Kinktober 2025 - Day Eleven🪚
ft. Mark Hoffman (SAW franchise) Day 11 - Cum Licking, Handcuffs, Needle Play
Warnings: Nsfw (MDNI), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, afab reader, established relationship (yall are married), canon typical violence / mentions of death (not reader), drugged / kidnapped, needles / injections alluded to, handcuffs and restraints, cum licking (he eats it outta you), unhealthy relationship, mentions of substance abuse and depression Synopsis: Your husband was never the same since his sister died...but when he appears to be improving five years later, you assumed things were on the up and up. One pig-masked scuffle later, you discover his dark secret. Word Count: 3192
Mark Hoffman x Fem!Reader (nsfw)
A/N: Officially the longest kinktober to date!!! I love SAW, I love a big boy like Mark Hoffman. Saw 'needle play' as a prompt and immediately thought of this franchise
Your husband was never the same after Angelina died. He’d turned to drinking and was apathetic, depressed, and unreachable. You’d done your best to support and comfort him as he grieved, especially during the grueling court processes against his sister’s killer, Seth Baxter. When Baxter was convicted to a life sentence, you’d naively thought things would go back to normal, that Mark would start to heal. But he didn’t.
Rather, he seemed to spiral even deeper. It was as if he’d lost the ability to feel empathy, now acting disinterested in his work at the police department and, frankly, in your marriage. Things fell into a listless routine. He refused therapy, and wouldn’t talk to you about any of the struggles he was going through.
For almost five years, things went on like this—and yet you didn’t have the heart to leave him. You loved him, and at the same time, he was no longer the man you’d married.
Then disaster struck. Baxter was unexpectedly released from prison due to a legal technicality, and Mark shattered as the justice system failed him. You were sick with worry over him. He was coming home later and later, obsessed with finding the man who’d stolen his sister from him. He wouldn’t answer your calls, wouldn’t tell you where he’d been or what he was doing.
And then, after a month of this confusing, worrisome madness…it stopped. Seth Baxter had been found brutally murdered, and the police department was quick to blame the Jigsaw killer. Yet, the news of this development hadn’t been the thing to send a shiver of dread up your spine—it had been the cold smile on your husband’s face when he delivered the news to you. It’d been the first smile you’d seen him wear in over half a decade.
Gradually, Mark seemed to find renewed fortitude and strength. He was less agitated, taking you on dates again, and beginning to rise on the up and up. It was remarkable, how this sudden change seemed to come over him. Although you wondered what could have happened to bring your detached husband back from the brink of utter ruin, you couldn’t deny that you were glad for it.
He was present once more—and your love life, your sex-life, was vastly improved. God, it was like you were newlyweds all over again, rediscovering one another’s bodies and souls. You wouldn’t say that Mark was the same as before, when you’d first been in love and married long ago. He was jaded now, and at times he seemed to lack any feeling. But at the same time, he was also more assertive, in control, and hard working.
You believed things were better. That he was better.
And that had been your mortal mistake.
-
You unlocked the front door of your house, pushing it open with your foot as you hauled in a grocery bag on your hip. You were home later than you’d said you’d be, but you had to make a quick stop to the store to grab some supplies for dinner.
“Mark? Honey?” you called out, dropping your purse and keys on the entryway table and slipping out of your shoes. You walked down the darkened hall to the kitchen, flicking on the light switch with your elbow. Setting the bag down on the counter, you looked around curiously. No answer.
“Mark?” you called again, confused and a little unsettled. He should’ve been home already and waiting for you…and yet, all the lights were off. You held your breath for a moment, listening for any sound that might indicate your husband was in the house.
A beat of silence, another one…and then suddenly, the tv clicked on in the adjacent living room, and you jumped out of your skin at the loud garble of static. You whirled around with a yelp of fear, eyes wide as they stared one room over. The living room furniture was cast in frightening shadows by the light of the salt and pepper screen.
