THE LEAK
PAIR: billy loomis x f!reader WC: 2200 filthy words SUMMARY/NOTES: AU where billy lives and is acquitted of the murders. he's your sleazy landlord, and he's obsessed with you. big ty to @clawdee for a thot that did a lot. love this moodboard by @aurorawritestoescape for the vibes. WARNINGS may not have full detail. 18+ adult content. stalking and other perv behavior, detailed fantasies of each other (in yours, he's forceful and can lift you), jerking off, dark use of cum, light degradation, (explicit) reference to billy x stu. sex toy, what the ask says, oh and idk, what if he sucked it?
PART 2 HERE
You haven’t saved his number, but you’re starting to recognize it. His text says, you’ve got a leak. gotta come inside sry. Great, so this psycho is slinking around when you’re not there. And what’s worse: you won’t be back for days. He must have seen you packing your car. While you’re trying to remember if you put all your toys away at home, another whoosh from your phone startles you. He’s sent an image. Not of the leak, no… This image makes you hot with the primitive urge to be bred.
The pic is from Billy’s point of view, looking down. It shows the bottom half of his sweat-stained white tank, a peek at his happy trail, and, god help you--a massive bulge in his light-wash jeans. His big, tan fist is holding a wrench. And finally, framed by his poorly-tied work boots, his toolbox sits on your kitchen floor. It’s definitely not the focal point.
You quickly close the picture, but less than a minute later, it’s open again, and you’re zooming in. Your primate brain is saying sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it, and a heartbeat throbs between your legs. Ugggghhhghghgh. Does he have to look like that? Does he have to be so big? Does he have to hold a wrench? Does his belt have to be tilting like something might escape from his jeans? A stiff, veiny vision springs into your mind, and you try to push it away. Your panties are already at slip-and-slide status.
Meanwhile, Billy is making himself at home at your (his) place. He takes his time stalking around your space with the eyes of a predator. It feels like it used to when he wore the mask. There’s something about you that stirs his darkness awake. He’d never stab you, although he doesn’t mind the vision of a knife at your throat.
He walks past your dresser, bypassing your underwear drawer. He’s more interested in the dirty laundry. He pokes through your unwashed clothes and finds something to his liking: a red thong with a white-streaked gusset. He shoves it in his back pocket, but not all the way. The glimpse of red fabric is a nice touch, like a pocket square for his ass. Too bad you’re not there to see it when he squats to look under your bed. Maybe one day you’ll get smart and buy a security camera–one that you control.
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Oh, and you didn’t put the toys away, you little vixen. At least not the big dong anchored to the edge of your bathtub by a suction cup, standing proudly with a slight curve. He can't help but smile as he bends over and braces one hand on the tub. He wraps his hand around the shaft and pulls. Strong suction cup.
/// He imagines you straddling the side of the tub and sinking onto the dick. A little “uh!” when it bottoms out. You gently rock on it, then fuck yourself thinking of him, unaware that his is thicker. ///
He palms the growing lump in his pants, then unbuckles his belt. He sighs through his nose and gently grabs his crotch, relieved to have more room for growth.
He squats down, panties hanging out of his back pocket. He sniffs the dildo–smells like silicone. Lame. But he opens his nostrils and inhales deeper as he runs his nose down the shaft and could swear he gets a little whiff of you. He kitten-licks it with curiosity and detects the slightest hint of something tart. Then he licks up the shaft and gives the tip an open-mouth kiss. Billy’s never approached a cock this way before.
/// Normally it’s his meat between someone else’s lips. Always in control. It’s not every day he has a dick in his face, but if he does, it’s usually in sixty-nine. And he’s probably jerking it with his hand, choking it like it might kill him first, letting it slap his open lips with each stroke before catching it in his mouth and straight gobbling it, greedily consuming it, commanding it with his tongue, dead set on flooding his mouth before he shoots his own load down Stu’s throat. ///
He lets one knee down onto the discolored vinyl floor, then takes the head fully in his mouth, hand wrapped around the base. As he lowers his head on the shaft, it becomes apparent this is not just a dong. It’s not going to curve down his throat. It has a rigid core. He inspects the dick and finds buttons near the silicone balls, but when he presses them, nothing happens. It’s dead. Maybe he’ll charge it for you while you’re gone. He’s a nice guy like that.
He returns his mouth to the tip and takes just a few inches. In a few days, you’ll be riding a toy that has traces of his saliva all over it. He sucks hard, harder, then tastes something. It's heady and chemical. He lets most of the shaft out and sucks just the head. He tastes it again. He takes his mouth off the dildo and there’s a little drop of cloudy liquid beading at the dickhole he hadn’t noticed. Holy shit.
He looks around the tub, picking things up, putting them down–how many bottles of shampoo do you need? Some of these feel almost empty, begging to be re-homed to his bathroom. He gets up and searches your cluttered counter, rummaging around, looking for the juice. He checks himself out in the mirror, and his little smirk widens. He looks hot: Biceps swole from working out. Cock straining his unbuttoned jeans.
He snaps a pic before resuming his search. When he looks under the sink, jackpot. A bottle of synthetic “kum.” He unscrews the lid and you sure have used a lot of it. He sees the bottle half-full, ha ha. Until he pours out just little. He'll replace it.
Billy's phone dings with a text from you. Thought this day might never come. Your text reads, all good? Hah. Of course there’s no real leak, aside from his cockhead.
