Monstrous Desire
Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface) x Reader
Part 2
WARNING - PLEASE READ: This is going to be a somewhat dark fic. If you’re a fan of my other story Me & the Devil, please understand that this is a different tone, & not exactly the same Leatherface. I’m still aiming to stay true to his characterization in the films but be aware - this is definitely more the Thomas Hewitt from the 2003 movie - he’s a seasoned killer and cannibal at this point. You have been warned. 18+ ONLY.
Will (or may) contain: canon-typical violence, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, cannibalism, dubious consent, adult language
Reader is female, and likes horror movies. No other descriptors of appearance.
Any & all feedback is very much appreciated ♥️. Let’s get spicy! Part 3 is in the works. Enjoy ;).
Part 1 here.
Monstrous Desire - Part 2
Several agonizing hours had passed since your encounter with the large man adorned in the dead skin mask. The drip-drip-drip of the basement leaking from various crevices steadily sounded to mark the passage of time, lulling you at some point into a fitful sleep.
You drifted in and out of consciousness, the occasional yell or stomping from the upper floors of the plantation home intermittently bringing you back to waking reality. The aching pain in your head, coupled with the relentless exhaustion of your body made the oblivion of sleep tempting… but you had to think. Surely there was some way to escape the fetid dungeon of the basement. But no matter how you pulled and struggled against the metal securing you to the grimey table, your efforts were for naught.
Your thoughts turned back to the elusive masked man. You had begun to call him “The Butcher” in your mind - the telltale signs of his profession leading you to such a conclusion. The meat hooks, the filthy apron… the chainsaw decorated with gore that sat waiting, patiently dripping blood onto the rickety end table it currently occupied. The same way Rex’s corpse hung from The Butcher’s meathook, his life’s fluid slowly leaking out of him and into the metal basin at his feet…
You tried not to let your thoughts turn to your friends, nor your wandering eyes fall upon their lifeless bodies at either ends of the damp chamber. There would be time to mourn their loss once you had discovered the trick to freeing yourself from these metal bonds and the rusted nails that held them into place…
A heavy banging sound startled you from your restless plans for escape. The sound of metal sliding into place with another bang carried down the stairs and into the basement - it must have been the steel door you’d seen open before trying to run. A chill ran through your body as you realized the large shape you’d seen looming just inside the metal door must have been The Butcher. Had he been the one to land the blow that had struck you unconscious?
A shiver laced it’s way up your spine as the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs fell upon your ears. You tried to still your body as much as possible, resting your head back on the hard wooden surface as your eyes looked toward the stairs with apprehension. Your shackled limbs were shaking slightly, the beating of your heart like a mallet against your chest.
The Butcher stepped down onto the flooded ground, his heavy work boots splashing the stagnant water as he immediately moved towards the table piled with various tools. His broad back was turned in your direction, the ominous sound of metal clinking against each other as he took something from the topmost pile. The metallic song of a sharp edge running across another rang out into the quiet basement, setting your teeth on edge. The Butcher turned, swiftly walking towards you with a blade in his hand.
Panic rose quickly like smoke in your lungs, terror burning in your chest like wildfire as The Butcher reached out, grasping your face with his massive hand as he had done earlier. A quiet, fearful sound escaped your lips before you could think to stop it. The large man once again pushed your face away from him roughly, his fingertips at your cheeks as he held your jaw tight. You closed your eyes, the moist prickle of tears springing to them as you did your best not to make any more noise. The Butcher’s grasp wasn’t quite painful yet, but the way he moved your head at his leisure told you what you needed to know - there was power behind those muscled arms and thick middle.
The sound of The Butcher’s breathing could be heard as he turned your head once more. Your eyes opened without thinking, a soft whimper escaping as you looked up into the large man’s gaze. His intense blue eyes were roaming over your face and hair, his mouth open again to show the oddly animalistic teeth. Your eyes fearfully darted down to the meaty hand grasping what looked like a skinning knife - you’d seen Rex playing around with one at his Pop’s place one afternoon. A single hot, salty tear fell from your eye and into the dry seam of your lips as the memory hit you. Everything about your life leading up to this point seemed far away now - another time, another life entirely, lived by someone that wasn’t being manhandled on a filthy table in a basement.
