Chapter 4
“Having trouble there?” A gravelly voice comes from the corner of my room by the closet, sending my heart into my throat as heat prickles like fire over my skin. “I like watching you, little girl. But trust me when I say, the real thing is better.”
I grit my teeth, my lips quivering as I press them together.
Someone is here. I knew it.
God, what do I do?
“Grinch got your tongue?” he says as I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip, my mind spinning as I try to figure out how to jump out of a second-story window without dying.
His shadow moves but stays out of the light as I curse myself for leaving my phone downstairs in my rush to have my special alone time. The Grinch dildo taunts me, still vibrating in my shaking hand as I consider using it as a weapon.
Could I stab him?
Where? In the eye socket? The dildo is smooth and hard, built for it’s intended purpose, but no good for slitting a throat or knocking someone out with a right hook.
The low scratch of boots on the wooden floor kicks my heart rate up another notch.
“Perhaps I should have let you fall asleep. I imagined licking you awake like a sweet sugarplum. After all, it’s Christmas Eve, and you are sweet. Aren’t you? That pussy, all wet and spread wide, getting it sloppy and ready for me with your naughty little green toy.”
He tsks as he steps forward, the streak of light from the window cutting across his face, and I choke on a wet gasp.
“You were—” I gulp, slapping my knees together and backpedaling on the sheet until I hit the headboard, heels kicking at the mattress in an attempt to disappear into the wall as the man in my room takes two more steps my way.
He’s wearing a Grinch mask.
The same one I saw in town earlier today.
He reaches for the door just as my eyes dart in that direction, slamming it shut and cutting off the only avenue for escape.
“I bet your pussy gushed when you saw me in the street. Got you all sticky and achy. All those wicked fantasies hitting you directly in the clit.”
A rumbling sort of laugh comes out of him as I sit frozen, my eyes on that green rubber mask as he sidesteps along the wall, shifting his body, then bracing his hands on the edge of my dresser and shoving it across the door, trapping me.
Trapping us. My insides are trembling as hard as my outsides, but God, how does he know?
How does this man have an inside track to my most secret fantasy?
“How—” I swallow around the lump lodged in my throat and let the question die on my tongue.
He closes the space between us until he’s towering over me, right next to the bed.
Up close, I can see the mask is skintight, with wide eye slits that let his own dark eyes shine through and a Santa hat stuck on top.
The little black nose sits over a wide expanse of green rubber like a dog’s snout, with an opening for his mouth below.
But he must have painted his own skin in the same shade of green, because in the dim light it’s impossible to tell where the mask ends, and his mouth begins, except that when he grins, those teeth are all human.
He lowers his chin, his dark eyes behind the mask pinning mine before falling to study the dildo still clenched in my hand.
“You should be more careful what you post on the internet. There are dangerous people in the world. People who would find you. Give you all the things you think you want. Then take something for themselves. Something you might not be prepared to give.”
“It’s just—it was just a story.” My chin starts to quiver as I press my lips tight.
He scoffs. “That little green monster in your hand tells me you want more than a bedtime story, Little Cindy Lou Who.”
I yelp when he reaches down and snatches the dildo away. With his other hand, he unsnaps a leather sheath on his hip and draws out a Bowie knife as long as the toy.
“Hmmm.” He holds the knife next to the silicone length. “What makes your pussy wetter? A big green dick, or a knife to your throat? Maybe both?”
“Please, I don’t want this.” My voice cracks as I shake my head wildly, my hair sticking to my heated cheeks, a cauldron of emotions bubbling up inside me. “Leave, and I won’t report you. I promise. I haven’t seen your face!”
A snorting laugh this time as he presses the tip of the toy to his mouth, his tongue darting out to flick at the tip.
“Fuck, yeah. That’s how sweet Cindy Lou is for her Grinch master. Here, you taste, tell me I’m wrong.”
He pushes the tip toward my mouth, the knife coming along for the ride in the other hand, the sharp metal scraping along my jawbone as he runs the toy along my bottom lip.
“Lick it,” he orders as waves of shame course through my veins.
This is wrong. So why am I getting so wet? I feel it seeping out of me. Is he a deranged fan? Is that what this is?
