Work Text:
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^
It's fucking showtime .
The black parade—darkness and rusted blood. The drumming of the void is a battle cry like some primordial ephedrine drip on his cranial soup.
There's venom and copper on his teeth; those rich adrenaline-hungry whispers in his ears all hot-wired.
Mama's starved.
Whoever played Her game last time failed to satiate that endless lust, so Frank gets to spoon-feed The Entity; an honor—the highest. Being the harbinger feels better than dope and murder, and a bitch's lips wrapped around his cock… slurping and salivating from his dick slit to his ball sack.
He’s already hard…
With each crunch through the playground, The Entity fans flaming breath down his back—umbilical cord constantly on his neck—forever feeding him praise for a job well done… or making him sweat with every missed opportunity. So far, his blade's still dry, and he's licking the sweat off his lips… desperate to penetrate some foolish little thing.
‘Let in the light, cocksucker!’
Frank's gut twists in pain at the four-minute mark. Another generator goes off, resonating through the neighborhood. Her cord undulates unhappily beneath Frank's hood, perspiration sticking to his clothes. No one's oozing their 'just desserts' yet, and Mama's only so patient. A deep pang of shame makes him erratic, clumsy and missing sure marks until he spots a flash of sunshine flap up the stairwell in one of Haddonfield's new hovels.
Floral purée and froth…
He can smell her already; custard cream and flowers dipped in panic-sweat. It's enough to make him bust a nut—enough to cut through some of The Entity's whispers, reminding him that his mark isn't the usual wiggly meat but the rarest wiggly meat on the market.
"C'mere, baby…" Frank sing-songs under adrenal fumes and panting breaths.
Somewhere in the darkness of the living room, a gasp rings out. Frank's marinated his dick inside Julie to memories of that sound—fucked out of someone else… someone that's just around the corner…
Frank's cut of cherry pie is in yellow this time. No longer covered from head to toe in jeans and a baggy sparrow sweater like last time. Now, it's short, flowy… a girly sundress that flutters around her thighs when she spots him and runs, making his blood rush hard, hard n' harder .
So fuckin' hard.
His juicy muffin takes a wrong turn, unfamiliar with the new claustrophobic floor plan and latched windows. The whole neighborhood's been changed, reworked, and shifted to Mama's desire, and his soft marshmallow's cornered, banging on a night-misted pane of glass as he slides into the guest bedroom; rock-solid.
"Fucking damnit, Frank!" It's a rushed out exhale, all hot and mean and fuckable . It's dark in here, all shadows and dark blues, but she's a sunflower at night, gasping against the windowpane.
Frank leers behind the mask, raising his chin to look at her petite frame as she glances at the window, him, and the window again before plowing her bare knuckles into the glass. A loud, reverberating thunk and yelp of pain's all that gets her. It's cute, adorable, and again… very fuckable .
"… c'mon… w-we've got a deal. Wha-why're you just standing there? G-g-go away…" She's gripping her broken hand in a shaky palm, raising it away from her stomach with tears washing mascara lines down her cherub cheeks. Vulva-red lips quiver, just begging him to shove his dick between 'em. Not now, though…
… ‘cause she's not wrong. Now's not the time to pussy foot around, well… maybe a little.
They've got a deal, yeah , which stipulates she lives before Frank can fuck. But it's never been said he couldn't have a lil' fun before letting her loose.
Frank chuckles as thick as nicotine sludge, kicks his heel out, and raises the knife. Her face parts in a silent scream for help before he strikes down to the sudden blast of metal-screech-doom and drum-snares in the air. He's a killer, after all, no matter how many times she's kissed his cock.
The umbilical twitches in his head, pleased when his knife finally slides into meat.
'More. More—more—more!'
Frank's alive when his sweetheart screams and drops to her knees, blood spurting out the stab wound in her shoulder. He's on the cusp of cumming and cumming forever when her busted hand pounds at his thigh as her other fists over that blood-gushing slit.
Two gens are alight, and she's a lost fucking lamb, and he's the shepherd—starved and bloodthirsty. For a second, he wants to kill her…
Frank fists her loose hair at the nape, drags her back to her feet, and throws her face-first into the window. Spider lines crack in the glass as her fingers claw at the latch, all slippery and red from trying to staunch that fresh gash. He's panting hard, umbilical cord flapping like a dog’s tail, in his head, around his wrist, but he walks forward and presses her hips to the frame with his erection.
"Hurry up, fruit loop. " Frank bites against the mask, snorting up the heady mix of sweated perfume—creamed flowers—and rocks his hips into her ass. "Ya feel that…"
She whimpers, "Jesus F-Frank…" there's pain, fear… and something else there just for ol' Frank.
He crushes his dick against her ass harder. "Better get the window open soon, or I'm gonna lift this little dress… gonna cut your fucking panties off and… maybe break this window… so I can fuck you for all your stupid fucking friends to see."
Her blood smears over the grimy glass as she fumbles, but the window lock clicks open. A rotten snarl moves through Frank's chest like a parasitic leech, demanding more blood before she can get too far.
His cutie pie moans.
'Wanna die inside that sound…'
Frank grins, eyes wide bulbs behind the eyelets, and hooks his blade in her back, dragging it through layers of flesh. Her howl is sweet; her ass hot on his trapped cock.
Yellow linen parts diagonally, exposing jagged dermal layers that gush and weep crimson. Nothing but a fair few things have ever made Frank so hot as this…
His cute thing lets out an agonized whimper as Frank grinds his dick between her cheeks. Broken hand resting uselessly against the window frame, the other too slick to get a good grip. No one can say Frank wasn't a merciful son of a bitch… cause he slaps her hand away, plasters his chest to her hot-soaked back, and lifts the window for her. A stale breeze whips her hair around her neck, sending more of that aroma up his throat inside his mask.
Smells like heaven.
"F-fucking assshole," a pained rasp, "…knew you— hah —wanted this pussy too bad to end it." She mistakes his help for more than what it is and turns around to pin him with those tear-stained cheeks, licking thin snot and sweat from her upper lip.
"Had me—" she starts, clipped by a broken inhale of awful pain that makes his dick throb, "—all worried for… a bit…"
His fingers clench around the knife handle, curling hard where old scabs open beneath stained knuckle wrappings.
'Spill, fill or kill?!'
Frank simmers low, whispering, "Always time to change my mind, you dumb slut ."
Silence comes on hard where rapping heavy metal once drummed. That hot breath fanning his neck goes cold, but his cock twitches again as his marshmallow frowns.
Oh, the choices ... to let her go or shove gummy rebar through her chest… maybe impale her with something else even better?!
Frank makes a choppy, shredded grumble, considering his options. He imagines throwing her out the window to crunch down in the grass… also pictures her slipping over the edge with the broken hand and snapping an ankle. The sound of both options makes him hesitate, so he throws her back into the upstairs hallway, snapping the girl into a wobbly run.
