Page 33 of Beneath the Dirt

The person moves closer and beneath the hood, I can see they’re wearing Harlan’s mask—the one he tossed on the ground.

They wobble on the stilts as they near me.

“Harlan.” I mean to say his name with the intention ofgetting his attention, but it comes out as a breathy whimper. Which the person hovering above us doesn’t seem to like, apparently. They’re now leaning over and right in front of my face. The mask, somehow filthier than it was just a few moments before, scratches my face as it scrapes against my forehead.

I turn my head in the opposite direction, but a gloved hand wraps around my jaw, twisting my neck to face them.

“Harlan.” I cry.

The masked person nods their head. A mechanical voice follows. “That’s it.”

“Rainey.” I say without thought.

“Keep going,” they encourage me, standing up straight, yet still hovering over us. My heart rate accelerates as red drips from the eyeholes of the mask. Rivulets of blood pour and stain the cracked and dirty plaster.

“Harlan!” I shout, thrashing my wrists, trying to undo the ties. Adrenaline on my side, the restraints break, falling to the ground.

“Harlan,” I repeat his name again, this time taking my hand to his head, trying to shake him for his attention. It doesn’t work. I take my hand and bring it to the mound above my pussy, trying to wiggle my way to his mouth to break the seal, but all he does is lick and bite at my fingers, still too busy licking me.

The masked figure meanwhile watches, now moving closer, as their head tilts to a ninety-degree angle, their concealed face inching closer to mine.

Nausea fills my mouth as the smell of rot invades my every sense.

“What do you want?!” I yell out.

“Sing for him,” it says, as cryptic as can be. “Sing for him and let himsail.”

“Who?” I cry. “What?”

The stranger straightens their spine, towering over us again, but this time it raises an arm. A gloved hand opens, and dirt pours over us, causing me to cough, my lungs burning on impact.

“Sing for him and let him sail,” it repeats. “Sing,” it whispers as it walks backward and away from us.

My lips move, but I hear no sound.

All I know is as my clit pulses like a drum, I’m about to come, and I can feel everything, but hear nothing.

Harlan

My whole body is on fire. I’m not sure what’s sweat and what’s her arousal anymore. I can’t tell the difference—everything is warm and wet. Well, everything but my mouth. I don’t know how it’s possible. She’s so wet—sloppy, fucking wet, but somehow the more I dip my tongue in her, the dryer my mouth becomes. It continues with every stroke, mystifying me.

She squeals, drawing my attention up to her. Blotches of red diluted by sweat mar her abdomen as she claws at her skin.

I lift my hand to move hers, so she stops hurting herself, but she slaps it away.

Wait. How is she swatting at me? I thought her hands were tied.

I peer up and over at the cross, but broken strands of rope hang off either side—she broke through them.

“Lick,” she instructs. Cold. Sinister.

With one hand on my head, she guides my head to her pussy. “I said lick.” She seals her demand with a harsh smack. Pain ricochets from my cheek to my core.

“Harlan,” she mewls.

That’s it, sister, say my name.

Desperate to taste more of her, and for her cum to coat my tongue again, I drag it up her slit. I feel something rough; it tastes bitter. I ignore the dry powdery substance falling on my head and filtering into my mouth, robbing my taste buds, and continue to lick up her release.

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