Page 17 of In Love with the Devil

Astoria

I’m sitting on my bed with my back against the headboard, not sure how long I’ve been in this position, staring into nothing. I’m in shock that I fell asleep while a masked man with a serrated knife stood next to me–a man who’d almost asphyxiated me to death while forcing me to masturbate until I came.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing that it’s Saturday. If it were a weekday, I'd distract myself easily with work, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get anything done.A memory that I’ve tried pushing away for many years keeps boomeranging into my mind.Go away. Go away. How did this man know? He told me to do the same thing.

It took forever for me to get used to his presence, let alone that terrifying mask. His voice was deep, like a man who’d drank too much whiskey and smoked too many cigars, full of authority. His body was chiseled to perfection. Why would such an attractiveman do this? Maybe his mask is hiding a horribly deformed face. But his voice alone makes me… uncomfortable. Can I even call it rape? He didn’t touch me. And…and my body enjoyed every single part of it. My pussy tightens, remembering how his spit felt–gooey, hot and wet all over. I close my eyes, craving to remember it more vividly, to feel it again. I’ve felt nothing like it in my life. Jesus, it’s so disgusting. What’s wrong with me?

It’s sad to realize I’ve never felt more alive. While cringing and grimacing at the ache and heat spreading through me, my shoulders fold in and the left strap, the same one he took down with the tip of the knife, falls again. The come is now dry all over my chest, but especially that breast, almost looking like dried sugar syrup. My nipple stiffens. I need last night again. The ache is too intense. I can’t help but open my legs, lower my fingers to my pussy, dip them in, then flick at my already wet clit like he taught me. As the pleasure spreads, I close my eyes, picturing him pleasuring himself next to me, coming all over me. I moan and lick my lips, knowing it’s his come I’m tasting. I don’t enjoy the saltiness, but the knowledge that he wanted this arouses me even more. It helps give me the illusion that he’s still there, watching me.

God, I want him now.

“Fuck.”

My breath trembles loudly as I call, “Julian.”

I say his name because I want last night again. Not in reality; I would never want him to return. Obviously, I barely survived him one time, but last night is now safe. I want the intense,torturing pleasure, to feel like I’m going to die yet know that I'm not. My clit is so stiff that its only consolation is the flicking. I allow all my noises and moans to flood out of me, not holding back at all like I did when he was here.

“Julian.” It’s a louder call, begging for his presence. But I know he’s not here and the loneliness, the sadness of my existence makes me whimper, almost cry. “Fuck.”

Frustration makes me break down. The climax is no longer building up. It’s painful because I crave it so much I’d give my left kidney for it. “Fuck,” I cuss as I try more.I’ve never really been aroused by anything. Out of all things… why this? Maybe I’m a sick whore, just like Mom has always accused me of being. He said he knew I was one as well. How could he know? He didn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever met.

Don’t stop until I tell you to,he commanded with that tone full of finality.

I pretend I don’t have a choice, like last night. I need to come for him, or he’ll kill me. I gasp and arrive at the edge of the climax rapidly.

“Julian. Julian, please.”

I flatten my lips, muffling the scream as my insides spasm, craving for something to be inside, filling me, but the orgasm spreads. I slide my fingers inside, feeling my walls tighten, then loosen again and again and I scream with every quiver.

It’s when I’m trying to catch my breath that the tragic ending crashes down on me. Reality slashes all the pleasure away and shame chokes me. I’m alone. My desperation is boundless because no one has ever loved me, so here I am collapsing on my bed, tears leaking out of me, horny for a stalker who almost killed me. Mom was right. No matter how much I fight it, I’m just a dirty whore, and always have been.

I'm still sobbing when I hear my voice calling his name, sounding so desperate, exactly like I did minutes before. The sound is coming from my laptop a few feet from the foot of my bed. There’s a video of me showing everything I just did. My cheeks flush with heat, and I turn away, covering my ears. It keeps replaying until I crawl to it and press stop. The screen goes black and letters start typing themselves.

“I’ll see you again soon, pretty bird.”

With my heart pounding, my mind in a panic, I close the laptop and look up, searching for cameras everywhere, but find absolutely nothing. I open the camera back up searching for the video and not finding a trace of it. Quickly, I get off the bed, take a shower and call an Uber to take me to the hardware store. It’s when I’m walking through the aisles that I get the first text.

Mindy:What’chu doing today?

My heart palpitates because I don’t want to tell Mindy that I'm buying locks so that I can keep a stalker, who made me come three times, out of my home.

Unknown:Don’t waste your money. Nolock will ever keep me away from you. Now that you’ve screamed my name while playing with yourself and coming, I have no doubt that you are mine.

I overcome the shock of him invading my phone by focusing on Mindy.

Me to Mindy:Not much. How ‘bout you?

Mindy is like a big sister to me, so lying to her and with holding information about what's really going on is painful.

Mindy:I think I’m going to marry Fernando.

Maybe I’m not the only crazy one here after all. I’m hardly paying attention to my surroundings, hardly making progress to find locks with these texts.

Me to Mindy:Are you joking?

Mindy:I like him that much.

Me to Mindy:Well, damn. Do you think things are that serious?

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