'You fathomless idiot…'
Displeasure—not his own—settles in his bones. The Entity—Mama—is not fucking happy. But, Frank shakes it off and vaults the now open window to drop down and find someone else to gut to death. Nothing's over yet, and he's thinking a six-pack and some green would go nice with her perfectly soaked pussy.
The three other brats, running around like headless chickens, go down easy once they all take a few lashings. Even the big bastard with the taped knuckles bounces off a cop car screaming—red and blues making his blood pool black like licorice syrup. Before that, the skinny cunt with those dead eyes hit the concrete with her face, an easy stab, and slice to end her suffering. And runway model … heh… she didn't stand a chance in those fucking heels…
"Final round’s been called, fisty cuffs … time to say goodbye."
A hot sliver of pleasure wiggles down Frank's guts as he drops to his knees, straddling muscle boy until he can feel the fear bubbling in his stomach against his groin.
Frank's fingers throb around the knife, urging him to stab and drag and stab and cut and crunch through that sternum, pulling through meat, vessels, and offal until it's all spilled out, steaming and hot; body beneath his ass twitching.
The last one—the third one done and down, and the rush is like uncut dope.
Sweet saccharine bliss.
Frank inhales hard behind the mask, wincing at the stale blood on his own breath, but grins as Her satisfaction comes crashing down. A thrust of the hips slides his ass over the dead muscle boy's lap. Frank cracks his back with an indulgent grunt and basks in the moment. It's better than sex, mostly—better than getting his dick sucked, mostly... better than the purest fuckin' white, mostly…
That —that's how good The Entity's pleasure is…
… but there's still one rascal left that feels the best of all. Frank's cute little dumpling's close, hiding in bare shrubbery with a festering wound, whimpering softly but audible. Takes no more than a snort, stretch, and half a dozen steps to rip her from cover and lay her out by some thorny rose bushes.
She goes down so quickly, especially when she struggles, mewling like a feral kitten to the point his blood boils. In the haze—in the umbilical juice between his lobes and the Entity's own—Frank notices the yellow, all stained with complex reds. His flower girl —his cute meat …
" Heh , almost forgot about you…" He leers, breathless, fighting her weak arms, and hauls her up by the waist. Frank rolls her over and slams her on her back where she screams soundless from the pain between her shoulder blades.
He sneers, licking his bottom teeth and the salty innards of the mask, pushing her down harder, letting her feel the full brunt of that ugly, beautiful gash he gave her earlier. It's a dichotomy from the man that didn't want to see her slip over a window ledge, but he's a complex creature, and this shit gets him so fucking hard…
"Lemme hear your screams—feels so fucking good, ya know?!"
She sobs instead, ruining his high. Just means he'll have to find a way to claw them out of her later…
They have that filthy deal—that succulent arrangement, but Frank's in the thick of it right now, and if she's not careful, he'll forget she's even a face… just some fucking meat that needs dressing up.
Her broken hand beats at his thigh. The good one trying to shove him off by the stomach, meeting stiff muscles beneath his jacket and hoodie. The pounding makes his gut churn excitedly, sending blood into his groin, where his dick surges against an unforgiving zipper.
Frank's head is not his own.
His body is a half puppet, less of a conscious thing that moves to his demand and more something urged forward by those fucking whispers.
He inhales all the juicy smells: her ancient perfume, her sweat, her blood, the wet grass beneath them, the fear, and his own parched thirst. It’d be easy to rip her down the middle and fist her hot ropes… maybe throw them in the yard and fuck her anyway… but she's so much better amiable, and he's been thinking about their next trade even when it's Julie sucking him off.
"… don't forget about our-"
Frank covers her mouth with a hard palm, pressing her down into the grass until she's whimpering damp between his fingers. He shoves her dress up, over her damp panties… over her stomach to fold against her ribs.
'Yeah. Look at that…'
That smooth, silky belly… all soft and ripe and unmarked but for a growing sheen of sweat.
Knife-hand still full of her damp wheezes, he runs trimmed nails down her belly, snapping the elastic hem of polka dot blue. She mewls, whimpers, and sheds a few tears as he changes hands, twirling the blade into soft fat and carving shallow lines into her belly. She'll know what it means, even when she's back at that stupid campfire all drugged out from escaping his grasp.
Her blood flows with each swipe of his painter's brush, and every stroke is another swear under his knuckles.
Blood drips over her sides, feeding the dirt.
By the time he's done, she's all hot and writhing beneath him.
His cock's never felt so fucking hard. It will be good—well worth pushing away the pleasure of the kill—of the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.
"You got no idea how much effort it takes not to fuck you right now… just wanna sink inside that slutty pussy and gum it up with cum…"
His apple pie just moans.
Frank swipes away the puddle of blood in the hollow of her twitching tummy to check his work. The sight forces up a hard laugh; it's a ragged, clogged sound, dampened by the mask and his addled desires. But he sheaths his knife with a flick and stab, and rolls her over with a grunt, taking a few selfish moments to grind down into the doughy fat of her ass… just relishing her muffled cries, the throbbing pressure rubbing his cock into a few tears of its own.
She doesn't even glance back at him when he eventually throws her at the hatch; she just slips into the darkness like a corpse, disappearing as he snickers, already picturing the foul, obscene things he's going to do to her…
… disgusting.
This time he's gonna take care in loving her cause he can, and that's the deal—the price she pays for pretending she's good at this endless game of theirs. Frank imagines it must be brutal amongst survivors if she's willing to humiliate herself for him just for bragging rights, but then he thinks… Maybe she just likes him that much.
'No, don't think about it. '
Frank tells himself he doesn't really fucking care either way, just that he needs to keep Julie off his dick long enough to slip free of the Lodge and prepare for a night to fucking remember.
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^
There's a daze of acidic smog in your brain from the transition of long dark to the fireside club ; it leaves a nasty film in your throat like cherry-flavored cough medicine. On the first blink into the club , the campfire takes you by surprise. It's the hatch—anytime you fall through, it spits you back here without the long walk back.
As you stand there, a pile of broken bones, wounds from the past trial knit together, and a tremendous rush of euphoria tucks in around your limbs. That gash across your back, a puckered mass, slowly scabs and scars to the tune of your steady heartbeat. The marks will be gone by the subsequent trial, but for now, it's a testament to the torture, and just like everyone else—win or lose—you'll carry the proof like prison tattoos.
Alone—for now, but not for long—your fingers trace over your stomach, stroking the raw lines over blood-crunsted linen.
Frank…
That thunderous asshole, you think, stomach tightening.
He can slice and dice to his shrunken heart's delight, but the sudden thought of him only brings up a rashy itch across your navel… and something else between your legs. Those things he carved into your skin—a note or whatever the fuck it was—make your insides clench around empty weight. It's not the first time he's left messages, but never in your skin. You won't dare look at it right now, not as David lumbers from the fog to plunk down on a termite-eaten log beside you.
