Don't Run: A Halloween Short

by Shon

Have you ever fantasized about being chased through the woods by a masked man before being bent over and fucked until your legs give out?

Once I realized how gone I was off a man whose “roommate” was his mama, I had to put myself in timeout.

I want to be fucked so good my legs don’t work after. I want to come so hard I forget how long it’s been since something other than silicone has been between my legs.

The idea of using a man for exactly what he’s good for with the added bonus of anonymity just does it for me.

People have their vices—other people, money, drugs. Mine has always been lust and the feeling I get from satisfying it. The high I get is unmatched, and if people weren’t so damn disappointing, I’d probably have a near-constant supply of the thing I crave around the clock. Even more reason to enjoy tonight for what it is.

“I wanna hunt your pretty ass and make you come until you tell me to stop.”

“I want you to run from me. The only rule is that when I catch you, I get to give you an orgasm for every minute I spent looking for you.”

Somewhere on the other side of town, my grandma lifted me up in prayer before she went to bed tonight, and here I am, letting a stranger chase me in the dark with the promise of orgasms.

Without another second wasted, I do what I’m told and it feels so good to obey. Like I was made to take orders from him and love it.

A dick so thick it shuts me the hell up and makes me grateful I get to exist on the same timeline as him. If only to experience this moment.

I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger. I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger whose face I’ve never seen. I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger whose name I don’t know. And it feels like bliss.

Words don’t form after that and we don’t need them. He fucks me, deep and hard in this graveyard, and mentally, I thank him for every second of it. Each brutal thrust brings me back to my sanity. Each slap against my skin makes me feel alive again.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s created a problem. Because never again will I be able to deal with a man who doesn’t slut me out and treat me like a princess after.

“You were perfect,” he praises. “So fucking perfect for me.”

I’ve never met a woman whose appetite is almost as feral as mine. And I’ve never met someone I wanted to corrupt more. And no matter how much I crave that woman like she’s my oxygen, she’s always been off limits.

It doesn’t matter who she ended up leaving that party with. There will never be another man who rearranges her guts the way I did in that graveyard.