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He smirks at my reaction, looming over me as he brings the curved blade under the base of my chin. "Not a single sound, Hadley." It's a wicked reminder that's immediately put to the test when his long fingers dip into my slit through the torn fabric of my panties, spreading my pussy lips. His hand with the knife retreats from my throat, the tip lightly scratching a light pink line as he drags it down my skin. His fingers tease my entrance, not going nearly deep enough to satisfy the aching in my gut, my own slick dripping from his fingers to slide down the crease of my ass.
Shifting my hips in an attempt to get his fingers deeper, the knife on my collarbone is pressed deeper, and my palm slaps over my mouth to stop the sound that was about to come out. Rhys's deep chuckle hits me right in the pussy, has it clenching at his fingers as they dip just inside before running along my lips once more. There's a small line of blood trailing from my collarbone, dripping down to the valley between my breasts, and I watch Rhys's chest pick up as he follows its path with his eyes. His pupils are blown when they meet mine, the sight of my blood taking his arousal to another level of wicked.
The knife trails lower, circling one of my nipples, and his hand withdraws from my pussy. My hips chase his fingers, watching as he unbuttons his denim, eyes fixed on the long hard erection he shifts from the confines of his pants. The tip is shiny with pre-cum, and I find myself sitting forward, hand reaching to grab him in my palm. He stops me, the tip of his knife digging into the weight of my left tit. "New rule, no moving."
My mouth opens to argue, fingers still stretched toward his skin, but he slices a thin, jagged line down my ribcage in warning. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a stinging pink scratch. Closing my mouth, I lay back onto the carpet, my fingers digging into the soft shag to keep myself from reaching for him again. His teeth flash at the frown dipping my lips, but he doesn't comment on my sudden change of tune.
The silver blade reflects off the lamp across the room as he lifts it to my other breast, giving it the same torturous tease as he had the other before slowly dragging it down toward my belly button. My eyes close as his fingers find my soaking pussy once more, the long digits swiping from the bottom of my ass to my clit to scoop up my slick. Opening my eyes at the loss of his touch, I meet his dark gaze just as he sticks his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan deep in this throat. The sound alone has my hips shifting in front of him, silently begging him to stop with the slow teasing.
He shakes his head at me, flicking his wrist so quickly I don't see the line he's cut into my skin until the blood starts to well up in tiny little droplets. I bite my bottom lip to keep from making any noise, the slight bit of pain jumbling with the throb between my legs to muddle my brain. His tongue lands hot on my skin, lapping along the cut in a way that has my body trembling to fight the urge to arch into him. Almost in the same breath, I feel his dick bob along my slit, just the tip breaching my inner lips to tease me further. Sitting up from me, he pulls out before slamming back into me. It effectively cuts off the protest that was about to slip from my lips and slides my back along the carpet with a force that covers my back in rug burn. He either forgot the significance of him fucking me raw, even knowing my extensive background of partners, or he is just merely uncaring.
I moan against my will, head rolling back into the carpet as he grips my hip with one hand and slices across my skin with the other. The grip on my hip bone is painfully bruising, and his thrusts vicious, almost too hard, too rough, ramming into me in a way that makes my pussy sting with each violent slap of his balls. Another moan slips out, and I smack my hand back over my mouth, the sound earning me yet another slice. Despite ruthlessly pounding between my legs, Rhys is following the same path as his blade, licking up the blood that leaks from the spots that sink just a tad too deep. Little sounds keep leaking through my fingers, and every one is followed by another knick or slice. It's a mixture of soft and punishing that has me quickly feeling the tightening in my gut of an impending orgasm.
My skin is hot and sweaty, and I can feel the short strands of my hair sticking to my face as I rock my head back and forth with pinched eyes to keep from screaming through my fingers. Each thrust of Rhys's hips is painful on both the friction burn on my back and my pussy; my body is stinging from various slices covering my skin, an all over burn that does nothing but cause more slick to seep down my ass cheeks onto the carpet. My orgasm hits me hard and fast, a shaking moan slipping from my chest as Rhys's mouth locks onto one of my tits, teeth sinking into the plump flesh as his tongue flicks the nipple. It hurts so fucking good that I can't stop my thighs from closing tighter around his waist, uncaring of the slice that tracks across my ribcage for it.
