ź° after surviving the wreckage of the volunteer and killing henry drax, patrick finds he has gone mad from the trauma. what starts as a few murders quickly devolves into patrick becoming his own worst nightmare . . . w.c. 5k ź±
ā¤æ content patrick is severly traumatized , mentions of declining mental health / delusions , mentions of gruesome murder details , patrick is slightly obsessed with drax , socially withdrawn!patrick , stalking , misogynistic language ( use of whore / harlot ) , consensual sex turned non-consensual , patrick attacks reader / attempts to kill reader , biting , violence , implied suicide ! MDNI 18+Ā &Ā mind the tags
The bell above the tavern door chimed as he drunkenly stumbled out onto the curb of an empty London street. He stood opposite a row of now closed up shops, displays scarcely illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. The side walk was barren, with the only source of human life faintly heard behind the doors of the tavern, boisterous voices of men laughing and cheering. He adjusted the coat that had slipped off his shoulders and began walking in what he believed to be the direction of his dwelling from his drunken imagination.
It had been one full year since Patrick Sumner boarded the Volunteer, and the madness that had followed him way past what should have just been a wreckage at sea. Chaos seemed to follow Patrick like the shadow that dragged with every step he took, a gruelling reminder of his own misfortunate life and the events that he lived through.
Patrick found himself struggling to cope with everything that had happened; his bloody service in India paired with the months of surviving in the Arctic, living off seal meat and watching his fellow crew members drop like flies. All of it seemed to take a massive toll on his psyche, rendering him incapable of being able to confront the possibility of getting better. He spent most of his days over-imagining what happened, what could have happened, or what should have happened. It was obsessive, to the point that he restricted himself from working simply for the purpose of thinking. But it was not just events that had changed Sumner fundamentally, it was people too. Or you could say it was someone. It was Henry Drax that Patrick owed all his misery to, the man that had taken Patrick by the throat and wrung the last remaining drops of humanity out of him. It didnāt mean anything now that Drax was dead and deteriorating somewhere under the dirt, not when he had already left his mark like a deep gash that will never grow over right, and not when he had given Patrick a taste of what it meant to take someoneās life.
11:00
Word of another murder spread like wildfire across London Town, etching itself into the minds of those who were most fearful of the loose murderer. A man in his late 40ās had been stabbed and killed with a knife while on his way home from a late night drink at a tavern. His body had been found at 05:23 in morning, tucked behind a crate that had been abandoned in an alleyway. The woman who found the body originally believed the foul smell to have belonged to that of an animal carcass, but was entirely mistaken when she stumbled upon the carcass of a human male. Local police immediately took over the case but struggled to identify the man due to the severity of the mutilation. They identified 26 stab wounds, both shallow and deep, 4 missing fingers, 2 missing teeth, and a face that was a quarter of the way skinned as if the killer lost interest in making the victim completely unidentifiable, or was forced to move on. Based on the level of decay, the body was pronounced 5 hours old.
The story got around through word of mouth quickly, even before any local newspaper could publish anything. Details were shared over cups of tea, voices low and eyes weary. Others vocalized their opinions, standing against the unjust murder of yet another common working man.
There had been a string of similar cases that had been popping up over the past 4 months, and the only identifying factors between these cases seemed to be that the victim was always male, and the choice of weapon was always a dagger. The same dagger. Another detail that seemed to captivate the public was that each injury suggested the killer to possess a knowledge of the human body, as the injuries were highly precise. Too precise for someone who worked in the darkness of the night.
Each killing made front cover of the local London newspaper, showcasing the gruesome details in the wordy blurbs. So far, 7 men had been slain. 5 of which had been working men, the other 2 more well known posh men. Each story presented the victim as a faithful, hardworking man with a loving family, but what they forgot to mention was that he was a man who lied, stole, or cheated. A man who lacked a working moral compass, or made others uncomfortable with his presence. A man who presented so ordinary, but reeked of immorality if you dared look closer.
Even if others knew, murder still did not hold up as a fair reason to take a manās life. Most people preferred to look sideways, disregarding personal details in order to chime in on the backlash against the crazed man-killer.
