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These were the rules of the sinister game. I’d run, he’d chase, and then when he caught me, he could do with me whatever he chose. But facing it head on…
This was part of the primal play. Raw. Sadistic. Depraved. Thirsty. We were nothing more than Heathens.
The Hunt. It was a seasonal, pagan-like ritual that happened on Heathens Hollow after the Harvest Moon where rich assholes dressed up in stag masks of bone and chased women into the woods to fuck them. The Harvest Moon kickstarted the hunts, but then they occurred every weekend after and consumed the island.
“Because after tonight, you’ll never fuck another man again. Never again.”
“I’m going to take you to bed so you can get some rest. But my bed, so you’re there in the morning so I can fuck you again… and again.”
“There’s no turning back, Storee,” he whispered to me, his lips finding my ear. “You thought I was protective and overbearing before… Now you’re going to see what it means when you’re truly mine.”
“I’ll keep my cock in you all the time. I’ll fuck you whenever I want.”
“You’re going to be mine, Storee. Every time you look at me, you’ll think of my cock fucking you. You’ll think of my hands on you. You’ll remember that I’m the only thing that feels good.”
“I wanted to be the man who burned down the world for you to keep you safe.” I leaned in, my lips brushing against his. “You didn’t need to. I held the match myself.”
