3. Chapter 3
The farmhouse is warm now that the boiler is working. The couch in the living room is comfortable, and I’ve managed to start a small fire—thank you YouTube for teaching me how to do that.
I’d planned on heading to bed early after the long day. I was tired when I left the festival, but as soon as I got home and got ready for bed, I caught a second wind.
That’s how I ended up naked with a blanket under me, my ringlight and phone set up on the antique coffee table, recording a video for a customer. One of my whales, who puts in custom requests for videos nearly every week, sent me a toy to use on myself.
I pluck the silver bar through my nipple, attempting to make myself wet. Normally I don’t have an issue, but tonight my mind is elsewhere.
My interactions with Ava, and more specifically Mike and Olive, keep replaying in my mind. They were…odd. Ava less so, but there was something about her that seemed forced.
I hadn’t thought too much about it while we’d talked, more focused on the fact I’d met someone who might be a new friend, but now that I’m alone, I can’t stop thinking about her looking at my socials. I mean, I can understand it, I guess, but it makes me uncomfortable.
I groan. I already said yes to the Halloween gathering, and I don’t want to back out. Hopefully there’s some people there that I can meet naturally and haven’t internet stalked me. Or like Mike, insulted me.
With a huff, I grab the toy off the table. I have work to do. It’s nothing too big, a pink rabbit dildo with no ridges or anything of that nature. I turn it on the lowest setting and rub it over my clit. The sensation is nice, but after a minute my body still refuses to do anything.
Annoyed, I flop on my back, looking out of the picture window toward the cornfields. It’s pitch dark outside, and I haven’t bothered to close the curtains. I have no neighbors around me, and nobody should be showing up this time of night.
I increase the setting on the vibrator, using the tip to tease my clit while I massage one of my breasts with my other hand, my piercing cool against my palm.
The vision of the scarecrow—Silas—amongst the corn pops behind my eyelids, and it’s as if I can see him in the distance, moonlight shining upon his straw and burlap features.
Arousal coils between my legs and I arch up for more pressure, hitting record on my phone. I shut my eyes and get lost to the vibrations and a new scene materializing in my mind's eye.
I’m outside now, the fall air crisp against my sensitive skin. I’m wearing a thin white dress, all my tattoos on display, and nothing underneath. It’s not practical for the season, but it’s pretty on me. A breeze rustles the soft fabric and tickles my outer thighs as I walk.
Under my bare feet, dried leaves and dead grass crunch, the cool earth and small bits of debris biting into my soles.
In front of me there’s an entrance to a corn maze, the tall stalks swaying with the wind among the backdrop of a burning sky.
The sun setting everything ablaze in colors of blood red and burnt orange.
A heavy feeling weighs on me, as if someone is watching every move I make, but nobody is around. I stop before I can enter the maze, reading a sign on a pole that reads: “Enter at your own risk!”
This may dissuade some people, but not me. Adrenaline zips through my veins, and I step into the maze. It’s darker inside with the height of the corn blocking the already waning light, and the sensation of being watched only grows.
My breath quickens with each step I take.
I’m unsure exactly where I’m going, but my feet seem to know which turns to make.
With every passing second my adrenaline weaves with fear, and an excited warmth pools in my gut.
With a final turn I get to the center of the maze where a wooden cross resides.
I look up and expect to see the broad hat and cloth face of my scarecrow, the protector of the crops and land, but he’s no longer there.
The breeze picks up to a gust, and the snap of a twig and rustling of fabric has me turning around. My body goes taut, my heart beating loudly in my ears.
It’s Silas.
His hollow eye sockets peer back at me, the remaining beams of sun only serving to make him seem more ominous. He takes a step closer, then another, until his massive form looms over me, casting a dark shadow on my face and filling my nose with the smell of smokey fall nights and damp earth.
At first, I don’t move. Too struck with what I’m seeing and experiencing to force myself to do anything but stare.
He stares right back with those empty sockets, his black stitched mouth in a slightly curved smile.
