Chapter 33 Aston #2
Either he hasn’t spotted the knife yet, or he’s truly indifferent to the fact I’ve got a weapon—one I’m not afraid to use, no sirree—because he pays it no mind when he grabs me by the hood of my cloak, twisting it, and all but dragging me back into the clearing. Cutting off my airway in the process.
With one hand, I wave around the knife. And with the other, I claw at the collar strangling my throat. Feet scrambling, heels digging into the earth, I try to get my legs under me and keep pace with his long, quick strides. But it’s no use.
Black flickers in and out of my vision. Next thing I know, I’m thrown on the ground, landing in the fetal position. My knife goes flying, and as I gasp and cough for air, I stare longingly at where it lands in the dirt, far, far from my reach.
Strong hands roll me onto my back, and I blink up at the ghostly white mask leaning toward me. He cocks his head, like he’s studying me. Inspecting me like a bug.
I force a swallow, wincing at the burn. Gasping, I say through a twitchy smile, “You caught me, big guy.”
Blinking rapidly to see through the blurriness obstructing my vision, I flinch inward, frowning, when fingers descend toward my face. Holding very still, all I can do is stare wide-eyed, mouth slackened, as he brushes his fingertips under my eyes. Collecting moisture there I only just now notice.
In fact, my whole face feels cold and oddly stiff now that I think about it.
Because he was choking you. That’s all.
Yet something tells me these fresh tears had tracks to follow, not unlike the path I was hoping would take me out of here.
I watch as Vale brings his hand to his face. I can’t see his eyes through the mask, but somehow I just know his attention is currently on his fingers. Fingers that just swept up my tears. It’s impossible to get an accurate read on him, but there’s something…curious to his demeanor.
Like my tears caught him off-guard.
You and me both, my guy. You and me both.
I open my mouth to say something, but when nothing comes out, I feel my cheeks grow warm and tingly. It spreads to my neck, and down my arms underneath my clothes. Squirming, I tense and still when his head snaps up, his attention fully returning to my face.
Then, through the corners of my eyes, I watch as he lowers his hand to wipe my tears off his fingers. Not on his clothes though. No, he uses the dirt. Taking his time too, as if to drive some point home.
What that point is, I can’t say for certain. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s nothing good if the sickening feeling twisting around in my gut is anything to go by.
Suddenly, he’s using those fingers, now filthy with dirt, to grip my jaw. The roughened pads dig into my cheeks so hard, I taste blood.
Dipping forward, he gets so close that if he wasn’t masked, he’d be in kissing range.
I gulp, gasping through my nose into the mesh covering where his mouth is.
He tilts his head to the left. Then to the right. Then, he’s flipping me back over on my stomach. Moving me around like I weigh nothing more than a rag doll he can toss around.
My hands land planted in the dirt on either side of my head. I curl my fingers into the earth and begin clawing my way out from under him. He lets me get about a foot away, before tackling me to the ground, crushing me with his weight.
My mouth remains open on a soundless gasp, dirt and dead leaves digging into my cheek.
Leaning down, he drags where his nose would be down my cheek, before stopping at my neck. His chest rises against my back as he takes a deep inhale through the mask, and my eyes fall shut.
When he pulls back abruptly, I barely have time to mourn the loss of his warmth—this weight, crushing that it was—before he’s shoving up my costume, and tugging at my jeans.
I go to arch up and wedge my hands underneath me to help with the fly, but he stops me before I can.
His grip on my wrists is bruising as he extends my arms ahead of me as far as they’ll go.
With one last squeeze of my wrists indicating for me to keep them there, he returns his hands to the task of stripping me of my jeans.
Resting my chin in the dirt, I stare straight ahead as he reaches under me, undoes my fly, and then yanks my jeans down. Something gives him pause, and I think I know exactly what that something is.
With a smirk, I turn to look over my shoulder, giving him a little wiggle of my butt. Showing off the hot pink silk briefs I wore specifically for tonight. For him. “You like?”
His head snaps up, and I bite my lip, staring right through the mask’s eyes, imagining his dark, hungry gaze behind the thin mesh boring right back at me.
