boot left behind in the wake of his rage. You could feel eyes on you so you met them, looking up to see him staring at you. You couldn’t be sure of where his eyes were, but you felt wanted. Coveted.
Your stomach turned and you hated yourself for it.
“I’m going home,” you reminded him, glancing at your car. He nodded and stepped away from the driver’s door.
“Be my guest.”
“Do you mean it? I earned my freedom?” You asked, relief not yet hitting you.
“You did a little more than work to earn your freedom, honey. Let’s not,” he teased, poking you in the side as if you were longtime friends, amenable and warm about what was causing you so much inner conflict, “But you’re free to go home.”
He didn’t tell you that he never planned to kill you, to begin with. Maybe seriously hurt you, feel you writhe in pain beneath him. Not kill you.
“Thank you,” you muttered, slipping past him and opening the back hatch of the car, and grabbing the keys, eyes welling up. Your hands shook and you had to pass him again to get to the driver’s seat, attempting to shoulder past. He grabbed your elbow, turning you and pressing you to the car against your back.
You opened your mouth to argue, eyes being covered with a large, bare hand before you could continue, lips pressing to yours with less ferocity than you would have expected. You found yourself melting into it slightly, stopping yourself from raising a hand to place on his neck. You felt a hand push up your stomach and cup the bruising on your side and ribs, pressing his thumb in gently as he traced the bones there, kissing around your mouth tenderly. You hissed in pain when his thumb pushed into one spot, but you surprisingly didn’t squirm away.
“Ice your ribs, I fractured one. Leave the bruise alone, though. Wanna see how it turns out,” he ordered softly, patting your side gently and grinning, pulling away from you and fixing his mask before uncovering your eyes. You blinked and cleared your throat, more nervous now after the kiss than you were when he’d- when you’d finished sleeping with him. You shifted from foot to foot and nodded in delayed agreement that you’d do as he asked, considering massaging the bruise out as much as possible in the shower regardless of what he said.
He opened the car door for you, letting you crawl in and start the car.
“Now, you get home safe, hm? Want me to check your car for intruders before you head out? You have to be careful of weirdos, baby boy, they’re everywhere, nowadays,” he warned sweetly, leaning into the window like a caring friend having a calm conversation with you. You stared at him, eyes welling up in shame and you shifted in your seat, feeling the squish of come dripping out of you in your underwear. He chuckled at the sight, knowing exactly what caused the look that crossed your face.
“See you soon, angel,” he cooed and waved goodbye with wiggling fingers as you put the vehicle in gear and started pulling away slowly, giving him a few seconds to back away before you sped off.
You couldn’t even properly pretend that you regretted any of it, shameful that it took place and knowing you’d do it again. That you weren’t going to call the cops, nor were you going to sleep with the curtains closed.
After your shower, hot and suffocating, you locked and double-checked every window and door in the house save for the window in the downstairs bathroom, just big enough for someone to get in if it was left forgotten.