"Bloody bullshit, that is, innit?" He grouses, fingering the closed seam down his chest where Frank spilled him open.
"Hmm?" You question, acting like you didn't see the whole thing from the rose bushes.
"Mori's," he rephrases, "Never get used to 'em, not even a bit."
"I know," you frown, staring into the flames where Frank's mask mocks you, "they feel different than the hooks… more real."
You turn to give David's tense shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, something to prove you're not part of why he got emptied out like that, but then your mouth runs a mile, and there's no stopping the drivel. "But—hey. Once you passed, I skipped down the main lane and found the hatch… d-didn't think I'd be so lucky, what with how She changed it all on us an’ everything."
He doesn't shake you off to David's credit, just groans, "Always were lucky against that cunt..."
It's said with a heaping dose of envy, but David's throat to groin cut keeps him sounding less vitriolic than usual, encouraging little response.
It's better this way .
You're not ready to placate him or anyone, not with Frank's hidden message scratched—carved—into your belly, concealed behind a threadbare sundress with one broken strap. These clothes, too, like their bodies, will be factory new by the next venture, but until then, they'll stay torn and shredded.
Like molasses and depression, that distant strum of the campfire club lullaby settles within their bones.
You swallow down creeping nerves and bite your tongue as Nea and Yun-Jin settle down around the fire, joined by a few stragglers that show similar red-rimmed expressions of terror unique to those about to be drawn into the maw.
It's a slow transition sometimes.
The Entity likes to make them suffer before throwing them into the abyss. Panic attacks shiver their limbs. Sweat shines on their faces and they all stare, stricken with panic, into the flames.
You don't say a word; just watch as the four slowly disappear, fading from this little pocket of reality they all call home. Maybe they'll have a better time than you did, well, than David and the other two did…
Your price to pay for the pleasure of survival—keeping a slice of your soul intact—is a date with Frank… and even though clocks don't work and time feels irrelevant, you should've already been moving. There's no sense in making him wait any longer.
Better to rip the bandaid off sooner rather than later, so to speak.
"Umm… if none of you mind, I'm going to lay down," you sigh in exaggerated exhaustion, "Wanna sleep forever… maybe."
No one spares you any thought or mind. You're just another survivor—just another one of them , and you escaped the trial while they all perished, so getting more than a harrowing glance is more than expected.
There is always a price, though; nothing is ever free.
You walk through endlessly towering tree trunks in silence, palm-stroking their unnaturally smooth bark in passing. The fog thickens gradually until the only light is from the swirling sky. All those vortexes and teeth—fangs undulating from roiling meat—everything half-hidden by the mist; barely seen.
The Entity watches with eyes like starlight above, lending a source to finally read the message scarred over your belly.
The sundress tickles when you peel it off his ruddy knife marks.
'MUSIC'
It's challenging to read upside down, but Frank's work with the blade is sharp and precise, and eventually, the letters give you an idea of what he means.
‘Follow the music, huh?’
You lower the tattered yellow dress, knowing it won't see the subsequent trial, and force yourself forward. Eventually, you'll find yourself lost as always, and ultimately, you'll see something or feel a pull in one direction or another.
You're holding your breath, ignoring your heart's throb-gush and thud, and listening for the music instead.
Any time now , you think months later…
From the abyssal mist, grinding metal and industrial snares throb. It only took several years/seconds of traversing the in-between and several circles forward and backward before landing you on the right path. Every step closer is like the infusion of poison flushing into your veins, yet you continue onward.
As the music grows, your mind wanders down dark memories.
Frank's going to tear you apart—degrade you, fuck you, destroy your sense of self almost as well as The Entity can… but there's a perverse enjoyment in it that you'll never admit. Something in the way his touch lingers, here and there, makes up for the bruises and brutality. Usually, you'd call yourself a masochist or a glutton for punishment, but the little things he says between the name-calling keep you striking the same deal repeatedly.
It's almost intimate the way he ruins you. And despite the bad taste it leaves in your mouth, knowing he's fucking Julie on the side, something about it feels… special…
This is how you know The Entity has left its mark—that you find Frank, of all things, oddly charming.
In the close distance, heavy metal rises, forming a hot thump in your chest. Your gait goes unsteady, wobbling like your courage.
As you step on solid ground, you find yourself back in the unfamiliar streets of Haddonfield.
Insect-infested lamplights chart a path down the broken asphalt.
You wade through broken-down cars and empty police cruisers waving red-blue across your face. Old habits almost find you behind the wheel, hotwiring it to a rumble—to just drive off and see where it gets you, but these are all illusions like everything else, and you'll never leave this fucking place. Besides… the scratchy, strobe metal ferries you forward anyway.
Grinding chords eventually lead you to the last house on the right, where pale light flickers over the sunken front porch. It's the least assuming house on the lane, a one-story square with a basement you used to know well…
Reeking blood still lingers from the trial before, but there's more than that now: organic burning fire, hot flesh, and weed. Coupled with the pounding metal, it's a heady combination. And the musk is familiar, having smelt it on Frank before… this almost adolescent bouquet despite Frank being well and fully grown like he's perpetually stuck in the nineties scene with his joints, cheap beer, and derogatory pet names.
You take a step off the porch to an open one-car garage. The walls are covered in rusted power tools and empty gas canisters. In here, the music feels like a sentient thing, growing louder the longer you linger, tumbling up from the stairs leading down into a den of despair.
Your eyes catch wet boot prints on the welcome mat and someone else's, but that curious thought vanishes like a snuffed match as a new track clicks over: treble-terror over barbed wire solo-shreds. It jackknifes in your chest, bringing up fresh fear like old vomit.
You're so very, wildly fucked…
With a swallow, you begin your descent, the smell of the burning joint growing thicker as you take two steps at a time. Music rises. Your heart pounds harder, but the first quiver of anticipation starts to kick in, leaving your underwear soaked and your nipples pebbled beneath thin yellow-red.
"Frank?" It's a mere whisper, hidden under the grinding metal scratch.
You touch down in the basement, lingering a moment as pot smoke makes you lightheaded, struggling with rabbit breaths that starve the blood circulating your skull.
Maybe you'll pass out? Then he can do what he wants while you're none the wiser… though you know Frank'll wait because it's happened before and he’s many horrendous things, but he's not a rapist… even though these meet and greets toe a hard-line.
With a deep breath that makes your abdominal wall twitch, you turn a corner to find Frank in his element, entirely at home and sauced, clearly ready to go judging by the bulge between his open thighs.
"Bout time you showed up, slut . Been drinking down here alone for a thousand years… almost started without you."
You nearly apologize, but that's unnecessary to satisfy your end of the deal, so you throw him a half-lidded glare and step further into the basement.