The public failed to understand the motivation behind why these men were being slaughtered. Some believed the killer was an ill woman who encountered the victims in a negative way, going as far as to murder them as her way of revenge. Others believed the killer made these men targets because most of them were outside at night, either coming home for work, leaving for work, or having a late night drink, making them perfect for a dagger-wielding lunatic who only struck at the quiet hours of the night.
In reality, each of these men were victimized for the very same reason Sumner came back for Drax. For men like Drax didnāt just die, they needed to be killed.
16:37
āThat was the last stitch. You are free to open your eyes now.ā
Patrick said in a tone of nonchalance, placing his stitching instruments on the small wooden table beside his chair.Ā
A young boy who had accidentally cut himself with the glass of a broken mirror sat atop his patient bed, eyes squeezed shut from the squeamish feeling of seeing his own skin stitched back together. His mother stood beside him the entire time, a gentle hand rubbing over the boyās small back in an effort to comfort him.
āDr. Sumner, you are some miracle worker. There is no one else I can count on but you!ā she said gratefully, squeezing the boyās shoulder in amazement.
āDonāt bother with the flatteries. Any doctor could perform this procedureā Patrick said looking up at the woman as he used a sterile cloth to sanitize the tools. If he had not forced a smile when talking, he would have sounded offended. The mother just smiled.
The boy inspected his stitches closely before quietly thanking Patrick and jumping down onto the floor. He went over a brief explanation of the healing process, then escorted the pair outside of his office and back towards the waiting room where the front desk clerk checked them out. Before Patrick could slip back into his office, the clerk called out to him.
He was a man estimated to be around the same age as Patrick, but he could only assume since Patrick made minimal efforts to get to know anyone. He paused, almost fully hidden by the wall before he begrudgingly turned to face the clerk.
āA few of my mates and I will be meeting at the Kingās Crown Inn later this evening. It would be lovely if you could join usā he said, almost with reluctance from the uncertainty of Patrickās answer.Ā
āAh, I donāt believe that is a wise idea. I cannot handle my alcohol.ā
āCome on, Patrick! It will be a grand evening. My mates would love it if I brought along a doctor of your caliberā the clerk exclaimed, clearly not taking no for an answer which made Patrick ball his fist.
āIf you insistā he said, then walked back into his office, subsequently end the conversation.
Dr. Sumner was perceived as man who had seemingly little to no interest in social interaction. He was sheltered and came off as quite anxious, but also highly knowledgeable and straightforward with his words. Even when talking to him, you could sense something was amiss. And although he cleaned up nicely and wore clothes that gave him a look of normalcy, there was nothing behind his eyes.Ā
20:17
With extreme reluctance and vexation, Patrick made his way up the steps of the Kingās Crown Inn. The sky was already beginning to darken, and the streets were beginning to empty out.Ā
He stepped into the dimly lit pub, and was immediately greeted by the grating sound of drunken men cackling and chairs scraping against the floor. His clerk noticed Patrick from afar and waved him over. Every step towards the table felt like glass prickling the bottoms of his feet, but he sat down anyways and decided he would pretend to be normal for a night. He would grin, speak of women and the economy, and keep his sick mind from wandering.
His clerk, who he now knew as Ronald, introduced Patrick to his group of friends. There were 4 other men; Philip, Tommy, Edward, and Jacob. Each were kind enough to acknowledge Patrick, all of them clinking their pints against his in an effort to welcome the new man. Patrick added to the conversation when he could, sometimes resorting to lies when he couldnāt think of how to further his speech. He avoided any and all topics of his past and preferred to stay in the present. Falling anywhere into the past could trigger Patrick like the crack of a flame igniting a match.Ā
As the night went on, he had noticed a voice behind him becoming louder and louder. A big, gruff man sitting at the table in the opposite corner had interrupted Patrickās train of thought more than a few times now, and it was beyond irritating. By this point, Patrick was a few drinks in, and he could tell the alcohol was adding to the swell of anger building up in his chest. He wished to walk over the man and clutch him by the collar, furiously telling him off. Though, another part of him wanted to grab the dagger from his coat pocket and stabā
āPatrick!ā
Patrickās head snapped back instantly to Ronaldās concerned expression, confused as to why he had been watching that man behind him so intently and with such displeasure.Ā
āIāapologies. I was merely distracted. Please carry onā he confesses with a hint of embarrassment from being caught zoning out. If he were on his own, he could have stayed like that for hours on end.Ā
However, Patrick could not stay focused on the conversation. His ears kept drifting back to the man behind him, boisterous and rowdy. He laughed as if his voice had the right to take up the amount of space that it did, and intense in the way he perhaps believed he was the funniest man to exist. This man had something in common with every man that had turned up dead over the past 4 months. It did not take knowing him personally to assume he was one of those men. Those men who are driven by wickedness, lust, and unruly vices. Those men who will resort to violence when they cannot get what they want. Those men who force others into slavery for his own benefit.