You’re stopped at a gas station. At the moment, you care more about what's in his pants than your complete loss of privacy, so you’re playing along. The urge to text him had been too strong, and now your heart is racing, awaiting his response. When he hasn’t replied in five minutes, you feel like an idiot. . And then you’re just mad. Of course he hasn’t responded. He must be feeling so smug right now. You get back in your car. If you weren’t two hours away, you’d speed home to confront him.
/// As that plays out in your mind, it devolves into a filthy fantasy. When you bust in the door demanding to see the alleged leak, he gets a wild look in his eyes. I'll show you the leak. He charges at you and you don't move. He manhandles you up against the wall, pinning you there while he smells your hair. Oh, he’s strong, really strong, and he’s rock hard pressing himself up against you. You’re dyin’ for this cock, he growls in your ear. Oh, how you wish he was wrong. He’s there to lay pipe, and you want it. ///
Back in real life, you’re staring into space until a van driver's stare snaps you out of it. You find your hand between your legs, heel of your palm pressed against your throbbing front….still parked right there at the gas pump. The man quickly looks away, and your face catches fire. You can’t drive like this. Soaking wet, you get out of your car again. You know the gas station chain has clean bathrooms. Clean enough.
You lock the bathroom door behind you and are confronted with your face in the mirror--wrecked with horny desperation. You wash your hands with that pink scented soap, dry them, then unbutton your shorts. Leaning with your back against the wall, you plunge your hand into your shorts. What a mess-no panties, soaked through. You rub your puffy cunt, then gather some slick and slide it up to your sweet spot for a quickie.
Closing your eyes, you pick up the scene right where you left off, this time grinding your bare, dripping pussy against your hand.
/// You imagine he’s got you up against the wall. He cups your crotch over your obscenely short daisy dukes, then easily slips his middle finger under the inseam for a dip. Found the leak, he taunts as his thick finger pushes into your needy hole. Already got your panites off for me? He tilts his head, making a strand of hair fall in his face. You're dyin' for it.
Don’t - fucking - move, he warns with a glare, then takes his arm off your chest to unbutton his pants, freeing his cock in a hurry. Once his bare cock is grazing your midsection, both his hands end up between your legs. He rips the pathetic, dripping inseam of your “shorts.” Then he forcefully grabs both your thighs and lifts you against the wall.
And just as he’s shoving his stiff cock into you, just when his girth is stuffing you full, the tension snaps in real life. ///
You shudder and your thighs quake and your mouth opens wide with a nearly silent moan. Slowly rutting against your hand with each bursts of pleasure, you hear yourself whisper, billy as your hips slow to a stop.
He knows you want it bad. Of course you want it. He’s him–He was pre-trial detention for a week before he started getting fan mail. Now he’s far from Woodsboro, out of Cali, out in the sticks of a town that’s not even on the map. He’s a nobody with a trailer park. He likes it that way, and he’s still got it. You’re playing hard to get, and that really gets him hard.
Getting a text from you at all feels like a runway traffic controller is waving him in for the kill...so to speak. He doesn't reply right away, but it's not because he's playing it cool. He's just mulling how far to go with his reply. He tucks his erection into his waistband and takes another POV shot with his legs framed by open doors of your under-sink cabinet. The smushed head of his cock barely visible against his abdomen.
Too far? Maybe. He’ll save that one for later. Right now he has something to take care of anyway.
. . .
Ten minutes later, he’s reclining on your bed, edging himself with the kum as lube, open bottle on the nightstand. He doesn’t use your panties, or the pics he’s secretly taken, or the audio he’s recorded from outside the thin walls of your trailer. He doesn’t need anything but his mind, and the fact that when you get off in private, you stuff yourself with imaginary cum. You’re that much of a cumslut. He’s never been so stiff and swollen.
/// It’s so clear in his mind. You ride that cock with one hand braced on the tub, one on your breast. Your eyes are closed and you're moaning. You mutter billy under your breath, fuck, billy, gushing at the thought of him fucking you raw. Your thighs tremble, desperate for his load. Fill me up, billy. When you’re just about to press that button on the dildo, in real life he sits up and grabs the bottle of kum. He brings the open bottle to the tip of his cock.
Then, you press the button and moan please, please. As you begin to fill yourself with his cum, panting yes, more— his whole body shakes. He moans out loud in your room. His thick ropes join the fake cum as he thinks of you blasting more than one load up your cunt. He just knows you don’t stop at one. You don’t stop until you’re spent, and a big mess of his jizz is leaking out of your used, over-stuffed cunt. ///
He loses count of how many ropes he shoots into that bottle. The last of his load dribbles out. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, take off his sweaty shirt, and collapses on his back, just breathing for a minute, looking at your ceiling.
-
When he’s recovered enough, he tucks his cock back into his boxer briefs, sits up, and looks in the bottle. His cum is visibly different from the synthetic stuff. He screws the lid closed, holds the bottle near his unzipped jeans, and shakes it in a jack-off motion. He opens the bottle again. “Yeahhh,” he says to the mixture. He’s gonna have to do that again. While you're out of town, he'll be adding a lot more to that bottle.
His phone lights up on the nightstand, reminding him of your text. He slings his dirty shirt over his shoulder on his way back to your bathroom. He puts the bottle back where it was.
Then he takes a mirror selfie, disheveled and flushed, with a visible farmer’s tan. His bare skin glistens, and his belt is left unbuckled.
He sends you the pic and a text: yea just finished
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More landlord billy loomis HERE
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Thank you for reading and tysm for interacting with my stories!! I've been going through it recently, as you may can tell from my lack of fics. Your enjoyment and encouragement makes a difference on a personal level, not just as a writer - I'm grateful for you all ♥️
