Watch at your own risk.
The Man in the Video
The keyword here is RISK, Sara.
So don't do it.
Don't watch it.
But my fingers have already moved on their own, albeit shakily, and in moments I'm pressing the power button on the remote control. The TV screen lights up, and the remote control slips out of my hold as I feel myself pale.
The display reveals an almost perversely cinematic scene. Nouveau porn, I'm thinking, with the whole setup pitch-black save for a spotlight beaming straight down on a naked couple, and the camera positioned in such a way that I only see the man's naked back (and behind) as well as a glimpse of the woman he's having sex with...
Doggie style.
The words pop out of nowhere, and my legs snap together. I know this is not the time to feel embarrassed for thinking such dirty thoughts, but I am. I'm embarrassed, frightened, and horrified. Because deep, deep inside of me, past the layers of fear and panic—-
What I see on the TV turns me on. It's as if my body and brain have completely disengaged from each other, and while my brain understands that shit has indeed hit the fan, my body doesn't seem to care. All it's aware of is the couple on the screen, and when I finally hit Play—-
The man is shoving in and out of his partner like he's about to run out time. He's fast. Furiously fast. You can tell with how his hips are slapping so powerfully against the back of the woman's thighs, and the sound makes me squirm.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The sound is hard and wet. It should've disgusted me, but instead I'm just...hornier. I squirm some more, and my legs press closer together. But it's no use, and my eyes squeeze shut when I feel something unmistakably creamy and sticky lining my folds.
This is wrong.
I'm wrong.
But then it gets even more wrong when I hear the woman suddenly crying out like a kitten being strangled—-
My eyes fly open, and I realize she is being strangled.
The camera angle has switched, and I now see the man's fingers around her throat. He's squeezing the life out of her, his grip far from tender or lover-like, and my heart nearly stops when her eyes start to roll back.
She's dying!
Dying!
She gasps, and the fingers around her throat instantly loosen. A part of me expects her to run away, but instead she gasps again, and I realize in shock that her gasps...are also of pleasure. Because that look on her face—-
She's cumming.
And so is he.
The slaps of his hips against her thighs are now eclipsed by plunging sounds—-
Thud, thud, thud!
The sound of footsteps makes me freeze, and the next thing I know, I'm seeing a man coming up to the rear deck. He has a Kevlar vest over his shirt, and my heart jumps to my throat when I see he's fully armed.
Oh God!
I'm not sure if I've made a sound, but the man suddenly looks up, and I'm stunned to realize it's the same man in the video.
Why is he here? Why am I here? What's happening?
"I'll handle things from here, Gerard."
That voice...
I spin around as "Gerard" takes his leave, and a sob shakes my body when I find myself looking into a pair of eyes that are Paul-Newman-blue. I know this is crazy, but I'm crying out of relief. Because what they say is true.
The devil you know is truly better, for realz.
Mr. Sinister cups my chin, so suddenly that I don't even have the chance to decide if I should resist his touch or not. "Are you alright, my dove?"
Another one of those randomly pointless thoughts invade my mind...and Mr. Sinister actually seems to sense this when his fingers around my chin tighten a fraction. "What is it?"
"What is...what?"
The fingers holding my chin fall away, but his gaze remains trained on my face. "You were thinking of something."
My eyes widen.
"What is it?" he asks again.
I consider lying, but my internal debate lasts only for a second. This is not worth lying about, and so I tell him the truth—-
"I was thinking," I say in a small voice, "that I didn't expect you to be the type to use avian endearments."
—-no matter how mortifying.
A moment passes.
And then another.
And another.
Until finally, he speaks, saying very, very gently, "I'll have to punish you for that."
I'm shocked at first.
And then I look at him, thinking he's joking.
Hoping he's joking.
But he's not.
Even when the expression on his too-beautiful face is calm, the sick feeling in my stomach tells me he absolutely means it, and my instincts take over.
I make a run for it. Again.
But I fail. Again.
He catches me by the waist, and I turn feral without planning to. I give it all I've got as I try fighting him off. Clawing. Scratching. Kicking. Punching. Even biting, for God's sake.