He's lounging back on a paisley-patterned sofa, arms spread over the backrest with a beer in one hand and a smoldering blunt in the other. His head leans back, exposing the corded lines of his tattooed throat where it bulges against the bare light.
"You look like shit…" he slurs, tone like a love confession.
Suddenly, you can smell the honey-rot of the paper and how different it smelled from after-party joints when you were just a teenager. It's nothing like that now. The setting can't be any further from those hair-brained 'never die' times, although the never-dying seems to have remained… and they're technically in a shitty, basement lounge which isn't all that different from a teen party venue.
"Cold shoulder," Frank sighs, smoke flooding down his neck, "Wanna play pretend like you're some hard-ass? No 'hey, baby' for Frank?"
He taps ash off the blunt and knuckles up the bottom of his mask to take a hard hit, cherry burning bright. There's nothing but the cascading light from a dirty, bare bulb hanging from a low chain between them… that and the white fuzz from a slightly crunched TV set fitted with bent rabbit ears. It's still dark, but that's expected because even the afternoon sun is dark here… and Frank's never had his way with you in proper lighting. Starting now would feel strange.
"Hey, baby ." It comes out bratty, filled with vitriol over the thundering metal, but he likes that; whether it's a foolish thing to please him so soon or not is another thing altogether, though.
White, cloying smoke curls out the bottom of his mask again, reminding you of a caged bull… or something wholly alien.
"That's more like it, sweet cheeks, " he exhales loudly, sounding annoyed but content. "Better watch that fucking tone… 'cause it's my show now."
Frank gestures with the beer bottle to a six-pack on the floor a foot away from the sofa.
"Want one?"
Killers get what they want from The Entity, whether that's shiny new weapons to punish the rabble with or some alcohol and a night off to fuck, it seems to make no difference. Plus, Frank killed three of them and only let you slip away unseen, so he's enjoying Her grace as any shithead like him would.
Like always, you shake your head. "I'm fine, thank you. "
You look him over as he swirls the half-empty beer bottle, taking you all in through the chiseled eyelets. That black-line smile and oval eyes are a great buffer to whatever low-lidded look of perversion he actually wears.
His knife isn't far away, latched to a buckle around his thigh, staring at you in a warning. There's never been a chance to try anything, and, admittedly, by the time you could fight back, he's done more damage with his cock than any blade could. Metaphorically speaking…
There's a reason you're here after all—why you've agreed to this arrangement—and it's not just for bragging rights or soul maintenance.
Frank is, unfortunately, addictive .
He must see the glimmer of lust fall across your face because he snickers; dark and nasty.
Another hit off the blunt, and it's offered your way like some vaccination to the disease he's about to inflict upon you. You shake your head and step beside the TV, which sits on a humming deep freezer dripping with mysterious liquid…
It's not that you don't want it—you'd relish getting stoned out of your mind—but the Entity didn't make it for you, so it's never worked. If Frank remembers that or not, it doesn't matter, 'cause you're just some slut in his eyes anyway, and whether you get high off his stash doesn't bother him as long as you're wet and receptive around his dick.
After another long hit, the big evil, leading man of the Legion, finishes the blunt and rubs the cherry out on the armrest, leaving charcoal stains and the odor of burnt cotton in the air.
He polishes off the beer, exposing a lush bottom lip, hard chin, stubble, and a corded neck of snarling color.
You swallow and take a step closer before he gets impatient and snatches you inside his bubble. This has happened enough now that you're better at predicting his needs than your own…
Frank settles back in the cushions with a final swallow and licks his lower lip with a red, pierced tongue before the mask falls back in place. You color immediately, never having seen his tongue before… never having felt it except when it clicks the air to tell you you've been a bad girl…
Holy fuck…
Frank tosses the bottle against the wall, where it shatters in a wet crunch that makes you jump, proof of how fried your nerves are—how utterly on edge he makes you—how much you want to feel that fucking tongue all over.
On the ass end of a leering wheeze that sends another leak of arousal into wet underwear, Frank snarls, "Now… take your clothes off."
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^
All those beautiful bruises from the trial are gone, nothing but pink scars—shiny against the rotten bulb above—but it's still proof he was there, all over her, with the umbilical slapping down his neck and spine. Fuck , he wanted to tear her pussy open even then, all ravenous-like and bloody. Now, Frank eases back into the granny sofa, ass shoved down near the edge of the cushions so he can tease the tight zipper over his boner as she undresses.
His cute little pumpkin's never given him a striptease before, never made it unapologetic and sensual, but that's overrated, and fake dedication isn't why he's here—not why he wants her soaked into his skin like some fucking inky mass of bubbling heat.
He's got it bad, though… and she doesn't even remember him…
"Hurry up…" Frank breathes, easing up the hem of his jacket, exposing the front button on his pants, "I wanna see how fucking wet that pussy is for me. Bet your panties are soaked…"
Her fingers hesitate in bloody sunshine linen, and a visceral tremor runs through him.
"… c'mon… hurry up…" he half-whines, trying to snarl instead.
She's trembling now, and what for? Frank doesn't know, and he shouldn't care… but he does.
A knot forms in his chest, several inches above the one in his gut, too close to where he's hot n' hard n' greedy.
"Calm the fuck down," he scratches over a track change into something primordial and heavy, "… you know the drill by now. Ain't gonna hurt you too bad. Promise."
Gradually, her fingers resume, and Frank sinks deeper into the sofa.
There's no going back from her… not now…
Blood-crusted yellow slides off her to the floor in half a second, leaving nothing but mismatched underwear of black and polka-dot blue… better than the priciest lingerie. It's tattered and faded, coming off like tissue paper and tossed in her crumpled pile of sunshine.
Too pretty.
"Dripping to the knees," Frank notes, popping the button on his pants, flicking the zipper pull with a thumb as his cock throbs under the heat of his palm. "Now, get over here and try not to slip in that shit."
She's slow and takes her time; maybe it's to piss him off and poke the tiger, but Frank knows it's primarily because of fear. A sour worm wiggles at the back of his neck where the umbilical usually snaps, making him feel shitty sporting the chubby and headband high around his temples while she shuffles towards him all dower and shit…
'Ignore it, asshole.'
As soon as she gets in close, Frank snaps forward and yanks her in between his knees. The bare bulb catches the slick running down her inner thighs, sending a pulse through his trapped dick. She's juicy and puffy… all oiled up for it without him needing to lift a fucking finger; proof her body's into him at least.
"Only filthy fucking slut's get this wet for me. Not even Julie froths up like you do…" he struggles not to throw away the mask and eat her out right now, "… bet you taste like saltwater taffy."
The mention of Julie makes her stiffen. Shit . His cupcake never takes it well—like she doesn't relish being part of something shady like this. It could be she's jealous; either one makes him feel like garbage set on fire by fine whiskey, an ironic emotion considering how hard he plans on fucking her in a little bit; for now, Frank's going to ignore the wiggle of the worm and enjoy his cut of the pie.