Patrick very well could have been overreacting. He was bordering on the edge of drunkenness, and was far from a sober state of mind, though it was not like Patrick functioned any more normally when he was of āsound mindā. He was deeply disturbed by any man he deemed āevilā, and once Patrick got an appetite of how it would feel to eliminate said man, there was absolutely no going back.
23:58
Patrick had stopped drinking hours ago. He had also gone more quiet, shifting from the performative talker to the observant listener. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, his plan to kill that man behind him would fall right out onto the table.
He was itching to leave, and when he heard the sound of a chair scraping and weight pressing into the floorboards behind him, he knew it was time. He waited for the man to leave, then kindly gave his goodbyes to Ronald and his friends who turned out to be more pleasant that he thought them to be.
āPlease invite him again, Ronald. His opinions were quite intriguing!ā Edward beamed as he watched Patrick walk out the door. The group nodded in agreement.
The air outside was chilled compared to the warm atmosphere of the pub, making Patrick pull at the collar of his coat to shield more of his exposed neck. In the distance, he could see the outline of the man. He appeared to be wasted, walking slowly without a care in the world. That man could have a family at home, waiting for their drunken fool of a father to step through their door safely. He may have a wife at home that he regularly beats, oneās that face gets a pillow shoved on when he wants to take something he claims is rightfully āhisā. Patrick scoffed at the imaginary scenario.Ā
Patrick picked up his pace until he was not far behind the man, who was now humming a tune and entirely oblivious to Patrick behind him. He turned the corner into a dark alleyway, presumably taking a short cut towards his home. Patrick smiled.
Patrick took large but quiet steps, then lunged forward, wrapping a thick arm around the manās throat and quickly pulling the dagger from his coat pocket to hold the blade against his heart.
āOh fuāargh!ā the man tried to curse but felt the tip of the dagger press into him. He grabbed onto the hand that held the knife, and attempted to pull his hand away. However, the man was too inebriated to use all his strength.
Patrick quickly pushed him against the wall, bashing the manās face against the cold brick.
āShhhhhā Patrick calmly shushed the man, urging him not to make a sound or else heād push the blade further.
āLet gāAHā the man groaned when the blade pushed past the first layer of skin. He began breathing erratically, but attempted to stay as quiet as possible. In his drunken state, he believed this was some sort of robbery instead of a murder.
āBe fucking quiet or I will push deeperā he hissed through his teeth, squeezing the throat of the man harder, eliciting a choking sound.
āP-Please please s-sir I have d-done nothingā¦ā he begins to quietly sob, tears slipping past his squeezed eyelids.
āDo not act clueless, you know what you have doneā Patrick shoves the man aggressively, eyes disturbingly large with fury.
āN-No s-sir you s-see,ā he exhales shakily āā¦I h-have a l-loving family a-at home justāo-oh god!ā
Patrick ignores the man as the dagger pushes deeper, drawing a tiny pool of blood onto the manās undershirt. It seems the man cannot plead his case, for the killer has already made up his mind.
āShhhh not another word from you. You know why I am doing this? Because it is my God given duty to get rid of men like you, arrogant and selfish. You are the scum of man.ā
Patrick growls in his ear, the scruff of his beard scratching against the shell of the manās ear. The man tries to squeak out one last rebuttal before the dagger is pushed in all the way, piercing the erratically beating organ beneath. Patrick grinned madly, reminiscing on the moment he pushed the dagger deep into Draxās throat, the sound of his blood gurgling like sweet music to his ears. This was his favourite part. The man cried, then groaned, then went limp.
