Halloween Drawing - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 2

I was halfway up the stairs, one hand on the wall, when the voice came up from the basement.

“Diego. Get back down here.”

Vader. The modulator dragged it, but the tone was clear. I stopped. The gray shorts were already sticking to me. Cum from the werewolf was cooling on my skin. I looked over my shoulder. The orange bulb in the kitchen was still on. Downstairs the fog machine coughed once.

“Now,” the box said again. Not louder. Just like the decision had already been made.

I went back down.

They hadn’t moved much. Iron Man had the faceplate up and snapped it shut the second he saw me on the stairs. Spider-Man was on the dryer, one knee bouncing. Freddy had pulled the glove off his right hand and was opening and closing his fist like the plastic had cramped. Vader still filled the doorway. The werewolf stood beside the mattress with the claws hanging loose, snout pointed at the floor. None of them had taken the masks off. None of them had turned the voice changers off either.

“Second draw,” Vader said. “We didn’t empty the pumpkin. I guess you’re hungry for more. First-round winner sits this one out. Rest of us pull again. You stay down here.”

“You told me to go shower.”

“Yeah,” Freddy said. The box cracked hard on the word. “We changed our mind. You were walking like you weren’t done anyway.”

I wasn’t. My hole was still soft and hungry for more. I could feel the first load every time I shifted my weight. I looked at the werewolf. He didn’t lift his head. The eye holes stayed on the concrete.

“Same rules,” Vader said. “Masks stay. Boxes stay. You don’t say a name. Winner fucks you. We watch. You can still say no.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“Cool.”

Iron Man made a sound through the plastic that might have been a laugh. Spider-Man picked up the pumpkin and shook it. The slips were already back inside. He held it out. They drew onto the top of the dryer this time, one by one. Blank. Blank. Freddy’s bare hand dropped another blank. Vader went last. He pulled the paper with two fingers, looked at it for a second, and turned it so the rest of the room could see the red X.

“Vader,” Spider-Man said. The changer flattened it.

The werewolf stepped away from the mattress without anyone telling him to. He crossed his arms. One claw tapped against his own bicep, once. He didn’t leave the room. Vader walked into the middle of the concrete. The cape dragged behind him. He stopped in front of me and looked down through the helmet.

“On the mattress. All fours. Don’t look at the helmet. Same as last time.”

I pushed the shorts down. The pink jock was still on. Somebody exhaled through a box. I got on my hands and knees again. The mattress was warm and already damp where I’d been. Vader knelt behind me. The cape pooled on the floor. A black glove—real leather, not a costume claw—settled on my hip. Bigger hand than the werewolf’s. Different weight. The gym callus sat in another place.

“You still want it, boy? Ass not sore?” he said. The toy voice made it sound like it was coming from farther away than he was.

“Yeah, it’s sore but I can take it.”

He didn’t reach for more lube. I had the werewolf load inside. Just lined up and pushed. Thicker than the first. The head stretched me open again and the rest followed in one heavy slide. I dropped my forehead to the mattress and breathed through it, moaning. He waited until I rocked back, then started fucking. Longer strokes than the werewolf. Slower. Heavier. Every time he bottomed out the helmet knocked lightly against my shoulder blade. His breathing was louder, mouth open under the mask. I could hear it even with the changer on.

“Fuck,” he said. The word doubled and broke. “Still wet from him.”

“Don’t talk about it,” the werewolf said from the wall, feeling ashamed. First thing he’d said since I came back down. The box chewed the words, but the edge was still there.

Vader didn’t answer him. His hips kept moving. Steady. The cape brushed the back of my calf on every pull-back. One of the others shifted. A zipper. Slow. I didn’t turn my head. Spider-Man had gone completely quiet. Freddy tapped the metal rail once with the glove and then stopped. Iron Man was breathing through the faceplate like he was counting in his head.

Vader’s free hand came up and pressed flat between my shoulder blades, keeping my chest down. Different grip. Thumb higher, closer to my neck. I tried to remember it and lost the thought when he changed the angle and drove in deep enough to punch a sound out of me. He grunted, a real sound, and the modulator turned it into a burst of static.

“You close?” I asked.

“Don’t talk, just take it.”

He fucked harder. The mattress shifted an inch toward the water heater. I heard the werewolf move—just a change in weight, claws scraping denim. Vader’s rhythm broke. He shoved in and stayed. Heat. Different from the first load. Less volume, thicker. He held my hip hard enough that his fingers dug in and finished with three short, heavy pulses. He didn’t pull out right away. The helmet rested against my back. Breathing. Then he eased out slow. Fresh cum ran down and mixed with what the werewolf had left.

He stood. Adjusted the cape. Looked toward the werewolf for a second. Neither of them said anything.

“Mask stays until he’s upstairs and the shower’s running,” Vader said. His voice was flatter now. “Same rule. Nobody talks normal. Diego showers. We don’t draw again tonight.”

I stayed on the mattress. Knees still open. Two loads leaking. Five costumes standing around me in the fog. I pulled the shorts up without wiping anything. The gray fabric soaked through immediately. I walked past Vader. Past the werewolf. At the bottom of the stairs I stopped and put a hand on the railing.

“You called me back,” I said. Not loud. “So you can call me back again.”

Four voice boxes answered at the same time. Maybe five. All of them the same broken, low sound.

“Go shower, Diego.”

I climbed the stairs. The pumpkin still had papers. My legs shook on the second step and I had to catch the wall. Downstairs the fog machine kept running. Nobody laughed. I heard a zipper. Then the soft sound of costumes shifting. Five guys standing in the basement, waiting for the shower to start so they could take the masks off and spend the rest of the night pretending they didn’t breed the gay housemate.