The moon hung low over the empty stretch of coastline, silver light mixing with the warm orange glow of the crackling bonfire. She had come alone—supposedly to clear her head, to feel the salt wind against her skin. But the moment she saw the tall figure in the black suit standing silently on the other side of the flames, she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.
He wore an eerie white mask carved with jagged, grinning lines—something primal, almost ritualistic. The firelight danced across the grotesque features, making the carved mouth seem to widen every time he tilted his head. He said nothing at first. He simply watched.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. She should have turned and run. Instead her fingers found the hem of her thin sundress.
The dress slid slowly over her hips… then her breasts… then her shoulders. The fabric pooled at her bare feet. No underwear. Just skin. Cool night air kissed every newly exposed inch—nipples tightening instantly, a shiver racing down her spine and settling hot and heavy between her thighs.
She stood naked on the sand, arms uncertain, one hand instinctively drifting to cover her mound while the other hovered near her chest. The masked man still hadn’t spoken. He only stepped one deliberate pace closer, shoes crunching softly, the fire painting long shadows across his immaculate black suit.
“You’re going to stay like that,” he finally said, voice low and calm, almost polite. “Until I decide otherwise.”
Her breath caught. Shame and something far darker twisted together in her belly. She could feel how wet she already was—could feel the humiliating slickness gathering at the tops of her inner thighs. The knowledge that he could probably see it in the firelight made her cheeks burn.
He circled her slowly, never touching, letting the heat of the bonfire lick at her bare backside while the cold ocean breeze teased her front. Every step he took tightened the invisible leash she hadn’t even realized she’d accepted.
“Hands behind your back,” he ordered.
She obeyed before she could think. Wrists crossed at the small of her back. Breasts lifted. Nipples straining toward the flames. Completely, humiliatingly exposed.
The masked stranger stopped directly in front of her. Close enough that she could smell expensive cologne and wood smoke. Close enough that she could see the faint gleam of satisfaction behind the eye-holes of that monstrous mask.
“Spread your legs,” he said next.
Trembling, she stepped wider. Sand shifted beneath her bare soles. Cool air rushed against her swollen, glistening folds. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.
He reached out then—only one gloved finger—tracing the thinnest line from the hollow of her throat, between her breasts, over the quivering plane of her stomach, and finally stopping just above her clit. He didn’t press. He didn’t rub. He simply hovered there, letting her feel how desperately she wanted that single fingertip to drop lower.
“You’re dripping,” he observed, clinical, amused. “Right onto the sand.”
A broken little sound escaped her throat—half sob, half moan.
The bonfire snapped and spat. Waves rolled in the darkness beyond. Somewhere far off, an owl called.
He finally touched her—only the lightest graze across her soaked entrance. One slow, deliberate stroke. Then nothing.
She whimpered, hips jerking forward on instinct, chasing contact.
“No,” he said softly. “You don’t get to come yet.”
He stepped back, folded his arms across his chest, the perfect picture of control in his dark suit while she stood naked, trembling, soaked, and burning beneath his gaze.
“Turn around,” he told her. “Face the fire. Bend at the waist. Show me everything.”
Heart slamming against her ribs, she turned.
She bent.
She reached back with shaking hands and pulled her cheeks apart, offering him the most vulnerable, humiliating view possible—ass, dripping pussy, everything illuminated by dancing flames.
Behind her, she heard the faintest sound of approval.
“Good girl.”
The words landed like a physical touch.
And in that moment—naked, displayed, owned by a masked stranger beside a beach bonfire—she realized she had never been wetter in her life.
The night was only just beginning.
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