Without taking his attention off my face, he clutches my ass in his hands—so warm, and so big his fingers splay across both cheeks—and he squeezes.
I suck in a sharp breath, shoulders bunching, fingers flexing where I still hold them stretched out in front of me.
Then, faster than I can blink, he manages to scrunch up the thin, delicate fabric of my panties. And he rips them. Right down the middle.
My brows fly up. A moment later, before I can complain—I really loved those ones—he spanks me right over the seam of my ass. Hard enough for the smack to echo in the night. Hard enough for my hole to clench instinctively as I thrust my rigid cock into the rough dirt and leaves.
Clutching my cheeks once more, he forcefully spreads me, baring my hole to him, to the full moon boring down on us. My body tries to clench, but held open like this, I can’t. It’s humiliating. It’s exhilarating.
It’s—
I suck in a sharp, pained breath when a dry, thick finger penetrates me.
Not deep, but it’s no matter. It hurts. And I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t…
I wasn’t…
“Stop clenching and relax. It only hurts at first.”
At that voice, my eyes fly open. I didn’t even realize I shut them.
What…how…
I blink, taking in the swaying stalks of corn. Hair dances across my head, following the same breeze. I’m not there. I’m not there…
“…three, four…”
“Just like that…”
“You promised… you promis—”
LOCK THE DOOR! I physically jolt at the voice—the alarm—screeching in my head. I’m vaguely aware that there’s no longer a finger forcing itself inside me.
“D-did you s-say something?” I hear myself whisper, cheek cradled by the dirt. I blink hard. My swallow is thick, and painfully slow to go down.
“Vale?” I hear myself say in a small voice. It’s faint, hollow, like it’s coming from miles away. “That’s…it’s you…right?”
Would it matter?
Just pretend it is and have a good time.
And there is it again, the voice of reason in my head.
A hand releases me, and suddenly fingers are being shoved in my mouth. Down my tongue toward my throat, forcing a gag from me as saliva floods my mouth. Bringing tears to my eyes as another hand squeezes my throat, lifting my upper body up.
The position is awkward, and my muscles, my limbs, they protest.
Hot, heavy breathing coasts over my ear, felt even through the mask. Or maybe it’s just in my head. Like the scent of beer. Like the voice…his voice…
The mask digs into the side of my head. And against my ear, in a low, guttural voice, I hear six words I didn’t know I would ever be grateful hearing. Six words that have the fight leaving my body, and my eyes falling shut in relief.
“You don’t deserve to feel good.”
It’s the exact words he said to me over the phone the other night.
He waits a beat, and I don’t really question why. Nor do I question why he seems to be vibrating with tension. Is he…waiting for me to stop him? Stop this?
Fat fucking chance.
So, I nod—jerky, desperate movements.
He takes it for the consent it is and tugs his fingers free of my mouth. I gasp, coughing. Drool clings to his fingers, dripping down my chin… the hand squeezing my throat tightens, sealing off my airway just as I go to say his name.
Wet fingers find my hole, and my body reflexively relaxes this time, granting him entry.
One thick digit turns into two. He’s quick, rough, but efficient in getting me loose enough to beg him shamelessly for more.
Loose enough that when he releases my throat, shoving me down face-first in the dirt and I hear the zip of his fly, all thoughts of that dark, unspeakable place in my mind are forgotten.
Loose enough—just enough—that when he drags me up by the hips, and I feel the blunt, sticky head of his cock nudging my opening, it’s only relief I feel when he blows his way through whatever resistance was left, impaling me on his thick, long cock.
Bringing forth a noise out of me, the likes of which I’m not even sure is human.
It’s all guttural and whimpery, and if I had any shame, I’m pretty sure I’d want to die from it.
His fingers grip my hips with enough pressure to bruise me, short blunt nails digging into my skin as he fucks into me hard and fast. Not bothering to wait for me to adjust.
And it hurts.
Fuck, does it burn.
He’s so deep inside me, deeper than I’ve ever felt anything before. I’d be scared if it didn’t feel so damn good. If I wasn’t so hyper fixated on the fact that this is Vale splitting me into two.
Fuck me, little mouse. Fuck me like you mean it.
Show me exactly what I deserve.