Sweat beaded at Patrickās forehead despite the cool chill of the night. As the rush of adrenaline washed over him, he realized he needed to move quickly. He laid the body down carefully, then flipped him onto his front. He stared at the man for a moment, trying to conjure up an emotion but there was nothing to be felt. It was as if his mask had slipped, and he was no longer that same man who sat at with other men, chuckling over a few pints of ale.
Patrick reached into the manās coat pocket and grabbed his wallet, stuffing it into his own pocket. Then he pulled out the dagger, revealing the giant spot of blood on the manās shirt. Patrick never usually had an idea for how he wanted to mutilate his victims, he did whatever he felt was necessary based on the severity of his delusions. If he sensed the man was of the evilest nature, he would go as far as to slice scrotums or bash the head in with a nearby brick. For this man, Patrick only felt like doing half of the work. His dagger was losing its sharpness anyways.
He started at the mouth, using the blade to slice into the sides of his lips, creating a horizontal cut from cheek to cheek that resembled a wide smile. He did what he could to keep his gloves clean. Then, he decided he would gouge the manās eyes. Patrick dug his thumbs into the relaxed sockets, letting the small circular organs squeeze out from the pressure. He cut the optic nerve, then placed the eyes inside the manās mouth like two pieces of candy. Patrick decided he would not go any further, seeing as he was tired enough just from working with his patients in the daytime. He stood, adjusted his hat, then went on his merry way, leaving the maimed body to rot in the dark, wet alleyway for some poor soul to discover him later.
01:25
Patrick continued to walk around aimlessly, consumed by the feeling of homicide. He knew he should have been walking home, but he could not bring his feet to walk in the right direction.Ā
Thatās when he spotted you.
A lone woman leaning up against the wall of a closed shop, barely visible if not for the street lamp across the street. You looked eyes with him instantly, and before Patrick could pretend he had not seen you, you were already making your way over to him.
āLooking for some late night fun, sir?ā you purr, the same tone you use for all potential customers.
Patrick just grunts, not looking in your direction.Ā
āCome play with me, sirā you pout, clasping your hands behind your back to try to push your breasts out.
Nothing leaves his mouth but a single shaky breath. His eyes squeeze shut. He could not deny a little sex would prove beneficial to him. Killing people left Patrick pent up with no space to release, and when touching himself no longer worked, everything became bottled up.
āSir?ā you noticed how tense the man was, and was unsure if it was right to continue pestering him.
āWhat are you offering?ā Patrick growls out, a little more aggressive than he intended to be. He observes the playfulness in your expression drop.
āIāwellā¦anything you desire, sir. You get what you pay for.ā
āWhat if I gave you all my money.ā
āThen I would be your slave, sirā you say sensually, insinuating that you would do anything he asked for.
Patrick reached into his pocket and pulled out the dead manās wallet. Fortunately for him, there was approximately 10 pounds in there. In this day and age, 10 pounds could get you many things, including a whore who was willing to give him what he wanted.
You notice the amount of money he pulled out of his wallet, and it makes you gleam. āA wealthy manā you thought.
āFollow me, sirā you grasp onto his arm excitedly, leading him towards the brothel house.
The building was incredibly small, only housing a few workers at a time. Patrick wondered how a place like this could even survive, then he remembered how desperate a man could become. A man such as himself.
You led the man into the small foyer where a fireplace made the room cozy, then up a flight of stairs towards a hallway that housed 4 separate rooms. You opened the door to your room and invited the man to make himself comfortable.
Patrick sat on the nicely made bed, rubbing his thighs anxiously. He watched you strip down until you were standing in your white undergarments.
āWill youā¦remove your coat?ā you ask nervously and half naked while the man in front of you is still bundled up in his winter coat. He did not realize it, so you decide to help him.
āAllow meā you say while approaching him. You lean down and begin to slowly slide the coat off his shoulders. Neither you or he could deny the sensual nature of it. You folded his coat neatly and placed it on a nearby table. He prayed internally that his dagger and bloodied gloves would not fall out. You walked back to stand in front of him, a sensual look in your eyes.Ā
āWould you like to know what I do for a living?ā he says to you.