"Don't worry, she's probably wrist-deep in Susie right now…"
She makes a face, and Frank forces a chuckle, leaning back while pulling her a few inches closer, only stopping when her shins hit the sofa edge.
Frank glances back to the shadows by the laundry room doorway and back at his ripe girl's cunt. The lights are off so no one can see, not even Frank, and he's made certain no one could see the third wheel, especially not his cute thing. It takes too much to soothe her nerves with just him in and around her; if she knew right now that Frank had brought Joey… could be the end of their little arrangement.
Frank releases her hips—nails dragging soft lines around the curves—and nods up at her.
"Touch yourself for me," he breathes against the mask, low enough she has to lean further in to hear over the din of heavy metal. Her face flushes in understanding, cupping her stomach like he's gonna rip her guts out.
"Go on," he urges, unzipping his pants and pulling free the blood-infused cock she's so damn afraid of. The little gasp she lets loose is all the confirmation he needs.
Yeah , it's big and thick, and everyone he's ever introduced it to eventually loved it, but the way her eyes widen each time—like waking up into a nightmare—makes him disgustingly giddy.
"Don't think about it," he tells her, giving his fat cock a long stroke and creaking squeeze, "Rub that swollen little clit… make it throb like this dick."
Frank grips his cock again and wags it like a tail until she reaches down her carved belly to slip a single finger through her folds. A squish of moisture cuts through the boombox shreds, driving his tongue against his teeth, saliva making him swallow thickly.
"You want me to get myself off?" She asks, breathy and shaken but trying so hard to sound bored.
'Fucking cock tease—fucking sweetheart—fucking beautiful girl…'
The second her wet finger presses to her clit, she buckles at the knees and palms ' MUSIC ' scars with twitchy fingers.
An innocent blush fills her cheeks, making her eyes all doe-like even while she rubs herself into a string of expletives. Frank likes this about her… no matter how many times he's fucked her holes or gagged her with cum, she looks like his girl next door. Same girl he'd steal panties off the clothesline from and peep through her window across the street. She's Frank's wet dream, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think Mama plucked her sorry ass up just for him—just so he could live out some teenage fantasy that never was.
"Feels good, yeah?" He blurts, feeling nostalgia for being down in a setting like this, so similar to the hovel he grew up in, "Tell me how good it feels."
"It's… it feels…" a huff, "… you know it feels good."
His smutty dandelion gives her clit feather strokes and light touches, but it's getting red and thick beneath her finger, proof it's good. Sheening sweat, shining under the bulb's proof too. All of it sets the scene, making Frank's cock throb and weep.
He hisses behind the mask, licks his lips, and runs a thumb through thin precum to lube up his cock some more, but it's too tacky and dry…
Without a word, he reaches up and crams two fingers through her folds, maneuvering deep inside until he hits that tough knot at the back. She gasps, slumping forward, a fist in his shoulder as he finger fucks her rough and sloppy. As soon as she starts leaning into it, he yanks his fingers free and wraps them around his cock, oiling up those veiny inches with a mocking laugh.
His cute little fruit loop whimpers, still stroking her swollen clit, her tits inches from his masked face.
Body heat fans around him.
Creamy sweet-smelling roses fill his innards, sending a throb down the center of his dick.
Frank hisses, hips raised to pull his sack free for a soft fondle and squeeze as he jerks off and watches her start to lose herself.
"... fuck," she puffs out.
Frank wants to mutter the same—wants to relax and drop the pretense just a bit. Whatever it is that keeps her coming back, though, he doesn't wanna fuck it up. He can be an asshole if she secretly likes the bad boy routine—the insulting fucks and sweet slurs.
But maybe…
Frank licks the inside of the mask, dragging a spit-slick ball bearing up the rough interior, and leaves his dick to bounce back against his stomach.
She whimpers at the touch of his stiff fingers in her hips, pulling her closer—prying that dripping cunt open with his dirty thumbs. So pink and gooey like a hot steaming slice of pie. Frank's had her from behind, against walls, face shoved down in the fucking dirt, strung up over a rickety mattress with her knees pinned to her tits… but he's never gotten a taste, not a fresh one, that is. The finger-licking he's done after tickling her insides doesn't count…
"Move your fucking hand outta the way," he snarls, knocking his mask back to his nose with a flip of his head, then stuffs his mouth in the pried open meat with a nasty fucking groan.
Salted taffy… just like he thought.
"F-Frank… tongue—"
He flicks her bean with his stud, sucking it between his lips, giving it firm little licks as his thumbs pinch deep between inner and outer folds, holding her tight so she can't move.
His tasty pie slice goes still, jerks, and keens. Her hands claw at his shoulders, bracing over his head, gasping and sobbing and muttering nonsense, "Oh, god... oh, fuck—oh, Frank. Frank!"
He eats her up and licks her fucking stupid while the shadows groan.
"Oh, my god, w-what the fuck.. ."
Sweat messes up his grip on her naked hips, forcing his fingers tighter—bruising soft fat and trembling muscle.
"Stop… it's— hng! —someone's—!"
Joey makes another sound from his dark corner that has Frank opening his jaw and swallowing his tasty girl's snatch inside his hungry mouth, smoothing his tongue up and down soft creases and wrinkled lips, darting his muscle in deep to gather up more of that delicious juice like it's some liquor that's gonna lay him out flat.
"Frank, it's Joey—Joey’s here… he's—"
Frank draws his tongue back up to her clit, gnashing the bulb with his tongue piercing, flicking it relentlessly until he can feel her fluids wetting his chin.
"Ah! Haaaa…" her fingers dig into his hood, bruising in his scalp and behind an ear, "Yes'yes'oh'fuck'yes... don't stop. "
She's cum enough times—around his dick, against his hard thigh, on his fingers, and around nothing—for him to know she's about to bite the bullet.
"Don't stah…"
A few more licks and his teeth in her mound, tongue lashing her stiff little clit, and it's all fucking over.
"Yes'yes'yes'yes—ah! Hahhhh…."
Fluids leak softly over his lower lip, curling off his chin to slip down his throat.
Frank slurps her opening and sucks her sweet pussy lips into his mouth until she whines over the pulse of his boom box shreds.
He pulls her pounding clit back with a flick and seals his lips around her cunt, drinking all those wordless gasps and humiliated pleas for more down like fucking lean.
'Nothing's ever tasted as good…'
She's too delicious—rare steak and honey and intimate blessings. Seems moronic that Frank hadn't done this sooner…
Only when she's shoving at his shoulders does Frank release her juicy snatch with a wet pop. He leans back a few inches, grins wet up at her—blinded by the mask—but gives her abused pussy a hard slap, knowing just where it is in the abyss.
The sound is so good, he does it again.
She yelps and jerks away, her face suddenly stuffed in his shoulder with her ass sticking out.
