Page 24 of Your Masked Haunting

Scaredy-Cat: For sure. I want nothing more than to see all of you…

I knew you were just using me for my body

Scaredy-Cat: You can use me for mine.

Scaredy-Cat: Go ahead and tell me all the dirty things you want to do to helpless ol’ me ;)

Are you sure about that? It might scare you away

Scaredy-Cat: I wouldn’t be worried

Scaredy-Cat: You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine

Scaredy-Cat: Every filthy, dripping detail

I knew from the start that you weren’t innocent

Scaredy-Cat: What gave it away? My sunshiny personality? My bitchiness? Or my tattoos?

I personally don’t judge someone from their appearance

Scaredy-Cat: Shut up. Now, please, tell me how you fantasize about me

I intend to, especially because you said please

But first things first

Reach into that nightstand and get the toy I bought and snuck in there for you

Scaredy-Cat: The vibrator? In the black box with the cute card? Oh, baby, I’ve already broken that bad boy in. Over and over, picturing your mask hovering above me as you pumped yourself inside me from base to tip

Scaredy-Cat: Imagining you storming into my room, bending me over my bed, and taking me until you got your fill, making me come too many times, until I couldn’t handle it

Scaredy-Cat: Imagining you running the blade of a knife down my spine and pinning it to my throat as you pounded into me from behind

Scaredy-Cat: Or picturing you hoisting me up, my arms around your neck, my legs over your arms as you lowered me and lifted. Up and down, up and down. I know you’d be strong enough.

Wetness brushes the tip of my dick, the arousal dripping into my boxers. I need to make a list because we’re doing all of that.

Holy mother of God.

Obsessed, possessive—those words aren’t strong enough to describe the things I feel for her.

And of course she already used the toy because she has to rebel, even when she isn’t aware she’s doing it. I’m going to have to find that footage and watch it until it burns itself into my eyeballs, playing when my lids drift shut.

Reading her dirty words is drawing the masked side of me out, the side with darker desires who wants to see tears roll down her cheeks when she takes me down her throat, gasping and gagging for air, only breathing when I let her.

I need to hear her voice, not imagine it from the messages she’s sending. I press Call, and she watches her phone ring. Once. Twice. Then she answers on the third, staying nervously quiet.

“My dirty fucking girl. I miss you.” I groan, sliding my hand into the waistband of my pants and over my throbbing cock. “Do you have the toy out?”

I already know the answer, seeing the drawer open and her hand in her shorts, the end of the toy lifting the fabric.

“Yes.”

She’s shier on the call than she is in text. Good. I like pushing her out of her comfort zone.

“What’s … up?”