You nod, interested to know this man who casually held 10 pounds in his wallet.
āIām a murdererā Patrick says plainly as if he told you he worked in a mine.
His joke makes you giggle, not taking him seriously of course.
āWhat would you like to do with me, Mr. Murderer?ā
Patrick shakes his head. āPlease, call me Patrick.ā
āVery well then, Patrick. What is it you desire?ā
āGet on the bed and lay flat on your backā he huffs hurriedly, already feeling the uncomfortable swell of his cock beneath his trousers.
You crawl onto the bed and lay flat with your legs spread and arms beside your head. Patrick quickly pushed off his suspenders and undid his trousers, making his way on top of you. He pushed up the thin underdress over your head to reveal the bare flesh beneath. Patrick examined your body as if he were studying anatomy, eyes following the dip of skin between your breasts all the way down to the dip of your cunt. You automatically spread your legs even wider, giving Patrick a better view of you, although it did not seem to greatly excite him.
You reach over to the little bedside table drawer and pull out a rubber condom, handing it to Patrick. He pulled himself out, thick from base to tip with a large vein running up his shaft. You bit your lip from the thought of something that big inside you. He slipped the condom on but felt uncomfortable with it, though he was not about to get some silly harlot pregnant.
Patrick aligned himself with your now dampened entrance, and slid in. āTight for a whoreā he thought to himself as he was pushing in, groaning from the newfound warmth of your cunt.
āOh, P-Patrickā you whimpered when his tip bumped into your sweet spot, squeezing around his length in response.Ā
Patrick began thrusting at a steady speed, moaning with every push inside. His eyes had fluttered shut from the pleasure he had not felt in a very long time. For a moment,Ā he stayed like that, penetrating you with a calmness he thought he had lost. You just felt so good, he needed more.
āC-Christāyou feel unrealā he whimpered into the crook of your neck.
Patrick started to thrust faster, and harder. It was almost as if he had forgotten he was having sex with another human, the pleasure was unbearably strong. He could tell you liked it too from the pitch of your whining. He watched the way your back curved off the bed, head lolling back and brows knitted. The way pleasure etched itself into the expression of your face. A normal man would have came from seeing a woman under him like this, but Patrick decided he no longer wanted to see you. So, he pulled out quickly and used his strength to flip you onto your front. Before you could acknowledge what he was doing, he was already pulling your hips towards him and shoving himself back in. This time, his pace was even meaner, thrusting deeper and harder. It was almost painful, but you could not say anything because of your face being smushed into the sheets. Patrick held your wrists in an iron grip, preventing you from turning over. You tried moving under him, but his body was pining you down.
āA-Ah! P-PatrickāOw!ā he hears muffled under him, but his pace does not slow down.
āShhh. I-I need this,ā he groans breathlessly above you, still rutting inside you as if he were on some sort of drug. āY-You have no idea h-how bad I n-need this. You d-donāt know what it f-feels like to k-kill a man andāmmphāwhat i-it does to y-you.ā
Suddenly, you feel your heart begin to race from his words. Those were not normal words uttered by a normal man. You remembered the ājokeā he had made earlier, the one you giggled at because it sounded absurd but he was dead serious when he told it. You no longer wanted him inside you, for you were mortified by who this man could have been.
āP-Patrick please s-stop!ā you cried out. You turned your face to the side so he could hear you, but he continued to ignore your pleading.
You pushed yourself forward with all the strength you could muster, and took a bite into his wrist.
āFuck!ā Patrick groaned.
He loosened his grip on you without noticing which allowed you to slip out from under him and quickly turn over, now facing the man who was red in the face and disheveled.
āYouāā he growled when he realized you slipped away, and tried to jump back on you but cowered forward when one of your feet kicked up into his scrotum.
You jumped off the bed and attempted to quickly dress yourself while Patrick collected himself, but you were not fast enough because he was already scrambling towards his coat which contained his dagger. Patrick had never once thought of killing a woman, but he decided he would rather kill you than let you escape knowing who he was.