Frank drops the mask back down just in time to see Joey walking out of the shadows with his meat gripped in two fists, slowly stroking himself off. Even from here, Frank can see the way his eyes shine black and hard on her backside, but his friend's only allowed to watch… this isn't like their sessions with Julie, all of them so bored of one another that not even threesomes get them this hard anymore.
Hot, embarrassed breath fills his hood at the neck, heating him up like a fever. Her lips mouth at his throat, covered halfway by thick fabric, but the distant contact is enough to get him throwing her back, sending her to the floor in a confused, weepy pile.
'Don't let her get close…'
Boner wobbling with each step, Frank walks towards Joey, still looking down at his pumpkin . They lock eyes, but the dude doesn't stop beating his uncut cock.
"You got the camcorder?" Frank asks, still licking his gooey babe off his lips.
"Fuck, man…" Joey exhales, voice damp under the fabric mask, "He's gonna cut my balls off, but you promised I could watch."
They both swallow a grunt as the cute thing sits up, cupping her pulsing pussy; one-handed.
"Gonna let me watch the recordings too?"
'Not on your fucking life.'
"Sure, whatever. Now hand it over."
Joey drops the family entertainment recorder in Frank's hand, returning to the brutal dick-stroke rhythm without a second thought. It'll be Joey's problem when Danny finds out his camcorder's gone missing, but Frank doesn't care. That's Joey's future gut stabbing, not his.
"You're a fucking asshole, Frank," his marshmallow says from the floor, all rashy hatred and sweaty skin.
Yeah, she's not wrong…
He taps a few buttons and swivels the detachable screen until the dingy basement shows through crackle static and thin-film lines. Frank sets it to record and hands it back to Joey.
"Just beat off one-handed like the rest of us," Frank snarls, "… and make sure to get her face… I don't want just cock and balls. You got it?"
"Yeah-yeah… I hear you. Fuck… "
Frank turns around to pick his baby off the floor, but she's all elbows and ass and locked joints, snarling up in his masked face like she's about to clock him.
"This isn't part of the deal, Frank. Wh-what the fuck?!"
"Calm down…" he says effortlessly, "Maybe if you're a good girl for me, I'll make you a copy too."
That seems to do something.
Whether she's figuring if she can hurt him here, outside a trial, or how many times she can cum to a sex tape of them later, Frank can't say. Again, it doesn't matter; she'll let him have his way because she wants him, and he's not going to second guess it cause he's just a hopeless addict.
Instead of getting permission, Frank just yanks her down with him to the sofa, carefully slotting her ass on his thigh as his cock springs and throbs from the momentum.
"You're gonna ride my dick this time, facing the camera. Wanna get the way your tits bounce… that little jiggle in your stomach—in these hips," he gives them a rough squeeze, groaning as she sucks in a moan, "… and don't worry; Joey's not allowed to touch. Promise, babycakes."
"And, if he does… I’ll stomp his head into the ground for you," he adds, dark and delicious.
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^
Everything is unsteady now that Joey's here. He's never shown you a lick of mercy, never lingered too long when throwing you on hooks, or gloated when cornered. There's never been a single sound come up from his throat but snarls and grunts and annoyed gurgles when you've outsmarted him… and now he's standing in the middle of the basement, directly under that low hanging bulb with moths circling its sunlight.
He's got the camcorder lifted at his shoulder and his cock in hand, beating off as Frank runs his palms down your stomach to the dip of your hips…
You go slow, eyes on Joey watching and masturbating, as Frank pulls your ass down in his lap. The smear of his leaky cock makes you whimper, but the thrill is nothing compared to when he fists it, shoving that bulbous head between your cheeks to slot against your wet opening.
It always hurts.
You'd been on a one-year dry spell before the entity swallowed you up—just a lost soul at sea. Every trial is a reset, and so every time feels like the first time you fucked him… so tight, burning up inside you. It helps that you're soaked to the ankles, but the first few inches still go in like rug burn.
"Fuhhk!" You hiss, "S-slow down… please…"
Frank usually gives you a minute, but not this time. Soon as he's hooked in, those bandaged palms grapple you at the waist and shoulder, hips surging up. He grits his teeth and slams you down, stuffed full and screaming.
Your fingers curl and scramble at his open thighs, scratching against faded camo, trying to catch on something, a seam or a pocket or anything… but there's nothing, so you end up clutching at his hands, holding on as he bottoms out with a weak snarl of 'fuuuuck !'
"Bitch takes it like a champ, Frank."
"Don't talk— hnnn! " Comes Frank's reply, strained and angry but culled mainly by your cunt. "Don't fucking say a word; just film it!"
Your throat goes dry as the pressure pulses hot like a brand.
Eventually, the pain settles into an achy itch.
You wiggle in his lap and sob softly, trying to scratch that tingling pain that's making your stomach flutter something awfully desperate.
"… I don't wanna know you're here, Joey," Frank adds, breathing hard behind the mask before inhaling through his nostrils, squeezing your body under your own white-knuckle grip.
" Heh , fuckin' tight as always. Never knew slut's could be as cherry tight like you. Must've been that unicorn in the suburbs, huh?"
A tear slips over your cheeks as your abdomen clenches, body zapped of energy, making you sink heavily over his cock until it's nudging somewhere too deep to be natural. Crammed with delicious dick, your mind barely wanders to your old neighborhood in bland suburbia… with that unicorn statue on the front lawn…
"Couldn't be a virgin… not with this ass… not this rack— fuck… even your shit talk never put me off. I'd have fucked you the second you let me."
He would have , you think… maybe a bit before that? Before this? Uncertainty grips your chest as some old fucking memory tries to establish roots, but Frank rocks his hips, and you're jolted back to the basement, sitting on thick cock.
Callus fingers and dirty bandages smother your tit in a firm hand, yanking you down hard. Fank's other hand walks down your shoulder around your side, tickling ribs, and squeezes your other breast until his thumbs and forefingers are pinching tender buds with each janky rock of his hips. It's minimal friction, more like a lazy grinding but deep and wet; an over lubed piston seamlessly thrusting through its sheath.
"Nearly eight solid inches of cock, and it's all stuffed inside you; how about that… how's it feel, slut ?"
"Fuh-fuck you…"
Frank just laughs, molding and pressing your breasts together, rolling those hard nipples until pulses and twinges of pleasure tumble right to your core.
Each nasty word and tug makes your pussy clench—makes you hotter and wetter and desperate enough to forget about Joey standing a few feet away, lathering his cockhead while recording you getting fucked by the Legion's leading man.
Frank's hips saw under your ass, giving short pumps every few rolls that shouldn't feel so intense but do.
Filthy fingers dig into your tits, squeezing and pulling and jiggling them out in the open air, so your nipples scrape the cold air. Your insides flutter, clamping down, trying to force Frank deeper.
"Your pussy's a greedy slut. Wrapped up around my cock like a suction cup," he's panting, mask hard against your neck, "bet I'd have to work to get you off it, huh?"