As if he heard me, he pulls back, almost all the way out, before slamming into me, punching out a sharp yelp. Somehow I find myself on my knees, with my chest pressed flat to the earth, cheek scraping along dirt and dead, papery leaves and who knows what else. But I hardly notice.
Everything starts to feel hazy and yet too much as Vale starts hammering my prostate with quick, short, unforgiving thrusts.
It’s punishing. Borderline cruel, the way he fucks me without mercy. Taking what he wants, not claiming me, but owning me…like I’m nothing more than a punching bag for him to let loose on.
Something for him to break.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a question rises—one I don’t dare risk asking…
If I asked him to stop, go slower, be gentler…would he?
I’m not sure that I’m brave enough to find out the answer.
I’m not sure that I’d actually want him to, if he did ease up.
I’m not sure what that says about me…
That I know this is what I deserve.
I’m not sure I ever want to know the answers to any of that.
Suddenly, I’m heaved up against his broad chest. A hand splays against mine, right over my thundering heart, before sliding up to wrap around my throat. In my ear, he grits out, “Fuck you.”
A smile crawls across my face—one that is crazed and all sorts of wrong. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?
Again, he seals off my airway, hitching my voice right as I finish speaking, trapping the breath in my lungs. Growling into my ear, he then says slowly, tightly, “I wanna. Hear you. Beg.”
With that, he wraps his other hand around my dick.
Strangling both that and my neck, he uses them for leverage when he fucks into me with short, deep, vicious thrusts.
My balls ache. My lungs are on fire. A scream builds in my stomach, gathering strength in my chest…only it has nowhere to go.
He twists the hand holding my cock, easing up ever so slightly. Warmth gathers hotly in my stomach as my vision darkens.
He grunts, his body tensing, telling me he’s close. Really close.
Releasing my throat, he grabs me by the hair, roughly wrenching my head back just as he grounds his dick into me, this time not even bothering to pull out.
He just sits on my fucking prostate like it’s his now. His property.
A strangled noise escapes my lips.
“Say it.”
Back arched, chest heaving, spittle soaking my chin. “P-please,” I gasp at the moon, eyes wide and scalding with unshed tears.
“Please what?”
My vision blurs. I can’t…I can’t…
“Come on, sugar,” he growls. “Tell me what you really fucking want.”
My lips shiver as the word wrenches out of me, one I didn’t plan on saying. “Stop.” It’s practically inaudible. More of gasp than a word.
The fingers around my cock jolt, telling me he heard it. His thighs under my ass tremble, like it’s taking everything in him to stay still.
A long, heavy moment passes. Then—
“I wanna hear you scream it.”
A sob bursts from my lips. Where it came from, that word—that stupid, dreaded word that never got me anywhere—I have no idea.
“Scream it!” he all but shouts raggedly in my ear, shaking me.
He’s barely got the words out when I do just that. I scream. I scream, “STOP!”
His body trembles, the fingers loosening around my hair. I can feel his dick twitching inside me, swelling. He’s coming, I realize.
At my plea for him to stop.
That’s what sends him tumbling off the edge.
I wait for the hot silky warmth of his cum to fill me up, half dying for it, half…something else. Something I’m too scared to put a name to. Too scared to spare even a thought. Something that feels a lot like gratitude. Relief. Surprise…
But that’s not what happens.
He’s not gentle, not sweet. He leaves my body the same way he first entered me: Callously. Coldly. Mercilessly.
It doesn’t even register that he held it off. Not until a second later, when there’s a grunt, a groan, a full-body shudder behind me—
And wet warmth splashing my bare ass.
He pulled out.
He…
He stopped.
He came all over me…and yeah, it was me screaming for him to stop that sent him over the edge.
But he stopped.
The hold on my hair loosens, before tightening briefly—like a belated reflex—before disappearing completely. A glance down just before he shoves me away, shows my dick is only half-hard. But still flushed and shiny with pre-cum.
I fall to the side, landing in the dirt on my bare, cum-streaked ass, hand clawing at the dirt to catch me. A moment later, my mask lands in my lap.
I snap my head up, catching Vale’s back just as the densely packed cornstalks swallow him up.
And I’m left here…
Alone.