The Butcher’s fingers curled more tightly around the thin blade as his eyes landed upon yours. The overpowering smell of blood, sweat and leather was filling your nostrils, wafting from The Butcher’s thick body as he firmly grasped your face. You tried to still the panicked rise and fall of your chest, struggling to keep your breathing under control and not cry out in fear. He had paused a moment, his blue eyes darting between yours as he breathed noisily through his mouth. For a moment he seemed to be wrestling with something, or perhaps pondering where to make the first cut. The hand clutching your face suddenly moved away, his thick fingers stained with blood as they brushed across your hair. He looked towards your scalp, running his hand over the textures of your hair with interest.
You didn’t dare make a sound, your face still turned towards The Butcher as his hand roamed your head. You couldn’t help but stare up at his mask - there was no doubt lingering in your mind that it was human leather. Two sections of hair, of two different colors had been sewn onto the mask to imitate a realistic hairline. Though the idea of wearing human flesh was grotesque, the mask was a testament to an artistic hand - albeit attached to a deranged mind. You couldn’t help but be reminded of Lon Chaney - his monstrous visage lighting up the screen as the Phantom of the Opera. He had worn a mask too - to cover the hideous features of the fiend that lay beneath. What was the monster before you hiding beneath the dry, deceased flesh of his skin mask?
The Butcher’s movements had slowed, his fingers trailing over your hairline stiff with dried blood - and down. A small shiver went through you when his thick fingers brushed across the shell of your ear, causing goosebumps to prickle upon your flesh. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed by The Butcher, his eyes darting to yours briefly as his fingers slowly closed over your throat.
You tensed slightly, bracing for his immense digits to close right upon your windpipe - but it never came. Instead, The Butcher gave your throat a light squeeze - just enough to be a bit too much pressure, but it was over just as soon as it had begun. You tried to control your trembling as you watched the figure looming over you, running his hand across your jaw clumsily as the other continued to brandish the knife. The blade’s glittering edge was mere inches from your eye, catching the light to glint ominously as The Butcher clenched his bloodied fingers around its handle.
The large man’s breathing became slightly louder as his eyes, wide beneath the skin mask, locked upon yours a moment. The hand at your throat was slowly moving down, fanning out over your collarbones as The Butcher clumsily pressed down upon them. Calloused fingertips were barely brushing the skin just inside the collar of your shirt. You tried to remain as still as possible, goosebumps prickling when the masked man slowly moved his hand further into your shirt, the pads of his fingers touching the naked flesh of your shoulder. You forced yourself to continue staring up at his eyes, watching his linger over your torso laid out before him. The Butcher’s breath had gotten a bit heavier, his broad chest rising and falling in what appeared to be anticipation.
Something strange began to happen as you laid upon what you’d come to realize was a butcher’s block. The large man’s touch was slightly lighter as he reached further into your shirt, kneading the skin at your shoulder. The ends of the leather straps upon his forearms were brushing over your chest as he explored the skin there. The fear within you was still dancing at great heights - your body trembling as the giant man caressed your shoulder. But there was something else as well - the pleasurable dance of nerve endings, at the touch of calloused hands upon tender zones of the body.
The Butcher suddenly retracted his hand from the flesh just below your shirt collar, as though he’d been scalded. A grunt left his lips at the mouth hole of the mask as he turned his head to look up towards the top of the basement stairs. Perhaps it was a misinterpretation on the part of your terror-addled mind, but there seemed to be a flicker of nervousness as the masked man glanced toward the stairs a moment. Your gaze moved over the trail of stitches at the side of his head as he slowly looked away from the staircase before glancing sidelong at you.