“Honey, are you there…?” you forced your voice to croak out, a deep pit of dread beginning to settle in your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so scared. Perhaps all that talk of the Jigsaw killer running loose in the city had finally gotten under your skin. Slowly, you stepped over the threshold that separated the rooms, your socks pushing into the plush of the carpet as you approached the tv.
You stared at the screen and swallowed, transfixed by the scratchy sound of static and dancing dots of black and white. Your heart hammering in your throat, you leaned forward to press your fingertip to the power button…and with a small click, the screen went black.
The room plunged into a deathly quiet, the small light from the kitchen being the only thing that kept the darkness at bay. You shuddered out a small sigh, trying to force your sympathetic nervous system back into a state of calm.
You straightened your back, rising once again to your full height. You told yourself your mind was playing tricks on you, turning from the tv to head back into the kitchen…and screamed as you came face to face with a grotesque creature of black hair and tusked snout.
You were caught off guard as the boorish, boar-ish intruder grabbed you with painful strength, pulling your arm so far to the side you thought it might snap out of place. You cried out, struggling against its brute strength, when suddenly you felt its balled fist slam into the side of your neck. The impact had you seeing stars, and then—fuck something sharp had pierced into the muscles there and…
You felt dizzy, something like cold water flooding your veins, trickling down to your arms and torso. You mind still raced with terror, but your body grew impossibly heavy. Your tongue wouldn’t cooperate, for only a small moan escaped you as you tried to cry out. Black spots crept into the edges of your vision, and then…you saw only black.
It felt like only a blink of an eye before your consciousness was returning, groggy and confused. You were first aware of the sound of dripping water and the dull thrum of an HVAC system whirring. Your eyelids were too heavy to lift, so you fluttered them until whatever drug wore off enough for you to blink them open.
As you did so, you watched the blurry world gradually come into focus. A bright, light…an unshaded lamp in the corner. Old, dusty machinery, half covered in old drapes and white tarps. A metal desk with papers askew on it. A rolling cart with various needles, tools, and labeled vials. Lab coats hanging on the wall. Ropes and hooked chains hanging from the ceiling beams….and some dark brown, rusty colored stains littering the floor in various places.
Good god, what hell hole had you awakened to? You felt your limbs gradually return to you, an aching soreness beginning to settle in your joints. You tried to move your hands…but they were forced behind you. Handcuffs, you guessed, if inspecting your husband’s pair over the years had any help in identifying your current restraints.
Your feet were untied, and you were free to kick and swing them…but the chair you sat in was bolted to the ground. Unless your hands were freed, you wouldn’t be able to stand.
Your head swiveled at breakneck speed towards the sudden metallic clanging of a door opening. Eyes wide, blood running cold, you watched the hulking figure of a man step into the room. Relief flooded your system at the sight of your husband. “Mark!” you choked out, your voice hoarse from disuse. How long had you been out?
But, one look at his dark expression and your relief was doused by a bucket of ice water. “W-What’s going on?” you whispered, horror beginning to dawn on you.
Mark walked up to you, his lips a thin line as he smiled at you, his eyes painfully devoid of any warmth. He stopped just in front of you, and bent at the waist so he could meet your eyes. He raised one large, calloused hand to cup your cheek, and shushed you quietly.
“Easy now, honey,” he cooed with mock reassurance. “Drug’s still leaving your system, so try not to whip your head around like that. You’ll get sick.” He dropped his hand to his side, and rose to his full height. His eyes raked over you, a satisfied look settling over his expression at seeing you restrained like this, at his mercy.
You’d been blind and naïve, faithfully believing that your husband was incapable of anything so heinous or cruel. But there’d been signs. His increased apathy and sociopathic tendencies. His deep decline into alcoholism and depression, and his obsession with Seth Baxter. All those late nights he didn’t come home until the early morning, and his sudden recovery and renewed vitality. God, how hadn’t you suspected anything before?
