Page 47 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
Maybe it’s messed up to have fantasies such as these, but I can’t help myself, not when he’s gently twisting back my arms while he grinds against me.
“I d-do! You’re scaring me. You kill people,” I all but purr, grinding right back.
“Then say my name, and I’ll stop. You know I’m not just a dangerous killer about to fuck you. I have a name. Say it if you want me to stop. Say it if you don’t want your ass fucked raw.”
Sparks erupt in my head. It’s happening. He’s makingthe move. I’ve been on edge all these days, asking myself if and when we’d go in that direction. Every time I’ve learned the landscape of his body, I’ve wondered what it will be like to have him deep inside me, and now it’s about to happen. He’s planning to fuck my ass, and this is my moment to consent or not.
There is no way in hell I would deny him now. Not really. Not when I’ve been daydreaming about it as if it were an unattainable fantasy. But he’s here with me, heknows what he’s doing, and I trust him not to hurt me. Of course I want it.
“No, you’re a murderer! I don’t know your name,” I whimper, shivering when he squeezes my hips.
“Suit yourself,” he whispers into my ear and slides his hands, still in those red leather gloves that remind me of his dark side, to my pants. He opens them with ease. “I’m gonna have fun with you,” Nico says and pushes the fabric down my thighs.
A cold gust of wind from the open window tickles my skin, making me clench my ass, and I throw myself to the side, only to be pulled right back by steel-firm arms. I open my mouth to scold him, tell him it’s not a gentlemanly way to behave, but a frantic yelp leaves my throat instead when he swats my ass.
“That mouth of yours isn’t meant for speaking, is it?” he asks and drags my clothes farther down, until they pool around my ankles, leaving me exposed. I’m scalding on the inside.
“You know what all of this is for.” Nico slides his hand up my belly and I’m left to whimper at his commanding presence. “That’s why you already took your top off before I even came in.” He steps on the pants and underwear bundled at my ankles. There’s something violent about his dirty boot on my clothes, between my legs, and I can’t get enough of the threat it represents. “Step out,” he orders, and I do what he wants, relishing in the fear that makes my cock ever harder. I can barely stand still with him talking to me like this. It’s as if the pleasant, enthusiastic Nico has disappeared, leaving a monster inside his body.
A part of me loves it.
“Let me go,” I plead.
“You’re exactly where you want to be,” he says, and my eyes go wide, my cheeks turning hot as the pits ofhell, because he slides his fingers between my buttocks without warning.
He’s touched me there before, just teasing, rubbing his cockhead over my sensitive hole, or gliding slippery fingertips over it, but this touch has none of that tenderness. He’s pulling one of my hands back, pressing me to the wall while two gloved fingers probe at my hole roughly enough to make me rise to my tiptoes.
“No, stop,” I rasp, but my hips are already rolling for him, already trying to get his digits inside. A shiver overcomes me when he rubs his hot, masked face over my nape, and I spread my legs farther. A new sensation awakens inside me, a sensitivity deep within, and while I’m not sure what it is, I know there’s just one way to soothe it.
“I’m done playing,” he says and picks me up.
I yelp, breath caught in my throat. All he does to lift me is wrap his powerful arms around my waist. I’m no tiny thing, yet in his grip I’m like a baby bird about to be crushed, a feeling amplified by him remaining fully dressed while I’m only wearing socks.
He carries me to the kitchen area. “Hands on the table. Bend over,” Nico commands, melting whatever resolve I still had to play the role of a scared boy who doesn’t want to get railed.
“I—please, don’t hurt me,” I moan, though even the act of making such requests is arousing to me as I rest my palms on the tabletop. The air tickling my flesh as he moves behind me is almost too much, so I focus on the patterns of the wood under me, wondering what it’ll be like to have him inside. I’ve been imagining myself in this position for so long, but what if I don’t like it? Will calling him by his name work as a safe word? Would he respect it?
He takes his sweet time, closing the window, taking off his jacket.
“Be a good boy, serve my dick well, and you might be alive tomorrow.” When he leans over me, pressing his crotch to my bare ass, I feel he’s kept his T-shirt and pants on. “Or I’ll just keep you here, chained to my bed so I can come and use this hole any time I feel horny.” He slides his hand back between my ass cheeks, andfuck, he’s kept the gloves on, and they feel so amazingly smooth and thick, and I—
“Oh God, don’t. Don’t do this to me.” I’m lying through my teeth, but my body doesn’t, and I find myself pushing back so fast the tip of his finger enters my hole. I’m seeing colors at the backs of my lids and reach back, attempting to push him away.
“Hands on the table!” he roars and slaps my ass so hard I’m sure there will be a handprint on my skin as red as his gloves.
I know him. He’s Nico. He made paper chains with me, and the paint we decorated them with is still on the plastic sheet folded in the corner of the table. But my body’s reaction to him raising his voice is so visceral I instantly put my palms back on the smooth surface.
I’m leaning down like he told me to, and he puts a tube of lube on the table in range for me to see, as if he wanted to inflict yet more mental and emotional torment.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, then pushes them apart with his boot without waiting for my reaction. I’m trembling, but my dick is dripping pre-cum to the floor. “What a beautiful ass,” he sighs and slips a finger to my hole, this time slick with lube.
The glove makes it thicker as he glides it from my taint to my anus, and back again. Its texture is making me crazy. Smooth and solid, yet still pliable, due to itnot being perfectly aligned with his fingers, it adds yet another layer of sensation to my already sensitive flesh.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, lowering my face to the table and inhaling its oily scent.
“Enjoying my captive. Enjoying being your first.” And just when he says that, he slides his finger in all the way to the knuckle, spreading my tender flesh as he holds his knee between my legs to stop them from pressing back together. Not that it would help me.
A low moan rises from deep in my chest, and I grab the sides of the table as one of my feet lifts from the floor. Such a strange sensation, so unfamiliar, yet knowing he’s the one touching me, and what he intends to do next, has me writhing already. It’s not even painful, and I tighten my muscles around his digit before pulling my hips forward, as if I was leading him closer.