I was sure no one could track me down from my author name and the bit of information I shared in my bio on the site, but God, I should know if someone wants to find you, they will.
The Grinch mask is horribly realistic, the flesh around his mouth moving as he speaks and breathes, the red knit cap on top adding a deranged cheerfulness to the facade.
“Do it,” he snaps as I stay frozen, the tip of the blade dragging down my cheek to poke just under the corner of my jaw against my pulse point, where blood hammers against the cool metal.
I extend my tongue, tears stinging my lids as I take a slow lap at the tip, tasting my own pleasure chastising myself because I should have known nothing good could come from buying a Grinch cock shaped sex toy.
“That’s a good little Cindy Lou.” He draws the knife away, moving it to the top of my head and tapping it there, just like the Grinch patted the little girl in the book.
Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion as I lick and then suck the silicone phallus between my lips, drawing it over my tongue before realizing he’s moving the knife down my chest then pulsing the toy deeper down my throat.
“Now, this is just a warm-up. You’re making my dick hard, and that, my little Whoville angel, is going to be the package I’m stuffing up your sloppy little Christmas chimney.”
Tears run in rivers down my cheeks as the tip of the dildo presses between my tonsils, making me gurgle and gag, my fingers curling into fists as he withdraws it only for a second before pushing it back in.
I’m trying to breathe, but the toy is blocking my windpipe, the knife poking at the top of the oversized Montana State t-shirt I put on when I got home earlier, and my traitorous nipples tingle and harden.
Why is my body betraying me? This man could kill me. He’s clearly unstable and dangerous. And yet my core is fluttering and aching in a way that must make me as demented as this stranger forcing a Grinch vibrator down my throat.
My belly turns sour as he withdraws the silicone dick from my mouth, fisting it at his crotch as he hooks the tip of the knife under the neckline of my shirt and pulls forward and down.
I yelp as the tearing sound mixes with my pounding pulse in my ears.
“Let me see those tits, Cindy Lou. What have you been hiding from Santy?” He cuts the t-shirt down to the hem then draws the knife back staring at me.
Saliva drips from my lower lip in warm droplets on my sternum as I stare into his mask, my heart racing like a jackrabbit behind my ribs. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before my trembling fingertips dance on the edges of the cut fabric, easing it open, the cool air chilling my exposed flesh.
Another wave of heat moves through me as this maniac lets out a low groan, then a long exhale.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at my tits, the dildo still held out in front of his groin like a bizarre cartoon weapon, the knife frozen in midair in his closed fist.
“Wait until you see what the real Grinch is packing for you. The real thing makes this look like exactly what it is…a fucking toy.” He cocks his arm back, launching the dildo like a glowing green cock rocket across my bedroom.
It slams into the wall next to the window and falls silent on the top of my desk.
“Just leave.” I summon all my bravery, pushing the knife away as he holds it in the air between us. “I know Krav Maga.” Lie. “You might leave with your head still attached to your neck if you back out of here now and go back to whatever asylum you escaped from.”
He shakes his head. “Cute, little Cindy Lou, when you threaten me, it only makes my dick harder. Our Christmas Eve adventure is just getting started. I’m not going anywhere. And from the smell of your cunt, you don’t want me to.”
I’m learning things about myself right now that I am not proud of.
“You’re not going to get away with this. I saw you in town, and so did my family. Someone will figure out who you are.”
He nods, poking the blade right on the tip of my hardened nipple. I wince and squeeze my legs together, not from pain but because it sends a rush of liquid betrayal out of me, soaking into the sheet.
“How? I don’t intend to leave any evidence.” I try to still my breathing, closing my eyes so I can pretend for a split second that his mask isn’t turning my insides into a category five hurricane of lust. “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, Cindy Lou. Don’t be rude.”
“You’re a freak!” I yell, pressing my fingers to my cinched forehead, trying to puzzle out if this is just some hallucination or bad dream.
That chuckle comes again as he shoves his hand down between my legs, making instant contact with my slit as my chest heaves. “And you’re a whore. A wet, Grinch-loving little Whoville whore.”
I can’t help it when my head knocks against the headboard, my back arching, pushing my belly outward so that the evidence of my ‘situation’, which I prayed he wouldn’t notice, becomes clear.