He ran up behind you and put an arm over your throat, holding you back against his chest, and you gasped from the sudden pressure. His dagger, which was now in the same hand you bit, was held right over where your heart was. Your hands came up to grab onto Patrickās arm, attempting to pry him off your throat.
āLet go of me you monster! HELāā you cried, hoping to get someoneās attention in another room. He held onto your throat tighter in response.
āI do not wish to kill you, but you have left me with no choice. I cannot have a witness walking around knowing the man I amā he grunts angrily in your ear, as if you were at fault for Patrickās ruined image.
āFuck youā you croaked out, breath shaky as you were slowly beginning to lose your breath.
When you felt the blade slowly begin to puncture your flesh, your body gave you one last rush of energy, allowing you to take one last deep bite against his forearm, drawing a little bit of blood in the process.
Patrick yelped from the pain, and you managed to escape his grip once again. This man was clearly weaker than you thought him to be. You took one look around the room before spotting a tiny stool. You ran towards it and picked it up, and when Patrick came running at you, you swung the stool as hard as you could in his face, knocking him back onto the floor.
Patrick moaned in agony as you ran out the door mortified, perhaps outside where you could find someone to help you. He laid on the floor, feeling the ache in his forehead where the seat of the stool had hit him. He was whining in pain, and for once, he felt sadness. Not for you, but for himself. All this time, he was trying to protect society from evil. Evil that he has witnessed first-hand countless times. But instead of becoming better, he got worse. So much worse until now he was the vile man. He thought of Drax, and how he used murder as a tool to get what he wanted. He remembered when Drax had told him that āyou and me are not so differentā, and now Patrick understood what he meant.
Patrick looked around the room, then closed his eyes. He imagined you frantically running down the street, wailing that there was a murderer in the brothel. He began to laugh at the nonsensical thought, finding humor in his own demise. A loud laugh ended in a loud sob, as his body slowly crumpled into a fetal position. It was over. Everything was over. He could not come back from this, and Patrick knew it.Ā
He took one last shaky breath, and reached for his dagger that had fallen out of his hands. The same dagger he had been gifted by the Inuit, with the signature polar bear head on the handle. He looked at it while he held it, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white.Ā
Here was his final act. His God given duty. Ridding the world of another impure man. Himself.
James Cook Masterlist<3
Synopsis: You and Cook are best friends who occasionally make out and nothing more. Or at least that's what you think.
ā„ļøwarning: DEAD DOVE DONT EAT, older drug dealer!cook, virgin!reader, noncon, fingering, spitting, oral(f receiving), drugging, mentions of alcohol, somnopholia, creampie, cleaning up evidence
word count: 2.1k+
You. Sweet, trusting, innocent you. Cook loved that about you. How you always stuck by his side at parties. Always leaving your drink with him when you go to the bathroom. He was the perfect friend. And you were the perfect victim.
It all started when you accidentally drank spiked punch. Cook knew you didnāt drink so for you to be drunk was quite a surprise. You came stumbling in from the kitchen, red solo cup in hand as you grabbed onto him for purchase. Cook couldnāt help but hold back the smirk forming on his lips from your disheveled state. Cook being the loyal friend that he is, brought you to the nearest bedroom so you could lay down. He left for a while to get you some water and when he returned he saw you passed out on the bed. The sight of your unconscious body splayed out on the bed like that stirred something in him. He knew he shouldnāt have, but there was no one there to stop him.Ā
Cook sat the cup of water on the nightstand before climbing on top of you. He started off slow. Kissing and biting your neck while caressing your hips and waist. Even in your delirious state you still managed to make little noises that just made his cock harden in his pants.Ā
With how responsive you were, why would he stop? So Cook kept going. Lifting up your shirt to expose your breast and stomach. He trailed kisses down from your sternum to your naval. His fingers toying with the waistband of your pants, testing how far youād really let him go. And of course you didnāt stop him. You couldnāt. And he loved that.
