The Lesson of Fear

by BloodyBeth

Copyright© 2014 by BloodyBeth

Horror Sex Story: 22 year old Belle has always been fascinated by the villain. She's tried getting her lover to participate in some mild bdsm, but somehow it never felt like enough. Then a local serial killer started terrorizing her town and she found herself fantasising about being the one girl to satisfy his dark needs. WARNING: Extreme, bloody and brutal contents. All of the actions by both people are purely consensual.

Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Rape   Heterosexual   Fiction   Horror   BDSM   MaleDom   Rough   Humiliation   Sadistic   Torture   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Violence   .

I never thought I'd find myself in this situation, testing my binds and looking for an escape. No, this was certainly not the meager role-play I'd done with my boyfriend, so many times before. This was real. The threats, the kidnapping, the murderer ... all real.

A shriek escapes me as the man drops me roughly onto the concrete floor of the underground bunker. My head bounces off of it, a dull headache and ringing in my ears. The floor is cold against my nearly naked skin, easily seeping through my thin underwear. He's whistling while he locks the hatch that we came in from. Though I do feel scared, I can't help but admire him for that brief moment that he looks at me, in the dim lighting of the room. His green eyes are alight beneath his shaggy, blood red hair. A manic grin stretches the features of his pale white, angular face. His build is perfect...

At least I get some good eye candy while I'm dying. The morbid thought makes me want to laugh, despite my situation, but I try to hold it back. Instead I find myself smiling through the gag he'd put on me earlier. Maybe if I just pretend that it's all role-play, it'll be easier. Yeah, that should work.

His grin falters then. He looks at me curiously. "Are you ... smiling?"

I freeze, forgetting my thoughts as he angrily stalks towards me. Hand at my jaw he shoves me against the nearest wall, rage consuming his features. I do my best not to struggle, even when his fingers dig into my skin. "You're not supposed to be enjoying this." He hisses in my ear.

The click of a blade chases away my hopes of pretending, and I look over to see a small but sharp pocket knife in his gloved hand. He brings it closer to me, rubbing the flat of the blade on my neck. I'm trembling. The man inhales deeply. "Ah, there's that fear..."

I whimper softly, closing my eyes and bracing for whatever he might do next. I have to remind myself that this man intends to kill me at some point, and I should probably give him what he wants if I want any chance of escape. My body, however, is growing more and more excited due to the complete lack of control. It's all I can do not to moan.

"Hmm ... I think I'll take the gag off of you now. We are, after all, underground in the middle of nowhere." His eyes have a mischievous glint in them as he breathes the next part on my neck, "And I want to hear you scream."

I can't help it. A shuddering, obviously horny whine escapes my throat. My eyes are locked on his lips. I want nothing more than for him to remove this gag and make me scream in whatever brutal, viscous ways he can think of without killing me while he crushes my lips beneath his. He notices, pushing my chin up with his thumb and staring at me. His eyes are hard, his lips curled in a snarl.

Apparently, he decides to let it go, as he roughly removes the gag, making sure to yank my head around painfully while doing so, finally setting on pulling it straight back so that my nose is skyward, my face twisting in pain, and a pounding headache rips though me so bad I can barely see. His kiss is brutal; I can feel his teeth grinding against my own with how hard he's kissing me. My lips are bruised, split and bleeding. He presses himself hard against me, holding my bound body up on its toes. I'm almost thankful for the feeling of his chest pressing against my aching nipples as he tries even harder to intimidate me.

The next moment I'm on the ground again, landing painfully on my side as he releases my body. He stands there, breathing heavily, his arousal bulging through his pants, before he turns to me. "What do you think you're doing to me, you little vixen?"

"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean too, I just—."

"SHUT UP!"

I don't just shut up, I hold my breath, watching him carefully. My thighs rub together, and I can already feel myself growing more and more wet. The minutes pass as he begins pacing, rambling to himself and waving the knife around. Occasionally he'll point it at me: "You did this." "You're supposed to be screaming." And then finally, he walks back over to me, kneeling down so that his face is level with mine, "WHY ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS?" He screams shaking the knife at me.

By instinct I shrink back, tears threatening to escape. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Please..." I feel my lips start to quiver as I look from the knife back to him, fully aware that he could kill me at any second, "Please calm down. I'll be good ... I promise."

"You want to be good?" He says loudly, not quite screaming, but not in a normal tone either, and he kneels over me taking the sharp edge of the knife and dragging it along one arm, then the other. "Start screaming," he growls, then presses it into my skin even harder.

Sharp, burning pain makes me obey as the blade cuts into my shoulder. Again, my nipples ache and I find myself looking at him, longing for another brutal kiss. Never, in any role-play, has my boyfriend cared to go this far, with complete and total disregard.

"Please," I sob pitifully. After almost an hour of squeezing my legs together with need I'm a puddle of mindless hormones, but I can't get the words out. I'm lost in delicious, blinding pain. He continues sinking the blade in just about a half inch or so on either shoulder, bringing me to the brink of passing out, before pulling back, just enough to keep me conscious. "Please ... please ... please..."

He dips his head down, licking my wounds before he makes his way up to me, grinning again. "Please, what?"

He stops then, sitting perfectly still, and watching me. I finally gave him the reaction he wanted, and now that I was crying hysterically due to the pain, I could do nothing more than open my mouth a little and stare at his lips. He scoffs. "You think I want to kiss you?"

I nod, hopeful. All rationality is now hazed over with sexual and sick yearning. "Please..." I manage, eyes still locked on his lips. But instead they curl in a revolted snarl for the slightest moment before becoming a mocking sneer.

Again, he twists his fingers in my hair, shaking his head slowly. He's hovering just above me now, his face still twisted in a mix of manic emotions. "You have no idea what you're asking for, girl."

This time, he starts to kiss me gently, lightly touching my bruised lips with his. When he breaks it, he's smiling. "You think your enjoying the fear?" He asks only half caring for my answer. Another kiss, just a little more intense. A seemingly normal, passionate lover's kiss. "You're getting all excited, because you think you like the pain I'm causing you." This kiss was rough by a lot of standards, but nothing compared to what he'd given me before, and still I find myself eagerly nodding and whimpering when he pulls away once more. His eye catches mine, and he whispers harshly, "You sick, disgusting little whore."

And I'm lost in a blur of grinding teeth, the faint taste of metal, and a wonderful throbbing in my lips that seems to pulsate throughout my whole jaw with the strength of his kiss. His hands are roaming my body, one hand carelessly dragging the knife along with it. I hiss at the burning trail left by its blade, then gasp and scream. His right hand has found it's way to my breasts, and relentlessly twists my nipple and squeezes my whole right breast until I can look at it and easily distinguish a mix of blues and greens painting my skin.

"Do you still think you like it, whore?" He asks me, nipping at my neck and drawing tiny droplets of blood.

I nod, but that doesn't satisfy him. About an half-inches worth of the knife's tip digs into my upper, outer thigh, making me scream even louder. "Say it then."

 
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