You shake your head, starting to feel the pulse in your cheeks as his cockhead mashes up on your cervix, not trying to shove through or anything morbid, just applying enough pressure to scratch that deep itch beneath your navel—rubbing a spot seldom found by anyone but him. Yet, it's better like this.
A minute or hour later, those slow, uncoordinated grinds and lap bounces lead you to a sudden gush of moisture.
"Oh- fuck! "
Your eyes roll back, hips churning despite the camera a foot from your face.
"Too close, you fucking moron , back it up… get it all- fuck !"
You gasp through it all until Frank's hands are around your ribs, just under her tits, lifting and slapping you down in his damp lap at a speed that rips damaged hiccups.
The pleasure is unrelenting.
Each finger pulses in his thighs.
Your toes curl in your sneakers.
Your abdomen tightens, everything going rigid and stiff as you're bounced up and down slick cock, jamming the pleasure into a corner of your soul that swells and fills, brimming, and bursting into a trickle of moisture that peppers the cement floor with audible rainfall.
Frank chuckles, sounding high and dazed. "What a fucking— ah !—mess…only— mmn —filthy girls squirt that fucking hard."
Your face pounds in embarrassment.
It's the first time you've done this… and it had to be now, with Joey moving that camera up and down your quivering body, cock trapped in his fist like a lashing snake.
He makes sure to get the puddle between your ankles and the sweaty expanse of your naked front before settling on your face. You drop your head immediately, willing a trial to pull you into the ether and send you anywhere but here… but it doesn't happen because The Entity likes Frank more than you and always will.
"I… h-h-hate you," you whisper, broken and fucked out. Frank's chest stiffens behind you for a second, and his hands loosen under your breasts. But the weird reaction is gone quick.
"Aww, that hurts, baby ," Frank puts on, sounding oddly forced. "Maybe I can fix that for you… here ."
Suddenly his hand's on your lower back, bending you down to stare hot-faced at the floor, sweaty curls of hair clinging to your damp, pounding cheeks. A few tears dribble to the floor, wetting the dark patch of your orgasm, just further–
"Ahhh!"
Frank's fingers rake through your stretched, inflamed folds around his cock—blunt nails leaving welts across your ass cheek and then…
"Wait–stop… not there– hah !"
Slippery fingers find your tight, rigid hole to tickle the puckered nerves.
Frank's giggles are damp, echoing in your head.
He pushes in, applying nauseating pressure, breaching your asshole with a single finger that feels like a baseball bat. It takes your breath away, leaving you shaking in the throes of a sudden fever.
"Fuck, you're definitely unpopped back here…"
You swing your head back and forth, sobbing as your cunt quivers happily around Frank's warm cock, and yelp a soundless cry down to the floor as a second finger runs flush with the first. He chuckles, petting down your stiff spine, playing with the scars from the trial in a film of perspiration.
He groans, your pussy tightening as he turns those digits upwards, finger fucking your asshole with purpose.
"You gonna be a good girl for me when my dick's up here?"
"No," you bite out and shake your head.
Frank snarls, jamming his fingers too deep, bolting you near off his lap in fear, but there's another growl and shirk of steel followed by the cold press at your throat.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck… fuck!'
You tremble, gulping against the knife's edge, and breathe heavily before sitting back down, eating a moan as his cock kisses your cervix… his fingers resuming their steady back and forth stretch.
"My pretty little slut , such a good girl— always been real fuckin' sweet and receptive."
His fingers start to scissor, opening up your hole with sporadic bucks of his hips, reminding you how solid and big his cock is. It's hard to forget, but the constant reminders are terrifying, though the licks of pleasure each thrust sends up your tummy slowly begin to affect your mental stability. So much that when he forces you upright, gravity dropping you further on his dick and those fingers, you moan unapologetic and greedy, moving with his rhythm.
"Get that, Joey." Frank barks, "Wanna see her face later… gotta see the moment she starts to like it…"
"F-fuck…" you weep, getting excited about the pain.
"Yeah, I can feel your ass getting all loose n' soft… this pussy's trying to suck me in," Frank's knife feathers down to your collarbone so he can grip your shoulder in the same hand as the handle, "… think it can compete with your ass, hmm?"
Warmth fills a pocket beneath your spine. It's not a familiar sensation, but it's a pleasure all the same.
You find the camera lens glowing against the bare bulb above this dingy fuck session through a curtain of sweaty hair. You look into the lens and tremble, rocking down over dick and two thick fingers, making Frank spit a harried 'damn' out and grunt.
His hips pump up, slapping your cervix, finger fucking your ass, and spreading fingers wide until you feel cold air in your hole, teasing raw, hot innards. It sends you over the edge, face-first into a lower-bodied orgasm that throbs and warms and makes your eyes roll back.
"Goddamnitt… fuck, you really want it… don't you?!"
Darkness swallows you up.
A sense of dysphoria creeps in, but something pleasant and comforting like the warm embrace of death before the rebirth lingers. It's lovely, and when you come down from it, Frank's panting behind you with his fingers hooked inside and that cock pounding as hard as your beating heart.
You grin into the camera.
" F-fuck –enough fucking around!"
And even as Frank throws you down to the ground, suddenly so very empty and wet and cold, you find yourself smiling still. All those endorphins, the camcorder catching it all… something about it makes you hot. Maybe he's right; after all, perhaps you get off on the abuse—the humiliation. Maybe you really are nothing but his fucking slut , and that's… that's okay…
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^
The time for bravado is over.
Frank's always been a weak little bitch for her, and feeling her cum all over his cock twice now—cum on his tongue in that sweet relish— fuck… he's at the raw end of the tether. If he hurts his hot cream girl … it's only 'causes she's so fucking delicious—so fucking eager.
His juicy pie slice acts as if she hates him, but Frank knows better. She's hot for him, maybe a little addicted cause he sure as shit is.
Frank waves Joey over with the camcorder and snarls when the guy thinks that means he can start beating off directly over Frank's cutie pie. He shoves a fist into his buddy's side and snarls, "Two feet minimum, asshole. Back the fuck up. Just get this shit on tape."
Frank scoops his girl up under the waist, cock throbbing as she whimpers in an orgasmic daze.
He's really done a number on her this time. Part of him likes it; the other wants her wide-eyed and clear-headed for this next bit. He's been leading up to fucking her up the ass the past few sessions, seeing how far she can be pushed… not directly messing with her ass but pulling her cheeks apart when he's balls deep in her pussy, making sure she knows he staring at that cute lil' dimple… just begging him to shove his dick inside…
She's all loose limbs and jelly knees, but Frank gets her face down on the sofa, ass pulled up against his soaked groin. Her ass jiggles with each shiver—each shallow breath and hiccup. It's making him hot… too hot…
"I wanna cum on her face," Joey mutters, strangling his dick with twisting strokes.