My body sags in defeat, my hand slipping away from my mouth to land next to my face as Rhys continues his delicious abuse. I watch him as he rams into me, my slick easing some of the burn as he drives hard and fast to reach his own release. His hair is dry now but for a few pieces sticking to his forehead with sweat. His muscles flex as he pumps, the denim on his hips have slipped even lower, hanging around his thick thighs. He's stunning in all his angry glory, lips twisted into a nasty scowl even as I feel thick spurts of cum spray my gut.
He's out of breath, hips finally stilling as he admires the mess he's made of my skin. Letting the knife slip from his fingers, he runs both of us hands up my ribcage, small blots of blood spreading along with them as he presses into my cuts. I hiss through my teeth when his fingers find the deep bite mark on
my breast, the skin already bruising, an ugly shade of purple and green. He ignores it, continuing his exploration of his handy work until he reaches my face. One hand gripping my jaw, he drops onto a forearm to loom over me. Without a word, he kisses my lips, soft and heart-achingly sweet compared to his usual barrage. I don't know if I'm able to move yet or not, so I remain still, my fingers sinking into the carpet as he continues to kiss me with a tenderness that thrums the puppet strings commanding my heart.
Even when showing me kindness, his touch is punishing. I'm out of breath from his kisses, my lips swollen and aching, my jaw tired. He's turning the delicate touch against me, using it as another way to torture me, knowing it's what my sad heart desires most. Even knowing this is part of whatever wicked game he's playing, I don't want him to stop. My pussy is sore and aching around his still hard dick, my body hurts, but I'd die happily if I suffocated on his lips. He's pulling away far too soon, his lips glistening as he looks down on me. I can tell from the look in his eye that this night is far from over, and it settles the beat of my heart as I stare up at him, waiting for him to say whatever vicious words I know he'll sling at me.
"Thank you, weirdo." It’s not what I expected, and it blows like smoke around my heart.
A bunny.
A fucking bunny.
Of all of the things my butterfly could have dressed up as for Halloween, she chose one of the most basic bitch outfits. I'm not sure if I'm more annoyed that she's flapping around campus with her fucking tits and ass hanging out, showing off what is mine for the entire male population to see, or of her lack of creativity and imagination. Adjusting my top hat, I scan the crowd from my spot on the bench, eyes landing on my Thecla betulae as she chugs from a keg, her bunny ears flopping over her eyes when she stands back up. It's definitely the lack of brain cells that bothers me most. Unlike her, I actually put thought into my outfit. I have to admit, I've certainty outdone myself this year with my vintage-inspired Jack the Ripper ensemble.
Lucky for my butterfly, the holiday has put me in a rather good mood. It has been my favorite for as long as I can remember. It's the one time of the year that I can be me without all the dramatics; no one is ugly crying or screaming for someone to call the police. The holiday makes people wet with desire to see wicked things. They laugh and party and drink, all while watching someone die right in front of their faces thinking it's a part of the show. The ugly crying doesn't come until well after I've disappeared.
Tonight, I have something exciting planned for Thecla betulae. Something I've been daydreaming about since the idea popped into my head last Halloween. I catch myself smiling whenever I think about it, heart thumping behind my ribs with anticipation. I have a feeling this will be my favorite collection to date and not because of my butterfly. My eyes find my butterfly once more, watching her grab the fluffy bunny tail on her naked ass to make sure it's still there. Where the fuck else would it be? I've really let my standards slip for this one, I'll admit. She was more of a convenience pick, not like all of my perfect beauties I already have pinned in my shadow box. I'm not sure if spending time with a certain weirdo has something to do with that or if I was more focused on my actual plan to really care who my prize would be.
It hardly matters though, my butterfly will look just as stunning as the rest.
Just as perfect.
Pulling out my phone, I look at the time. Pretty soon, my butterfly and her group of friends should be heading to the haunted house on the edge of campus. I stand, adjusting my vest before walking in the opposite direction of my butterfly and her obnoxious costume. I need to get to the house before she does if I want this plan to work. If she doesn't show up like planned, I'll just have to find a substitution. I've waited way too fucking long for this to just not do it. That would seriously piss me off, though, so my butterfly's fluffy ass just better be there.
It's about a fifteen-minute walk to the haunted house, and I should get there a few minutes before they actually open up for people. If my butterfly leaves when she's supposed to, that'll give me eight to ten minutes to prepare for her. Well, probably longer if she fucks off in the line, which really is likely. Slipping around the back of the building, I bypass the gathering people outside of the front and open the back employee entrance. I'm not an employee, but I doubt anyone will stop me. I've found that more often than not if you act like you belong somewhere, people just believe you. People are so funny in that regard; everyone is always so trusting.