“Well, well, Cindy Lou, what a bump I have found! That tummy looks cozy and wonderfully round.” His sing-song rhyme is saccharine sweet and level ten bananas.
He settles the knife on the nightstand with a clunk, just out of reach, his fingers moving up and down my folds as his other hand comes to rest on the mound of my belly.
“Could it really be true, what I’m starting to see?
” He growls, the mask moving eerily with each word.
“A baby-to-be? Could it be? Could it be?”
His Dr. Seuss mimicry is making me understand just how unhinged this intruder must be.
“No.” I shake my head, pressing my hands together in front of me like I’m praying.
Please, God, just let me get out of here alive. My condition is something I’ve barely even let myself acknowledge, but this masked man ready to defile me has sniffed out my secret like a dog on a scent.
“Yes.” He hisses. “A baby. You’re fucking knocked up. That makes this all the sweeter and just proves what a dirty little whore you really are. And those tits… Those veins.”
His hand leaves my belly to grab at me, to squeeze the weight of my breast before pinching down on the nipple so that a spray of milk arches into the air.
“Well, fuck, yes. Could this get any fucking better? You’ve got milk for Santy, too. A wet cunt, and a ripe, full belly. Proof, if any more were needed, that your name is on the naughty list. And now milk! Milk, for Christ’s sake.”
He reaches up to the mask, cradling his chin for a moment. The rubber at his cheeks stretches as he grins.
“I need to taste.” His face lowers as I whimper, and he feeds my squirting peak to his lips, sucking it into the warm heat of his mouth as he latches on with a long, slow suck, and a groan that sounds like it comes from the depths of hell itself.
“Please,” I stutter as the glint of the blade on the nightstand catches the light from the window.
Call it a mother bear’s instinct, but now that the threat is not just about me, the shame of my wetness and curling claws of desire for this sick fantasy let go, and I dart my hand to the side while he’s distracted suckling on my tit.
The knife scrapes, spinning on the smooth wooden surface, and I curse as my fingers fumble for the handle.
Then I finally pull the hilt into my palm as I clench my thighs together and push.
His mouth pops off my breast as I launch myself off the other side of the bed, away from him, feet landing with a thud and slipping on the wood floor.
I wield the blade unsteadily in a trembling hand over the messed sheets as he rises back to full height.
“Now,” I start, battling the fear balling in my belly. My voice is tight, my mouth drier than a desert as I push bravery into my words. “Just let me get to the door and out of here, and I won’t hurt you.”
He lowers his chin, the moonlight catching those dark eyes behind the mask. I hate the seeping arousal that continues to coat my thighs as I step back, flicking the knife in a gesture for him to move away.
What’s left of my shirt falls down my upper arms, catching at my elbows, the cool air of the room reminding me that I’m basically naked.
Where am I going to go? Out into the blizzard?
If I could get down the stairs, grab the keys to mine or Mom’s car, get to the garage, wait for it to open…he’d be on me by the time the door opened.
My plan is quickly unraveling as the Grinch presses his palms in front of him, rubbing them together. “Oh, Cindy Lou, you want to kill Santy? You’re only making me want to fuck you harder. And keep you. Forever.”
“Please... You don’t have to…” I know the likelihood of inflicting a fatal wound without injuring myself or the baby is minuscule. My shoulders slump.
I’m fucked. But not in the way he means.
For me, for my baby, I drop the knife to the floor with a clatter. All the memories of what happened to put me in this precarious, lonely prison of carrying a child without being able to tell anyone pound inside my head like ten-thousand lumps of coal.
I’ve ignored the reality of my situation for too long, pretending that if I didn’t acknowledge it, it would go away. Now, I need to do whatever I can to protect the life growing inside me.
“If I do everything you want.” I force my spine straight, but inside, I’m breaking. “You keep your mask on, then you leave. I won’t fight you. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Do whatever you tell me. You just need to promise you won’t hurt me or my baby.”
He stands there in the dim light for a breath, rubbing his hands slowly back and forth, his chest filling, then he runs his tongue along the top of his teeth.
His hand darts out, fingers wrapping around my throat, squeezing my windpipe as sparks flicker behind my lids at the pressure.
“Merry Christmas to me. Now, what shall we do first?”