Creaming - Blog Posts
ain't this neat...
What 3 months of artblock has done to me
he’s so fine that i had to look up this chart and reevaluate my original and very inappropriate thoughts on this photo
*peaks around the corner* heard you wanna write p*rn 👀
Gross ghostface knife play p*rn perhaps???
--@the-slasher-files 💕🔪
@the-slasher-files
You’re an outsider to this equation. You always have been. You’re not naive enough to think otherwise. And you don’t mind; they had their own thing long before you came around, and even as an outsider, the three of you worked. So it was an honour in its own right to be let into what they had cultivated together. Still, it was curious to see the jagged lines of separation laid out so clearly for you. The difference always boiled down to the carnal acts, whether sex or murder.
Your hand lingers on the door frame, index finger stroking at the grooves as you stare at the sight before you. Stu is on his back, arms restrained to the bed’s metal headboard. Deep red lines of irritation cut into his wrists, and you’re unsure if that’s due to the man’s thrashing or the material being pulled too taut against such delicate flesh. Not that he seemed to mind, you could hear the small noises of contentment that came from below Billy. Each little noise went straight through your body like gentle thrums of lightning.
“Like what you see?” Billy breaks you from your trance, his voice a low rumble. He doesn’t spare you a look; his bare back turned to you from where he’s sat between Stu’s spread thighs. The muscles in Billy’s back ripple as he moves, the red-stained point of a knife coming into your field of vision.
Your heart hammers against your chest, nails curling against the wood of the doorframe. You feel like you can’t breathe, anticipation (or perhaps dread) wringing your lungs and holding the precious air within hostage.
“It’s okay; he likes it. Don’t you?” The words are met by an enthusiastic little mewl and the creaking of a bed from Stu’s canting hips. “You’re so delicate,” Billy continues to speak, his hips rocking forward as he brings the knife down till the point digs into the meat of Stu’s thigh. “I’d love to do this to you one day, think about it all the time. So does Stu.” You’re paralyzed watching the knife drag along the skin, a thin red line forming and tiny beads of blood bubble to the surface before the tension breaks and it begins to dribble down and catch amongst Stu’s leg hair. “Don’t know if you can take what we’d give you though, but Stu can take it. Can’t you?”
Stu babbles something nonsensical in response, a litany of yes and please, Billy’s name, and shockingly, your name finds its way rolling off his tongue. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, a juxtaposition to the churning in your stomach.
“Come here.” You’re helpless to the tone Billy uses, enthralled by it as your hand drops from the door frame and your legs begin to move, the floorboards creek as you approach the bed.
The sight that awaits you makes your stomach knot, and you cannot discern if it’s from disgust or arousal. The thin lines on Stu’s thigh seem insignificant to his chest’s deep cuts. His skin is clammy, sweat-slicked and stained red and you honestly would be concerned if the man didn’t look absolutely blissful at this moment, cock hard and drooling against his stomach.
Billy holds out the knife, his hand steady and unmoving. Then, finally, he lifts his gaze to stare at you. Dark eyes stare at you, and the corners of kiss-bitten lips curl upwards. “Do you want to join?”