Grabbing an extra mask, I remove my hat and slip it on before making my way through the dark house. Thanks to visiting the place a few days ago, I already know where I need to go and how it's going to happen; everything is already in place for me. I also showed up for rehearsals last night to know where all the other people will be hiding for their own scares. Right here, on the second level that overlooks the entrance, is where my beautiful but stupid butterfly will make her grand entrance into my collection. My quick, excited breaths are loud inside my mask, and I feel myself smiling again.
I duck back, standing between some large curtains and neon cobwebs as the regular lights shut off, strobes, and red bulbs taking their place. Music blares through the strategically placed speakers throughout the house, ghastly howls, and screams that adds to the ambiance. People have to walk through several rooms of horror down below before they get to the upper level to explore the rooms. Besides a few zombie clowns that jump out near the bottom of the stairs, there is nothing but decorations from the stairs landing to the room on the far left of the upper walkway. I imagine it was a precautionary thing so that people wouldn't fall down the stairs or over the banister. Opening up an old servant’s hallway, I quickly move through the halls to the door at the bottom of the staircase.
The hardest part of this whole thing will be grabbing my butterfly when her group gets scared by the clowns and pulling her back with me without anyone noticing. Theoretically, it shouldn't be that difficult. You can barely see anything, and her screams will get swallowed up with all the others. If by chance, I am caught grabbing her, I'll just play it off as part of the entertainment. Opening the door near the end of the staircase, I hide with the other decorations. My mask is getting hot with my adrenaline, my hands starting their tremble of excitement. I almost feel... giddy?
I stand and sweat in place far fucking longer than I anticipated waiting for my butterfly, my doubts that she might not even be coming starting to take over and ruin my mood just as she pops through the doorway. I can barely hear myself think through the pounding of my heart in my ears as I watch her scream over some fake spiders on the floor. I know she'll have to go through the other rooms before I can make my move, but just knowing she's here gets my blood pumping. In approximately twelve minutes, I'll be that much closer to getting my Thecla betulae.
Time ticks on so slowly when you're waiting with anticipation, and after what feels like an eternity in the dark, my butterfly flutters over toward the staircase. I've timed the zombie clowns with the other groups to know when I can grab her. I know that there are three clowns that come out in various positions. I will need to grab her just after the first so that the group will be too scared and distracted by the second to see my hauling her off. Lucky for me, she's still near the back of her group with an equally naked looking cat, their hands linked as they walk in my direction.
I almost feel sick with my excitement, my stomach nauseous as I wait for that first clown. She passes me by a foot, and my breath heats up my face as I resist the urge to grab her now. Like clockwork, the first clown jumps out, and I make my move. Springing forward, I grab my butterfly around her waist and yank her backward as her startled scream turns into one of true terror, breaking her hold on her friend. Her friend starts to look our way since her hand was tugged but is immediately distracted by the second clown, just like I hoped for. Fighting the wiggling woman in my arms, I slam the servant door closed. She's still screaming, her bunny headband falling to the ground as I drag her upstairs. Swinging her sideways, I smack her head on the wall to disorientate her a bit, getting her to stop fighting me as much.
Reaching the second floor, I slap a hand over her mouth as I wait at the doorway, listening for any new groups coming this way. Her group should have passed by now. Hearing the fake chainsaw sound from the kitchen, I know I have about three minutes before that group gets to the clowns below. That means I need to work quickly. Shoving my butterfly forward, I let her hit the floorboards, her arms giving out from under her when I step on her back. I grab the rope I'd laid out yesterday and yank my butterfly's head up enough to secure the noose around her neck. Pulling her up, I fight off her wild swings, letting her hit me a few times as I move her exactly where I want her to be; her back facing the banister. Pulling the paper butterfly from my pocket, I stick it down the front of her outfit. It won't be displayed nearly as pretty as the others, but it will be tucked away from them to find later. With one final look at my beautiful Thecla betulae, I shove her chest. Even in the dark, I see the terror written along her features, her arms wildly swinging to catch herself. And to her credit, she almost does, but I push her heeled foot to tip her even further.
And just like that, my butterfly flies.