Another gust of wind rustles between us, moving the straw that sticks from the base of his neck and peeks out from small holes in the loose-fitting brown clothing he wears, a frayed rope tied around his waist.
I open my mouth to speak, to ask him if he’s real, but his finger presses against my lips, effectively stopping the words from coming out.
The weight of his digit isn’t at all like I expect. The glove he wears is coarse, but to my surprise it feels almost human. The weight and heat of it doesn’t make sense.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My heart beats erratically inside my chest. Silas bends forward, the inhuman sounds of his straw body reminding me that despite the feeling of his finger, there’s no way he’s human.
I don’t blink as the caverns where his eyes should be gets closer to my face, and the scent of him strengthens. I want to say I don’t like it, but I do. It reminds me of cozy fall bonfires. Nights spent at campgrounds roasting marshmallows, the evening calm and beautiful, the weather crisp.
He doesn’t move his finger from my mouth, and a split second later he inhales. A groan spills from his now parted lips, and everything inside me screams that this isn’t right. He shouldn’t be making noises, and he most definitely should not be able to open his mouth.
“Finally.” His deep resonate voice hits me square in the chest, like the beauty of a perfect harmony. “After all this time, I found you.”
Goosebumps scatter over my arms and my nipples pebble. It’s not the reaction a normal person should be having, but deep in the back of my mind I remember that this is my fantasy. All of this is happening in my head.
His finger moves from my lips, and his hand cups my cheek. Just like his finger, his palm is warm, and despite the rough sensation of the burlap and straw he’s made from, it feels solid.
“You did,” I answer, as if I’ve been compelled to say it, my voice soft and so unlike my normal confident cadence.
Silas’s black thread-lined mouth forms into a broad smile that may be eerie to some, but to me, it’s hauntingly beautiful. He trails his hand down my cheek and over to the piercings on the shell of my ear.
His hollow eyes never leave my face, and warmth coils low in my belly. The lower and lower his hand drops, the more the heat inside me stokes to life, turning into a burning flame. Wet arousal pools between my thighs, and my clit aches to be touched.
Silas stops his hand on my waist and inhales again, groaning deeper, almost pained. He drops his face to the side of my neck, those threaded lips brushing over my skin until I feel the wetness of a rough tongue against my thundering pulse.
My hands fly up to grip his arms. I expect him to be pliable, but much like his hand, his arms are warm and full. I can still feel the straw as if it’s woven into the very muscle and sinew of his body beneath his clothes.
His mouth attaches to my neck and he sucks, the sensation unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I tug him closer and let out a gasp when our hips meet. My overheated core bumps against a prominent bulge beneath his pants. It’s long, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I feel it thicken.
I grind myself against him before I can think better of it, loving the way it feels against my needy core.
His hand on my waist grips me tighter, and his hot mouth detaches from my neck. I whimper at the loss, and his raspy chuckle tickles my skin.
“Such a willing sacrifice, aren’t you?”
His face meets mine and without thinking I nod.
Silas’s smile flattens and his hand cups my cheek again. “Say it, tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Silas.”
He pauses, body going rigid before he relaxes again. The hand that was on my hip cups my pussy, the pressure of his palm and the feel of the glove with straw beneath pressing against my clit in the most perfect way.
“And this?” He growls. “Is this sweet pussy mine for the reaping?”
“Yes.” I answer easily. Like I’ve been waiting to say it for centuries.
That terrifying, yet beautiful smile returns, and I try to arch into him for more, needing to come. Needing it to be by his hand, or whatever appendage he has hiding under his weathered clothes.
Silas hums in satisfaction and does the last thing I expect. He leans forward until he can place a delicate kiss upon the crown of my head. The hand cupping my pussy eases its pressure. I pout from the loss, a keening whine slipping from me.
That dark laugh thrums around in the air as a crow soars overhead. The bird caws sharply, and my scarecrow shifts to look me straight in the eye.
“Be patient, my eager one.” He drops his mouth to my ear. “For tomorrow night, we shall be together.” He inhales me again before he says his final parting words. “And you will take everything I give you.”