“It was you, wasn’t it?” your voice was weak with shock and terror. “You killed Baxter…” you stared at him, horror swelling in your throat when Mark didn’t so much as blink at the accusation. There was a cold expression on his familiar face…lethal and foreign. Dear god…you didn’t know your husband at all, did you? No…not since Angelina died.
“You’ve been a wonderful, dutiful wife,” Mark answered instead, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he surveyed you. His eyes lingered on the heaving of your breasts, your breathing uneven and short. “You’ve been loyal, devoted…even though you really should have left me years ago. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. I was a sorry fool, waiting for justice, believing in our judicial system, damning the universe for being unfair.”
He shook his head, and lifted his hand to gently grip your chin so your eyes met his. “But I’ve been enlightened, dearest. I am the hand of justice. It cannot be debated or deliberated upon…only delivered.”
His eyes searched your face, taking in the slight tremble to your bottom lip, the small droplets pricking at your vision. He thumbed your cheek, smearing a tear as it escaped the corner of your eye. “Shh, shh,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my dear.” His tone was a mockery of the tender love he’d once shared with you. Now there was only hunger, only the need for control and dominion, which hardened his voice.
“I’m giving you a gift…an opportunity to join our mission, to stand with me once again as husband and wife—not only in title, but in spirit.” He sounded crazy to your ears, unhinged and so unlike the Mark you knew. If you weren’t so hyped up on adrenaline and the lasting effects of whatever drug had been injected to you, you might’ve caught that elusive ‘our’ he’d used.
“M-Mark,” you whimpered his name. Despite the betrayal, the horror, the disillusionment…you couldn’t find it within your heart to hate him. Five years you’d stuck by his side in life’s worst moments. Five years you’d preserved this marriage, waiting for him to reach out…to come back to you. Five years of waiting, of hoping, of praying for the love and connection you’d once shared to return…
And in his own perverted way…that’s what he was offering to you.
You still loved him, despite everything. God, how could you not? It was your husband. Your Mark.
He searched your face, and he must’ve found something there, because his expression shifted His eyes grew more intense and heated, his thin lips curving up into a mockery of a smile. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, and before you could react, he was lifting your chin and pressing a bruising kiss to your lips.
You whimpered into the forced kiss, you body instantly reacting. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you opened your mouth for him obediently as he demanded entrance. He groaned into your mouth, and the sound send an instant heat between your legs. Fuck, what were you doing? This whole situation was beyond fucked up, and yet your body was so conditioned to him, that he could turn you on with just one world-shattering kiss.
He kissed you with more force than he’d had before, a new, dark hunger overcoming him as he ravaged your mouth, his hands roaming over you as if this was the first time he’d ever touched you. It was as if two strangers were clashing together in a passionate tango, rather than the weathered and intimate lovers of a long-standing marriage.
“I knew you would understand,” he panted out against your lips, eagerly making deft work of your pants. You whined against him as he ripped your jeans down to your ankles before tossing them to the side. Your wrists ached and stung where the metal handcuffs bit into them, and you longed suddenly to have them free…not so you could make an escape, but so you could bury them into your husband’s hair.
The cool metal of the chair pressed against the bare skin of your ass, and you gasped at the sensation. Mark hummed against you, trailing kisses down from your lips and to your neck, where he grazed his teeth against the flushed skin there. “You’re the only good thing in this world,” he grunted, one fist groping your breast, the other working at his zipper. “Even at my worst, you’ve been by my side… You didn’t ask where I went. You didn’t ask why I came home smelling like bleach, or cleaning chemicals. You just… stayed. That kind of faith? People kill for less.”
You felt the head of him prod at your entrance, and your hips bucked instinctively. The motion tugged at your wrists, and you whined at the sting. He kissed along your neck consolingly. “Shh, I’ll take care of you,” he promised darkly, sucking on your flesh as his hips slowly sank into you.