Cook continued his invasion. Pulling down your pants and panties to see how you were already starting to get wet from the little kisses and bites he was giving you. He was happy to see that even drunk and passed out, you were still so responsive and needy for him.Ā
His fingers swiped through your slightly slick folds. Pads rubbing small circles on your clit just to see you shiver. Cook's brain was fogged with the sight of you all spread for him. He's never seen you like this before. When your friendship shifted into something more, you always stayed adamant on staying a virgin and not wanting to do anything more than kiss and make out. Cook understoodāfor the most part. But with a body like yours, his hands always seemed to wander. Always pushing. Always teasing. Always testing how resilient you really were to his insistent touches. But you never seem to falter. But tonight? Tonight was a gift. It was as if Cook's prayers had been answered. He was finally able to do what heās always wanted to doāmake you feel good.Ā
Cook's eyes never left your face. Watching as your brows knit together as his fingers worked your pussy. He watched as your aching hole clenched around nothing. Your juices seeping out and coating his fingers. Cook's smirk turned into a full blown grin. His thick fingers tracing your entrance, as if debating if heās really going through with it. And he is.Ā
Cook pushed through with little to no hesitation. Feeling how your tight pussy stretch around his thick digits. God, he knows fucking you would be amazing. His cock strained against his jeans. Basically begging to be let out of its confines. But Cook waited. He wanted to savor this moment. He wanted youāawake or notāto know that heās here to make you feel good.
He continued his ministrations. Sliding his fingers in and out of you while he rubbed heavy circles on your puffy clit. He wanted to make you cum, needed to make you cum. He wants to know that heās the one who gave you your first orgasm. When he felt you clench around him, he knew how close you were. He felt the way you pulsed and gushed around his fingers. Cook almost drooled at the sight of you cumming on his hand.
Cook couldnāt hold back anymore. Licking his fingers clean of your arousal before undoing his belt and slotting himself between your legs. Spreading your thighs wide to see just how wet and ready you were for him. Cook stroked his cock a few times, rubbing his tip over your clit. His body shuddered with the anticipation of finally being able to take you. He pushed his shaft up and down your slick folds. Getting himself wet with you before his flush tip caught your entrance. Cook winced at how tight you were. Your tight virgin pussy opening up just for him, only for him.Ā
The grip he had on your thigh tightened as he fully sheathed himself inside you. Pulling out a couple inches before pushing himself back in. He built up a slow pace. Savoring your velvety walls around him.Ā
Cook tried. He tried so hard not to fuck into you like a rabid animal. But he couldnāt help himself. The way you gave yourself up to him without your knowledge. Letting him defile you like this. He felt himself twitch inside you. The knot in his stomach tightening. Cookās free hand moved back to your clit. Rubbing tight little circles on your bundle of nerves. He needed you to cum on his cock. He wanted to feel you come undone on him. His lips found your neck. Nipping and biting at your skin as his hips fucked into sloppily. His breath was ragged and hot against your neck when he felt you clench around him. His hips stuttering when he came inside you. He didnāt mean to. Or maybe he did? He didnāt care. Cook wasnāt thinking straight. He was only thinking about how he just used you. How he just used his cute, innocent best friend who only ever wants to kiss.Ā
When Cook came to, he pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants. He worked quickly to clean you up. Wiping you down and pulling your clothes back on before taking you home.Ā
After that night, he knew exactly how to get what he wanted out of you.
Cook never told you the truth about what happened at the party that night. He only told you that he took you home after passing out from accidentally drinking spiked punch. He relished in the way you praised him for being such a good friend and taking care of you. He felt a pang of guilt but quickly shook the thought off when he thinks back to how good you looked fucked out beneath him. And this party would be no different except this time Cook came prepared.Ā
He knew youād leave your drink with him eventually. Having too much soda and then going to the bathroom. Thatās when he made his move. He slipped something into your drink. A small pill that dissolved quickly inside the bubbly liquid. When you came back, he handed you your drink as if he didnāt just commit step one of his plan to take advantage of you once again.Ā
The dissolved pill took to you fast. Making your vision blurry, head heavy, and words slurred. āCook, I donāt- I don't feel good.ā āI know. Cāmon,ā Cook held your hand and lead you through the crowd of dancing people. He helped you up the stairs and into a vacant bedroom. Perfect. He laid you down on the bed and went to lock the door. āCook?ā āShhh, Iām right here. Iāll take care of you.ā His hands found your hips, pulling down your pants and panties in one swift motion. āN-no,ā Your head reeled. Your eyelids beginning to get heavy. Cook rubbed your thighs, kneeling in between your legs. Fully savoring the sight of you. āItās okay,ā
Here he is once again, moments away from making you writhe and wriggle for him. Your voice slurred as you protested. The pill making your limbs too weak to push him away. Your limp body left completely at his mercy.Ā
Cook flattened his tongue, licking one wide stripe from your entrance to your clit. Latching on and sucking the little nub like a starved man. āFuck-ā He groan against your pussy. His voice vibrates against you, making you shiver into his touch. His hand snaked up to your breast, squeezing softly. āTaste so good for me. Such a good girl.ā He removed his mouth from you. Spitting your slick and his saliva back onto your clit. Watching it drip down into your pretty little hole.