The thick fingers of The Butcher’s free hand twitched a moment as they floated in the air. His eyes darted down to your chest, eyes wide still as he breathed a bit more heavily. A stream of panic rose in your throat as The Butcher suddenly moved his hands down to the center of your rib cage. Gripping the front of your shirt, the hand holding the knife plunged forward towards your chest - but instead of piercing your vulnerable meat, the blade cut a line up the center of your shirt. The sound of fabric ripping broke through the steady drip of water from all sides, before the masked man reached down to pull apart the shredded halves of cotton. Your naked chest was exposed to the stifling air - and to The Butcher’s hungry eyes.
A soft, nervous sound escaped your lips as you stared up at him - the masked man’s gaze was dead set upon your breasts, rising and falling quickly with fearful breath. He clenched those strange little teeth a moment, an odd grimace passing over his mouth in a nervous tic. Still gripping the knife with one hand, The Butcher suddenly reached out - placing his palm flat upon the area beneath your collarbone. After a moment his thick fingers trailed down, coming to rest upon the space between your breasts.
Despite your fear, the reaction of masculine touch upon your exposed flesh was creating heat in the lower part of your body. The Butcher’s hand was running down between your breasts, firmly caressing down to your navel before squeezing the flesh at your stomach briefly. His eyes were wide still, a fiery wonder burning in them as he stared down at your body. You saw The Butcher’s gaze dart back up to yours briefly, before he moved his immense hand to your right breast.
A gasp escaped your lips as The Butcher’s bear-like paw, reddened with dried blood, squeezed the soft swell of flesh at your chest. His calloused fingers were rough, the unpracticed touch of someone who frequently caused pain with the power behind his hands and not pleasure. The masked man pinched your nipple between his fingers harshly, pulling a choked moan from your throat as he rolled the quickly-stiffening bud in his thick digits. You squirmed upon the filthy table, pressing your legs together briefly with a sudden need for friction between them. You quickly looked down at The Butcher’s fierce hand, squeezing and kneading your breast as his other hand continued to brandish the knife with an iron grip. His touch upon your tender flesh was a bit too harsh, the situation you were in harrowing and alien - and yet there was heat building between your legs.
Your gaze snapped back up to The Butcher’s eyes beneath the dead skin mask when you heard the metallic sound of his flaying knife clatter to the table next to your bare shoulder. Before the blade had barely reached the wood surface, The Butcher’s other hand reached out to firmly grasp your other breast. He was leaning over the table slightly, his immense frame hovering over you and blocking out the dim light from the fixture above. Both of his massive hands, stained with scarlet from the lifeless bodies of your friends, were roughly squeezing your breasts, his fingers pinching at your nipples as his breathing turned ragged. His movements were becoming almost frantic - as though a floodgate had been opened, the beast unleashed to explore its primal urges.
The want building at your groin was steadily climbing as The Butcher frantically ministered to your chest. When he finally pinched too hard, a soft cry of pain escaped your lips before you could stop it. To your surprise, the large man hesitated a moment, easing up slightly with his grasp upon your breasts. His eyes, encircled beneath a layer of dry, dead skin - looked up to yours with a hint of curiosity. He began to stroke his paws over the mounds of flesh a bit more gently, exploring the soft curves as he searched your eyes.
“That’s… better..” You rasped, hesitantly forming the words despite the wretched state of your parched vocal cords. The Butcher’s upper lip twitched again as he stared into your eyes with focused intensity. His mannerisms & lack of speaking led you to believe he may have some sort of mental disabilities - not including whatever impairment led him to kill and wear the skin of other human beings. He had touched you a bit more gently when you’d cried out, so perhaps there was still a shred of empathy inside of him. The situation was already desperately confusing - despite the fact that your heart was still drumming against your rib cage, your body was responding in other ways as well. The telltale warmth of arousal was quickly heating up at the apex of your legs. You knew the man could, and most likely would, end your life and possibly even wear your flesh - but right now the strong, masculine touch of his lethal hands was causing your body to light up with want.
The Butcher’s thick digits had left your breasts, firmly caressing over your rib cage, down over your waist and squeezing the pliant flesh at your hips. You allowed your dry lips to part, a pathetic moan escaping them when he grasped your waist and caressed the soft skin there with his thumbs. When you looked up into his eyes, he was staring back at you, gazing straight into the depths of your most secret desires - ones that had lay buried beneath the glamour of cinema to mask hidden appetites you hadn’t even known you possessed.
