Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Esmer
Well, he’s definitely not ancient, I think.
Fear and that ever-present throb that comes with it, fighting with anger for dominance in my mind.
His voice still echoes in my ear, rough and slightly raspy but also…
hollow somehow. How is it that he’s managed to appear to be in more than one place?
Has he set up speakers? Has he been here long enough to set something like that up?
I look up toward the ceiling, trying to see if I can see any speakers or cameras, something to explain what’s going on.
I don’t see anything; it’s way too dark in here to make anything out.
I take a deep breath before standing. Okay, well, the killer is obviously still here, so it’s time for me to get the fuck out.
I race toward the door, turning the handle before jerking it toward myself, only to find that it’s locked.
It doesn’t even budge. Okay, don’t panic.
I’m sure there's a back door. I run toward the back of the house, frantically searching for an exit. The windows I pass are all boarded up, and there is caution tape around them. If only I’d fucking listened.
Fear skitters over my skin at what feels like breath against the back of my neck, but it is most likely my imagination as fear takes over any rational thought, my blood pumping to every part of my body.
I’m trapped in a house with a likely serial killer; my brain helpfully supplies.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
My momentum continues as I slam into the back door, my body not able to stop quickly enough.
My panicked breaths are the only thing I can hear above the rabid beating of my heart in my ears.
I yank the door. Saying a silent prayer that it opens.
A cry wretching from the bowels of my soul as the door remains closed.
I can almost hear him laughing at me. My hands shake so badly that they keep slipping off the handle as I continue to turn it, like it’s magically going to open if I just try one. more. time. “Please… please!” I beg.
“Mmm… you beg so prettily,” the ominous voice purrs from somewhere behind me.
The panic is reaching its crescendo, as I realize I’m truly trapped.
I turn around, plastering my back against the door.
Not wanting my back to the killer. I would rather see my death coming.
“Your fear is deeelicious.” The dragged-out words are followed by a slurping sound like he’s drinking it down, physically tasting it.
“Tell me, little reporter… why does your pussy clench in my presence… hmmm?” His voice is taunting, forcing me to feel the shame of this reality. He isn’t wrong.
“Let me go.” The words leave my lips before I can even process what they mean. My fear is overriding everything else.
I can feel his chuckle as it vibrates across my cheek.
“Now why would I do that, little reporter? When you so politely stumbled right into your own demise.” I feel the cold fingertips again, but this time they are slowly wrapping around my throat, his grip like a boa, getting tighter with every raspy breath that leaves my lips.
He stops right at the cusp of completely cutting off my air, leaving only a small gap to sip from.
Well, this explains why there were never any fingerprints on the scene or victims. “Will you play with me, little reporter?” He’s toying with me, his icy breath fanning over my face.
“If you’re going to kill me, just fucking do it already.” I close my eyes, hoping he at least does it quickly. I can practically hear his eyes rolling as his grip tightens once more.
“Now, where is the fun in that?” His breath is cold against my cheek, but despite that, I don’t see anything physically there.
My brain is struggling to comprehend what my eyes are seeing, or lack thereof.
How is this possible? Is it possible I tripped and slammed my head on the floor and am actually unconscious, having some sort of mental break?
A concussion hallucination, is that a thing?
His hand remains on my throat as darkness starts to seep into my vision due to the lack of oxygen.
“Night, night, little reporter.” I can hear the laughter in his voice as my vision fades completely.
When I come to, the first thing I notice is that the air is damp and stale; I can feel it against my skin…
all of my skin. The cold air hits the wetness on the insides of my thighs, and I know I’m fucked.
“Fuck,” I groan, my eyes so heavy I’m only able to lift them for half a second before they collapse closed again.
A tsk sound reaches my ears. “So eager to get to the good stuff. I like a little foreplay myself.” A chuckle follows as if he’s just told the funniest joke and not just ripped my world apart by laying my biggest shame bare.
Something cold and solid slides down my chest. I force my eyes open as a bead of warmth follows the cold.
The contrast startling. I go to move my arms to follow the warmth, but they won’t move.
In fact, I can’t even feel them. Fuck, how long have I been out?
My arms are chained above my head, and I’m hanging here, my feet barely touching the floor, and that strange warmth is my blood.
It reaches my belly button before a cool sensation touches my skin, the slightly rough texture of a tongue as he slides it up my chest, licking up my blood.
I whimper with fear and desire that I’ve refused to acknowledge for so long.
The combination causes my stomach and pussy to clench.
The sting of the cut causes my nipples to tighten and my cunt to drip.
I can hear him take a deep breath before he mumbles, “But does she taste as good as her fear smells?” as if he’s talking to himself.
“Why can’t I see you? What the fuck is going on?!” I scream, overwhelmed with my warring desire and hoping someone will somehow hear me.
As if answering my thoughts, the voice says, “No one will hear you. They didn’t hear the others either.
” He snickers. I feel the air move back and forth in front of me, as if he’s pacing.
My entire body prickles at his dark presence.
“As far as your other question… You will when I want you to.” I barely remember what I even asked, too overcome with fear and adrenaline, combining to create a potent drug that drags me higher and closer to an orgasm I’ve never felt.
No sane person would be feeling any of this right now.
The air pushes against my face, hard enough to blow my hair back as if he just lunged at me.
His face pressed against mine. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.
It’s like I can feel his sinister aura. The evil energy that emanates from him is strong enough to choke on.
The cut still drips on my chest, and I feel his cold fingertips as he smears it around, painting my chest in the warmth of my own blood.
Those same cold fingers brush against my lips before forcing themselves roughly past my lips and deep into the back of my throat, causing me to gag, and he laughs again.
“I knew you’d sound so pretty stuffed full of me.
” His tone takes on a salaciousness. He rubs his fingers all over my tongue, forcing me to taste the copper and iron tang of my own blood.
His palm then presses against my mouth, not allowing me to spit any of it out.
“That’s it. Swallow it…all the way down.
Just like you’ll take my fat cock.” He groans, his teeth scraping against my cheek as I shiver.
Fear and… nope, no. Just fear. I whip my head side to side, trying to dislodge his hand and those fucked up thoughts.
He chuckles. “I can smell more than your fear, little reporter. Your little pussy is so wet for me.” He teases.
I don’t even have a chance to deny it before his free hand is cupping my pussy, two thick fingers jammed forcefully, knuckles deep inside me.
I cry out, the sound muffled by his hand that somehow still clings to my face despite my best efforts to dislodge it.
His fingers curl inside me, pushing roughly on my G-spot, not allowing me to adjust to the sudden intrusion as he spreads me wide.
I can feel myself dripping into his cupped hand as he continues to work me, violently.
“Hmmm. You like that, don’t you? Tsk tsk.
Such a sick little fuck.” He tosses his head back, laughing, causing the air to be displaced around him.
The pain of the stretch quickly morphs into pleasure as he presses the heel of his hand against my clit, applying more and more pressure.
The bite of pain mixed with pleasure is something I’ve chased for years but never successfully found.
My ex’s always playing at dominant without actually being able to deliver.