"Don't." She muffles out.
Frank shakes his head, unzipping his jacket and tossing it on the floor. "Don't even fucking think about cumming on her."
Joey snorts but agrees.
With her pussy plastered to his pelvis, Frank lifts his hoodie up, exposes bare abdominals, and shucks that to the pile, readjusting his mask as his breath catches against the cool air on his sweaty hide. With a long, nasty groan, he pulls his dick up through her drenched pussy to slide down at the raw hole still pulsing from his tormenting fingers.
It's disgustingly beautiful—so fucking obscene.
She's perfectly pink and wrinkled with soft globes framing the dip into her guts that Frank has to bite his barbell hard to hold down the stupid whimper as he pushes his slimy cockhead to her asshole.
Frank savors the moment as silence falls over them—the lull between a new snarling track.
Joey's constant slippery meat-palming mixes with his own heavy breathing and the tiny whisper breaths from his cute little thing —all ripe and ready for the taking.
"Ready or not, here I come, baby ."
Her body opens up with a firm push and couch-clogged scream.
Stiff rectal muscles flower around his cockhead, pulling him by a thick inch before Frank hears her make soft, sad sounds. Garage-rough shrills throb in his ears. Faint, puffy echoes bleed out from the cushions, adding to the throbbing metal screeching out of the boom box. It's better than thrash—better than the nastiest riff.
The music beats back and forth in the cement basement like lasers burning into their skin, but the reverb gets his blood pumping something fucking fierce—makes his fruit loop's choked little mewls shiver around his cock as he runs her through, watching her ass stretch and swallow him right to the fucking base. And fuck…
"Fuck, you're so… warm… " it's a leaky admission—something vulnerable he doesn't like Joey getting to hear but needs this shit on tape for later. ‘Cause survivors don't last forever, none of them do, and if her soul gets munched on before her prime, he'll need this shit to get him through the monotony of immortality. To relive the warm, wet throbbing of her insides as they pulse around his meat.
Frank takes a bruising fistful of her ass cheek and pulls his hand back to spank the other. Her scream gets him moving—gets her another slap that blossoms splotchy purple and pink into the supple fat.
As sweat builds on his upper lip, Frank fucks her ass and licks the mask's rugged interior. He's been fucking wait for centuries to finally be here— right here .
"Tell me no one's ever been here before," he pants, groaning as her ass clenches, responding to his verbal filth like it's romantic or some shit. "This the first cock you've tasted up your ass— nnnmf! —isn't it?!"
Her response is broken and muffled at first.
Frank yanks her face off the cushion with a fist in her hair and bends her back nearly in two. He gets her crown under his chin, looking down at gummy lashes and a ruddy nose colored from suffocating on the sofa.
"Tell me…" he growls, on the cusp of busting right then and there. Something about the angle is pressing around his dick like some fucked up hand job.
"Yeh-yes… oh, fuck… it hurts—it's…"
"Go on—what else," Frank snarls in, feeling dizzy, starved for oxygen as her insides ripple and clamp down with every fuck of his dick. She shivers each time he goes a little deeper, daring to search for that bottom that's not there. The crude clap of his hips meeting her ass in is only matched by the shredding industrial rip from the speakers.
"… hurts—so'deep… fucking my stomach— ah !"
"S'good?!" He asks, finally feeling his balls start to pull, wet heat building tight in his groin.
'Not gonna last much longer.'
She makes a cute sound of agony, nodding against the grip in her hair, murmuring 'yes'm' repeatedly until it's a hiss.
Her body tightens, everything going stiff and rigid. Frank fucks the tight band of her asshole, plowing through the scorching squelch of her bowels, and drops her face back into the sofa so he can yawn over her and melt through to her core.
"That's it! That's my good— fucking girl—"
He scrambles to grab her ass cheeks in both fists, thumbs prying her open, exposing in visceral detail her swollen hole as he pounds it—as it takes every inch with slurping, red nerves, and slick fluidity.
Mania sweeps over him; his words sound rough and desperate and nothing like the standard calculated slur, "Gugh-geh't ready… fuck— FUCK! Here it comes!"
She clutches the side of the cushion and flattens her palm on the wall of the armrest, bracing herself against his ruthless pounding, then… then she fucking backs into him, meeting every disgusting inch with open-mouthed howls.
'Can't stop!'
"It's cumming— fuck… get-get her face in frame… yeah —"
Frank slaps her ass again, hissing as her body tightens further. She's cumming again. The way she mutters bullshit he can't understand says so, and so is he…
It strangles him by the sack and groin, a wet pop of sensation that shoots liquid nitroglycerin through his nerves. Honey-grit fills his joints and floods his brain as that first gooey spurt of cum makes him see white. It's a flash as the music hits a hard note. Stars and embers kick off inside his mask. He nearly chips a fang on his barbell and flinches as another jet creams her insides.
"Fuck… shit… " Frank chugs along, working his dick inside that burning ring of muscle until he gets too carried away and slips out with a suck of air, upending another fat string of jizz between her cheeks, lathering her puffy asshole in silky off-white.
'Best nut busted since that first magical one…’
Frank drops his head, mask strap heavy on the back of his scalp. He breathes through his teeth, milking the last leak of cum between her frosted cheeks.
As he sinks his fingers into her cheeks and shivers in the throes of pure bliss—better than Mama's blessing—her hole spasms softly, oozing out dollops of his pink-tinged cum until it's dribbling down to her quivering cunt. And fuck… it looks good enough to eat—his juicy slice of pie with the whipped topping…
Joey groans, cumming on the floor in thin splatters, wringing the last drop of cum outta his dick. He's filming near Frank's shoulder, lens angled down, catching the cream pie in all its glory as Frank's half-hard dick lays against her messy cheek.
He squeezes her ass, massaging the doughy curves until she's letting out soft moans, skin going pink, his handprints practically glowing.
" Babycakes … fucking—my beautiful little —" Frank stops, catching the pillow talk a little too late cause Joey snickers at him with his dick still in his hand.
'Shithead…'
Frank sneers, cheeks hot with shame, and stares down at his cute little pie slice like she isn't perfect and shoves her back down to the floor with a loud sound of dead weight and a sharp cry.
He drops a heel to the floor, bends down, and brings her upright by a crown of tangled, sweaty hair. She's a gorgeous fucking nightmare of makeup smears, snot, and puffy, leaky eyes all wet and half-lidded. Frank wants to kiss her—wants to lick her teeth and suck on her tongue and tell her she's been a good girl, and he wants to eat her pussy real soft and tender for her, but yanks her lips against his drooping dick instead and forces himself to laugh.
"Now clean me up, nasty little slut. "
And she does… cause she likes him mean…
But maybe in one of these sessions, she'll want the boy next door that dreamed about holding her hand and kissing her cheek…
Maybe , or maybe he'll just skull fuck her instead.