Heat was quickly rising at your cheeks as you stared up at The Butcher - watching as he broke your gaze to look down at the flimsy, knee-length skirt you wore. With barely a moment’s hesitation, The Butcher reached down with both strong, immense hands to tear the cotton fabric straight down the middle. You rubbed your thighs together slightly, the desperate want for friction building as his actions somehow made your arousal spike further.
You knew you shouldn’t be enjoying the killer’s attentions. Your mind knew, and so did your heart, ever racing with the fearful anticipation of The Butcher’s next move. But your body was on fire - you wanted those big paws on your body. He had stirred something hidden deep inside, lit a fire at your core. There was no use fighting it now. And, if you allowed yourself to be swept away in whatever pleasure he might be willing to offer you, it might cause sympathy in the masked man. At least, that’s what the electrical signals of your brain were telling you, in order to keep the wires of sanity wholly intact.
The Butcher tore the ripped skirt out from under you, tossing it aside without a glance before swiftly reaching for the flaying knife upon the table. A streak of fear shot through your body, wondering if this new chapter of pleasure would soon become a book of pain. But the blade didn’t meet your flesh - instead, The Butcher moved it beneath the thin fabric of your panties, cutting them free at your hip before moving to the other. The shredded undergarment was quickly grasped by the masked man and discarded somewhere with your ruined skirt.
You squirmed beneath The Butcher’s eyes, his gaze hungry as he looked down at your most sensitive parts. You felt so terribly exposed, your soul distraught and your body burning with need. You watched the masked man’s broad chest rise and fall, his fingers gripping tighter around the blade in another nervous tic. In a matter of moments his fingers opened, absently letting the knife fall to the floor with a splash into the stagnant water.
His bright blue eyes roamed over the entirety of your torso, your body open to him and utterly helpless beneath the misshapen metal restraints. You could hear his noisy breath pick up as he stepped closer to the table - closer to you, and slowly reach his hand out towards the lower half of your body. Those fierce eyes glanced back up to you, a hint of something foreign in them as his large hand hovered just above the space between your legs.
“Uh-huh…” The rasp of your voice was quiet and shaking, just loud enough for The Butcher to hear. He looked back at you again, his hand slowly moving closer to the place you reluctantly admitted you wanted his touch.
The Butcher hesitated again, his fingertips so close to your aching flesh. He stared into your eyes a moment, searching them as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what you’d said. But the moment was brief, his eyes boring into yours as he finally lowered his hand onto your waiting mound.
A desperate noise left your throat, your mouth falling open as The Butcher’s fingers slid over the outer flesh, firmly caressing before dragging his fingertips through the throbbing folds of your slit. You couldn’t help but moan louder, a strangled sigh of relief as thick, calloused fingers moved up and down over your sensitive parts - a shiver running through you when The Butcher brushed across the special spot at the top of your pussy.
A hoarse grunt had left the masked killer’s lips at your husky mewling, his eyes wide and darting between your mouth and your groin. His movements were obviously unpracticed, not quite pressing the right spot but the enthusiasm of his thick fingers eliciting erotic noises from you all the same. The hand not ministering to your pussy was clutching your thigh - squeezing it whenever another desperate moan fell from your lips. His large body was practically hunched over the table now, his fierce gaze dead set upon your body as he clumsily moved his fingers through your slick folds.
The Butcher’s thick digits suddenly curled into his palm - all except the middle one, which was clumsily poking around at the soaked opening of your body. His fierce eyes looked up to yours, staring into them intently as he sunk his thick middle finger into your entrance - sliding in up to the knuckle and burying himself as deep as possible. You felt the cold metal of one of the large pieces of jewelry on his ring finger, pressed against the wet outer flesh of your pussy. What sounded like a soft groan left the butcher’s lips as he curled his finger deep inside of you. You saw a small shudder move through his large frame as he stared down at your pliant body - his tongue darting out briefly to lick the top row of his unusual teeth. The no doubt filthy, bloodstained digit began to move in and out of you - slowly at first, but swiftly picking up the pace.
