Page 19 of Illicit Rendezvous

Thefun timesare about to end.

nine

“It’s time to go.” His tone is emotionless yet demanding. He reaches for my hand, but I don’t offer it up. For some reason, this seems like the scariest part of the night.

“Where…where are we going?” I try to make myself appear strong, but I can’t hide the waver in my voice. “And how do we get out of here?” There’s no way I’m going to try to climb up again with my sore ankle, and I don’t think he can toss me up the several feet it would take to escape this fucking hole.

With a little jump and a few parkour moves that seem effortless, he makes it to the top. I strain my neck to peer up at him as he looks over the edge at me. He better not think I’m going to do all that cause fuck that shit. I’ll stay down here if that’s the only choice I have. Cocking my hip to the side, I cross my arms and continue to stare back at him. He’s examining me, making me feel on display like a critter in a terrarium. That mask set against the backdrop of a stormy sky almost steals my breath. When he reaches for me, I half expect his hand to be a skeletal representation of one, not covered in flesh.

“Give me your hand,” he instructs, but I shake my headno.

I think I have a better chance of survival staying down here than being up there with him. He notices my resistance and withdraws his offer. I can no longer see him peeking over the edge. I’m left to believe I’m in the clear, that maybe he will leave me to my fate in this grave. Low, maniacal laughter floats on the earth- sodden breeze, causing me to shiver, reminding me I’m naked. Then his words from before attack me from nowhere, haunting me.

“There are only two ways to get out of this. Either I lose interest in the chase, or I catch and slowly defile every inch of your body until you're begging me to stop.”

How far will he take it and how much can I handle? Grasping my forearms, I attempt to comfort myself but it doesn’t help in the slightest. Everything grows still as I wait for his reappearance, but time seems to drag in his absence. I’m tempted to call out, but immediately shake my head at my stupidity. I’m the one who wanted to stay in this pit, he’s only giving me what I asked for. With slumped shoulders, I lean against the side of this literal death trap. My ankle isn’t as bad as I’d originally thought, although it’ll prevent me from playing another game of hide and go seek that’s for sure.

“Give me your hand!”

I gasp and jump at the loud intrusion. Even though he startled me, I can tell his demand was given through gritted teeth. I don’t think it’s a good idea to make him even angrier, so I do as I’m told. His large, muddy hand engulfs my smaller but equally muddy one.

He pulls me with such force I’m airborne. I’m thankful he never lets go of my hand, and I land somewhat gracefully on the prickly grass at his side. That finesse can completely be credited to Mr. Mask Fucker McFuckerson. If he had let go, I’d have probably landed on my face with my bare ass in the air which wouldn’t be the first time tonight.

Once I’ve recovered, I stare at the plastic face in hopes of anticipating my next order. Maybe that will grant me access to his good graces. Doubt it, but I need to do anything I can to stay alive.

“Turn around.”

I immediately do as I’m told, and my vision is taken from me once more when something is placed over my head, probably the same thing he had used the first time. I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like what comes next.Or maybe I will?I really need to decide if this has been the worst day of my life or the best, but I know I won’t come to a final conclusion until I find out how this ends.

“The night isn’t over, Bambi. I want to eat your juicy cunt before fucking you again.” He binds my wrists a second time, which are still a little raw from before, but luckily, this time he uses a softer material. “Now, if you try anything funny, the hilt of the knife in your pussy will be child’s play,” he whispers in my ear.

His threat sends a shock to my clit. This man's depravity shouldn’t affect me as much as it does but every time he talks in that growly voice, my pussy floods with need. Then he turns my naked body around to face him, and I’m over his shoulder. This seems to be his favorite way of picking me up. Guess he won’t be carrying me, bridal style, over the threshold any time soon.

“Don’t fight me, otherwise I’ll make you walk through the woods again, and if you fall in another hole, I’ll leave you there to rot.”

"I'm not going to fight, Mr. Loomis. I can’t see and will probably end up getting stabbed in the kidney with a stick,” I say, a little of my rambunctiousness still there.

He chortles at the original Scream reference, then lands a loud smack on my ass. I want to laugh at the interaction as well, but remember I’m a prisoner who’s being sexually tortured by a deranged, masked psychopath. Because apparently, that’s easy to forget.

We dip as he grabs his pack from the ground, then we begin traversing to devil knows where. This time around isn’t as tumultuous as the first time we’d assumed this position. I don’t know if he’s being more cautious or if I’ve become immune to his treatment. There haven't been any random branches whacking me which makes me think he’s actually taking the time to avoid them. On the other hand, caring for my well being doesn’t seem like something he’d do. Needless to say, this leaves me even more confused than before.

Earlier, it felt like I had run a twenty mile marathon in my quest to get free, but we arrived at his vehicle in about two minutes. He removes the hand that had been possessively on my ass to, I assume, retrieve the fob from his pocket. The telltale beeping of a vehicle being unlocked, sounds. Is he taking me somewhere else? Is he taking me home?

He must’ve felt my body stiffen at my internal question, because he says, “Wishful thinking, Bambi. I told you I’m not done with you yet. I had you coming on my cock, and I still need you to come on my tongue.”

Commanding my sore pussy to not react to his words is a losing battle. My body sways from what I can tell is the masked man opening a door. It feels like he bends over, but it only lasts a few moments before I’m jostled in his hold. There’s a crunch of gravel after he shuts the door. His steps pound against the earth in time to my heart. He’s walking again which has me wondering what he got out of his car. A new attitude maybe?

After a few more steps and some more jostling, his footsteps change from muffled to hollow-sounding like they would if you walked on a porch. There’s a jingle of keys, then my ass is hit with a gust of warm air. Apparently we are in a building now? My mind races with what that signifies. Could he really just want to eat me out?

The clank of keys hitting a table stops the tornado of scenarios from gathering any more momentum and the pitter-pattering inside my chest steadies. I take a deep breath and hold it while he sets me on my feet then swipes the covering from my head. It takes me a second to open my eyes, but once I do and they adjust to the light, I’m flabbergasted by what I see.

And slowly exhale.

What greets me is staggering. I’m in the center of a modern looking cabin. I allow my eyes to wander over my surroundings. It’s fairly small, except for the hallway that leads to who-knows-what. The open floor plan puts everything on display. There’s an L-shaped brown leather couch in front of me, facing the cast iron wood stove in the corner. The heat emanating from it calls to me like a siren attempting to bewitch the sailors at sea. Trying to ignore the pull, I scan the wall behind it, not finding any pictures or personal touches. A few feet away there looks to be a set of stairs that lead to a basement…and no Masked Man.

He must’ve crept away while I was transfixed by my new surroundings. The keys he chucked on the table earlier tempt me, and I briefly debate taking them and making a run for the van, but there’s no way I’m able to drive with my hands tied behind my back. Eyeing the top of the table, I search for something that could help me get out of my predicament but it’s sans reading material or personalized knick knacks. A fine layer of dust covers every surface, proving that no one has visited this beautiful home for a long time. I pull at my restraints when dust tickles at my nose, wanting to wipe it away before I sneeze.

Turning from the irritant, my eyes land on something that causes me to take a step back. To my dismay, guns of different varieties literally line the entire wall, leaving no space available to add more. What does a person need so many guns for? I don’t think I want the answer to that question.

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