You let out a long, strained cry as he stretched you—his cock far thicker than most men’s. Although you’ve laid in your shared bed and taken him more times than you could count, something about this moment felt new and erotic. This was a claim, a promise, a shared heartbeat.
It was the renewal of vows.
Mark lifted your knees up to your ears, folding you in half so you were presented to him in the most vulnerable and explicit way possible. He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he directed his gaze down, watching, transfixed, where you connected. He hissed lowly as he watched himself pull out, and then sink back into you.
Your body was uncomfortably contorted, hands cuffed behind you, legs pressed in half and exposed. You were twisted about like a pretzel, and though the metal cut into your wrists and your hamstrings were already getting sore, you could only focus on the heightened pleasure at the apex of your legs.
Mark began to rut into you, taking you hard and rough, punctuating each thrust with the roll of his hips. Gone was the tender husband who would make love to you under the blanket of night. All that remained in the man who bore your wedding ring was a cold-blooded brute, who now fucked you like he could brand you with his cock… He knew you would let him.
You cried out as he pounded mercilessly into you, each motion pressing deeper and deeper as he dragged across your g-spot. In this position, he could reach so deep into you that you felt it in your stomach, pressing against your insides. Your thoughts escaped you as you fell into a one-track mind—carnal and lust-driven.
You forgot about the dirty warehouse, you forgot about the handcuffs, you forgot about the revelation of your husband’s double life, and of the lives he must have taken…because right now, all you could think about was that he was yours again.
He fucked into you violently, balls slapping against your ass with each punishing thrust. Then, he was groaning, cumming into you while his fingers bruised into the plush meat of your thighs. Your face contorted into a strained expression as you tried to wiggle your hips, needing more friction. You still hadn’t cum, and you didn’t want this entrancing moment between you to be over.
He leaned his forehead against your shoulder as he panted, chuckling darkly at your body’s evident neediness. “Did I forget something?” he taunted, and the humiliation you felt at his words had your practically dripping over his still throbbing cock.
You whined as he slowly withdrew, your legs starting to lower back down.
“No,” he scolded, fixing you with a firm glare. “You’re going to keep those legs up for me.” You watched as he withdrew a key from his pocket, and within a couple of seconds, the handcuffs that restrained your hands unlocked with a click. You took a moment to observe the red welts around your wrists, wincing slightly at the raw skin.
But before you could feel too concerned, your husband was patting your ass. “Legs up,” he commanded lowly, and you felt the strong urge to please him. You hooked your arms around your knees and lifted them up, watching with wonder as Mark lowered himself down to a kneeling position. His face was now inches from your overflowing pussy, and you blushed at the pornographic picture of him.
“M-Mark, what are you—” you managed to squeak out before you gasped, feeling him latch onto you his mouth, swirling his tongue over you and groaning at the taste. He licked along your messy folds, cleaning you of his own finish in one of the most vulgar acts you’ve ever witnessed. The sight alone had you clenching around nothing, only serving to squeeze out more of his cum for him to lap up and savor on his tongue.
He ate you out like a man starved, drunk on the taste of your mixed fluids as you presented yourself to him on a silver platter. Your breathing deepened, and your legs began to shake. You gasped as his face buried into you, taking you higher and higher until you tipped over the peak. You cried out, tears flowing freely from your eyes as you came all over his tongue, writhing as he enthusiastically drank all of you in. His throat bobbed as he swallowed everything you gave him, until your legs fell limp onto his shoulders, your body spent and twitching.
He licked his lips, a satisfied sigh escaping him, before he gently lowered your legs back to a sitting position. Rising from where he knelt, he craned his neck to kiss you dizzy—to swipe away your tears, and murmur sweet and wicked devotions into your hair.
With the tiniest sliver of remaining clarity, your numb mind reaffirmed the fact you’d known for years—your husband would never be the same man he was before his sister died…but in someways, maybe he was better.