His fingers pushed in much easier than the first time. Your legs twitched as you continue to slur and whimper his name. Your earlier protest turning into whines and moans at the pleasure he was giving you. āYeah, you like that princess? I bet you do. Your cunts squeezinā me so tight. My pretty girl, so eager to cum for me.ā Your breath hitched when he moved his lips back down to your clit. Licking slow circle around it while his fingers fucked and curled deep inside you.
āThatās it princess. Cum for me. I can feel it. Cum on my tongue.ā Your orgasm hits you hard. Your juicy cunt pulsing around his fingers as he fucked and licked you through it. Cook pulled his fingers out, sucking them clean before shoving his pants down with practiced ease. āFuck. This is gonna be so much better than last time.ā He took his hard cock into his hand, slapping the fat head onto your sensitive clit. āSo much better now that you're actually awake. All wet and horny for me.ā Cook pushed in, his cock hitting your g-spot immediately. Your back arched as much as it could in your limp state.
Cook let out a chuckle, watching as your pussy sucked him in before fucking into you slowly. āYeah, so fuckinā tight for me. So fuckinā perfect.ā He bent down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. Your slack mouth doing its best to kiss him back. Your body is so used to that. To him devouring your mouth. Licking into it like heās trying to taste everything that you're made out of.
His hips sped up, fucking into you faster. Cook pulled up your shirt to see how your tits bounce each time his cock slams into you. It made his stomach flip to see how wrecked you look for him. All slick heat and whimpers. High out of your mind on whatever he had given you.Ā
āFuck- thatās it. Take it. Take it like a good girl. My good girl.ā His lips moved to your neck sucking hickies into your soft flesh as his hips bucked into you faster as he chased his release. āTake it. Take all of me- F-fuck,ā Cooks hips fucked into you roughly a few more times before spilling inside you. His seed coating your walls, claiming you in every way possible. āYeah, my perfect girl. Taking my cock so well.ā You could barely lift your head up. Cook pulled out of you, watching his cum spill from your fucked out cunt.
Cook was once again quick to clean you up. Getting a warm washcloth from the bathroom to wipe up the mess he made between your legs. He cleaned you up with the precision of a surgeon. Pulling your pants and panties back up and throwing you over his shoulder. No one noticed him walking out with you. Everybody was too busy dancing and drinking to see Cook carrying your limp, semi-conscious body out the door.
You woke up the next morning in Cookās bed. Hair messy and makeup smeared all over your face. Cook was up before you. Taking up the space next to you and scrolling mindlessly on his phone. āWhat happened?ā āPartied too hard.ā āI feel like shit.ā Cook chuckled, āLook like it too.ā You playfully shove his arm at his distasteful teasing.Ā
You sit up straight in the bed, your body feeling simultaneously numb and sore. You wince in pain, feeling most of the soreness in between your legs. Cook feigned innocence, asking you if you were alright. āYeah, Iām justā¦ My stomach hurts.ā Cook nods āYou want anything?ā āDo you have a heating pad or something?ā āYeah,ā Cook stood up, heading toward the hallway closet to get the heating pad for you. He plugged it in and placed it on your lower stomach. āBetter?ā You nod. Cook settled back into bed next to you, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.
Cook didnāt know how far he could keep up with this nasty little secret. But he was excited to find out.
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