Your hands clenched into fists, straining against the metal bonds as your body writhed beneath The Butcher’s touch. His heavy breathing was ragged now, shuddering in his throat as he pumped his finger in and out of you. It wasn’t long before he paused his movements, uncurling his index finger and slowly pushing it inside your slick walls. The slight burn of your pussy stretching around his thick fingers elicited a gasp from you - which in turn, drew a low growl from the butcher’s throat as he began thrusting his fingers at a faster pace. The pulsing ache of your wounded head was nearly forgotten as the masked killer worked you with his fingers.
Your eyes had clenched shut for a moment, your body tensing around The Butcher’s probing digits. When they opened again, your gaze fell upon the masked man’s chest - the dark tie at his neck, just above the hem of his apron suddenly drew your eye. This immense beast of a man, who slaughtered and wore the flesh of innocent people also wore a formal accessory with his gore-spattered ensemble. Your confused, lust-riddled brain focused upon this strange element of your captor’s clothing for some reason, sending a bizarre spike of arousal through your body.
The Butcher’s hand pressed down towards you, cupping your mound slightly as he moved his fingers in and out of you. The wet, lewd sounds coming from his ministrations made your cheeks flush - but any self consciousness was quickly forgotten when the thick area of his palm pressed against your throbbing clit. A whine left your lips as you looked down to where his immense hands were working you - the dim overhead light was glinting in the dull sheen of the various large rings adorning the butcher’s hands.
The delicious pressure was building, The Butcher having noticed your pitiful squeaks whenever his hand moved across your needy clit. The thick area of his palm was pressing against it as he continued to move his fingers. Your eyes fell lower upon his body, down to what appeared to be an intimidatingly sizable bulge pushing against the slick apron he wore over his dingy, tattered garments. A hot bolt of arousal shot through you like lightning when you noticed how the large man was pressing his hips forward, thrusting slowly against the hard wood surface of the butcher’s block you lay upon. The image shot you to the peak of your pleasure, reaching the height of your bliss with a strangled cry of ecstasy.
The Butcher continued his movements, panting heavily with arousal as he watched your back arch & your eyes clench shut. The pace of his thrusting against the dingy table had increased, a guttural moan leaving his mouth when you came. Your body writhed, straining against the metal bonds holding you in place as the stimulation quickly became too much. “Ahh! Please.. no more…”
The Butcher’s fingers didn’t let up at first, continuing to move in and out of your body as your inner walls clenched and spasmed around his massive digits. When a violent shudder passed through you, he finally slowed his movements before bringing them to a halt. He slid his large fingers out of you, hesitating for only a moment before slowly bringing them up to his face. Looking away from you, he briefly sniffed at his moistened digits before sticking them in his mouth. His lips closed over them, licking and sucking the nectar of your pleasure from his fingers voraciously before pulling them out again with a wet pop.
You tried to catch your breath, the starry rush of euphoria that had burst through your body still pulsing and making your muscles twitch in some places. Your eyes fell to the now very noticeable erection straining against the large man’s butchering apron. His hands floated in the air at his sides a moment, fingers twitching in a nervous tic as he stared down at you. The intensity of his stare made the fear rise in you once more, pushing itself free from beneath the shroud of your disconcerting pleasure.
With a guttural rasp, the masked man swiftly moved to one of the cluttered end tables - grasping an ordinary, albeit rusted, hammer and moving towards your feet. Confusion laced with fright made your pulse pick up once more, but to your surprise - The Butcher used the claw of the hammer to begin pulling up the nails that had been set into the metal bonds at your ankles. Despite the warm, tingling afterglow of your orgasm - apprehension snaked it’s way through your veins. The Butcher appeared to be freeing your legs, but his movements were hurried - borderline frenzied as the sound of his ragged breathing continued to pulse in your ears. A cold, terrible feeling in your gut told you The Butcher wasn’t releasing the bonds at your legs in order to free you.
