Kinktober day 7: Knife play + gags w/ Ghostface
Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, knife play, gag, tell me if I missed any.
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Waking up tied and gagged on your bed, the last thing you’d expect was to be fucked to oblivion. Like any normal person in this situation, you panicked and assumed you’d be gutted and left to bleed out on your bed. The same way any of The Ghostface’s victims were left: a scene of struggle, dried blood, moved furniture, and a cold, dead body in the middle of it all.
You were sure you’d become his next victim after many nights of paranoia following you everywhere and feeling unsafe in your own home. Windows left open, object disappearing and little pictures and notes purposely left behind for you to find out. It was as if Ghostface was taunting you, terrorising his prey before he ate it the same way you marinated meat before cooking it.
And yet, here you are, drooling around the red, ball gag he brought with him, wrists tied behind your back in an uncomfortable position, forcing you to slump over his seated figure. Despite the cool air rushing in through the open window, your body alight, coated in a heavy sheen of sweat, and thighs burning from lifting your prone body up and down his cock.
Ghostface made you ride him, gasping and panting over him, head hanging on his spit-covered shoulder as he trailed his knife down your side. You could feel every ridge of his girth, the veins that ran up to the tip and the mushroom head of his cut head. Shame ate at you, cunt leaking down his balls, walls clenching around him and clit twitching from the cold fabric of his leather. The utter betrayal of your body for finding pleasure in this.
He didn’t even bother wearing a condom, leaving you worried, but that was the least of your issues. The biggest being the big and dangerous weapon he held to your skin, cutting a thin line of blood without hitting too deep. You were in a delicate situation, torn between having to fuck yourself on his cock and live, or refuse and die a painful death: gutted and tortured, displayed like a work of vulgar piece of art.
“C’mon doll, move those hips faster,” his seductive drawl came through the staticky voice changer, it was deep and low, seductively deceiving with every pet name he spoke, “The faster I cum, the faster we’re be done.”
You bit down a scoff between gritted teeth, only huffing and groaning when the head of his cock bulldozed its way into you, hit your cervix with a hard thrust. He was lean and veiny, and shaved neatly, but long. What he lacked in girth, he made up with the length of it. He felt too long to be normal, bullying into you with little effort despite your initial struggle, but he slid in like a hot knife to butter.
Your hips stuttered when the sharp edge of his knife dug deeper, his wrist curling and twisting to draw precise lines on your skin. Every letter made him throb, the head twitching as you hissed and sobbed, teeth sinking into your lower lip. It started with “GH“, then his hips started thrusting up at “OST”, and his hand found itself on your thigh with a painful grip at “FACE”.
You shuddered, legs growing weaker and weaker, the adrenaline that had mercifully numbed your pain was slowly coming to an end just as you felt the agonising coil of pleasure tighten. You could hear him huff and pant through the plastic mask, nearly undetectable by the mic of his voice changer.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, head thrown back, driving his hips up, “Fuck.”
He painted your walls white, the heavy feel of him inside made you nauseous, and it only worsened at the sight of his finished work —”GHOSTFACE” was cleanly written on the side of your waist, simulating a branding —the signature on a finished piece.
“I’ll see you next week, doll,” he patted your thigh, knife cutting through your binds and took the gag off before he slipped out the window.
And just before he left, he turned around and curled his fingers at you:
“Tell anyone and I’ll know. Bye bye now. ”
