When I Wear the Mask

Pigman snickered, then narrowed his eyes, pumped her cunt once.

His grin faded.

"Mikey?"

He paused, and she felt cold in the pit of her gut. She dared not look away. Or blink.

"No," she said. "Not Mason. Never."

Minute twitches around his mouth and eyes told her he was trying to decide whether to believe her. She had never made such effort before not to return a man's attention back to his penis and what it was doing.

Not one squeeze. Not one word.

Finally, Pigman nodded, started moving inside her again.

"Good," he grunted, picking up the pace. "Don' wantchu fuckin' with my li'l brother's head."

Don't worry, Caleb, I'd never try to take your place there.

Any orgasm she might have been building toward was gone with that scare, and it wasn't long before he pulled out and turned her over like a patty on a griddle, gripping her hips to pull her slightly back to where her grimy feet finally touched the carpeted floor. They prickled with renewed sensation and lingering soreness as she put her weight on them again.

"Reach back with both hands," he said. "Spread yer cheeks."

"Bugger," she said through gritted teeth, reaching to comply and he leaned in, already pressing a slick glans on her pucker before he allowed that familiar snort and snigger to escape his mask.

"Exactly. 'Posh' bitch."

Cammie breathed out, relaxed, let him in. She stretched. She was experienced. He murmured once, almost a sigh as if he was surprised at the ease and quiet of the process. He covered her back, hooking his meaty fingers under her pits, and mounted up close. He took her all the way, pausing, drawing out and pushing back in.

"Tight," he complimented.

"Thank you, Pigman."

A moaning chuckle, and he humped her like a dog, short and fast, pinning her to the desk with his body.

"Yah know," he said near her ear. "Boy pigs have corkscrew shapes to their dicks. So yah see, just had tah corkscrew yah but good, Cammie."

She stifled her groan, turned it into a chuckle. She moved her ass with his thrusts as she gripped the desk's edge with her hands. "You fucking do that, Piggy. Fuck me."

He took longer to cum than she would have guessed with his earlier excitement. She sensed he became distracted in reaming her but couldn't see his face to even guess why. She prayed he would shoot off in her ass before she became completely dry.

"I'm in yer shitter," he whispered, fucking faster.

"Yes," she answered, quite aware of that fact.

"I'm fucking yah... in yer ass."

Huff. Huff.

"Not yer cooter."

Umm...

"Correct?" she guessed, sounding a bit more "posh" in doing so, and was answered with a sudden series of lunges that made her grimace. She yelped once, and the cry helped him focus, made him excited.

"Can't get a girl...knocked up this way," he wheezed, growled.

Then, as he fucked hard and she made more noise, at last, he roared in release. His cock throbbed inside her.

Ohhh, thank God.

Her mouth had been hanging open as she took those pumping slogs of his semen which provided almost immediate relief for the dryness. Her mouth was still open as he pulled out. She closed it, held still in case he wanted to look at his handy work. He did; she felt him thumb her open and lean closer. He grunted, patting her ass as if he just wanted to watch the flesh jiggle.

"Good," he murmured, maybe not really talking to her. "Pa wouldn't like it if I got someone preggers out o' wedlock."

That wasn't even possible with her company implant, and with the vaccines, she wasn't even too concerned where he dumped his load.

Never mind he wouldn't know these things. That's still insane to worry about.

He reached and opened a desk drawer to the right, reached inside. Goosebumps swept over her shoulders and back. She tried to push herself up but he held her down with his bulk braced behind his arm, pressing between her shoulder blades.

"Wait!" she squealed.

"Hold still, sow."

The phsst! of the autoinjector just preceded the sharp pinch to the skin of her neck, and Cammie fell into blackness and knew no more.

~~~~

She should have woken up in a cage like all those they took unaware to Depot.

Perhaps I have, and I'm just in denial.

The bedding in the cage wasn't bad. Stuffing was a little flat and hard. Musty. Didn't smell like urine or faeces yet. Felt like a couch.

Cammie bolted upright, throttling a scream as she felt the chill of a blanket slipping down her naked torso. Another yip came out as she sat too square on her ass, and Mason's chair made an enormous shriek when he jolted awake and the heels of his shoes slipped off his desk. He already had a pistol drawn and in-hand, previously hidden beneath his jacket he'd been using for a blanket.

"Shit," he gasped, checking that the door to his office was closed and locked.

There was little sound of people talking, moving around, or of machinery working. Depot was mostly shut down for the dead of night.

He carefully set the piece on his desk, the muzzle pointed at the door. "Cammie. Okay. You're awake."

Tears welled up before she could help it. "Did he...bring me...to you?" She looked down at her body. Still naked, filthy now; full evidence on display. "Like this?"

Mason nodded, not looking at her but his bookshelf. He cleared his throat. "I, um, bribed him for your clothes. They're clean, or as clean as they were when he grabbed you."

He nodded toward the tiny, private bathroom, a perk of being the Stage Boss. She got the blanket around her shoulders, for her own comfort as well as his.

"Figured you might want to use the sink first, so I put them in there. Your boots, coat, and pistol, too."

"Th-thanks, Mason," she said, still in shock that she wasn't somewhere down below with the rest of the "trim."

Move. Clean up. Dress. You'll feel better.

"Need help?" he asked.

"Better not," she said. "I can't think."

"Okay."

She did all that—moved, cleaned up, dressed, though her panties were missing—and she only felt better by hurrying, wanting to hear a sympathetic voice.

If he can give me that, despite everything.

Mason did a bit more than that. He offered her some hot soup from his thermos, and she offered they split it.

"Honestly?" he began as he noted her shakes had lessened and she held some food down. "I feared a lot worse. He had you bundled up and over his shoulder. I didn't even know it was you until he dumped you on my couch and walked out of my office."

Cammie was incredulous. "He didn't say anything? At all?"

Mason shrugged. "Usually doesn't when there's something he wants me to figure it out. It's part of the game."

Part of the game. A blind spot in one of the levels of Hell.

And she was just another piece, in yet another game. Within a game she was playing herself. Not by choice, exactly. Like Mason, she was only trying to survive a little longer.

Borrowed time.

"How long was I out?" she asked. "If you bargained with him for my stuff."

Mason glanced at the clock. "About twelve hours since you got here. No one else knows. I've let Sheba know you're taking a day off. Tried not to leave you alone too long over the second shift."

He had been looking at his pistol as he spoke but finally looked back at her. "I can't tell if it's lucky or not, but he likes something about this dynamic. He was bragging for sure, but also expecting me to clean up after him and keep it a secret. He could have left you somewhere everyone could see what he did. He has before." Mason shook his head. "Not sure what'll happen next."

Cammie nodded, finger-combing her drying hair so it wouldn't be standing up straight. "I don't think his father would approve of me."

Mason tilted his head. "What?"

She pursed her lips. "He never had a girlfriend before. Maybe?"

"Well." His normal, sane face scrunched in thought. "No, I don't see it. Didn't think it'd even occur to him."

"Yes. Well. I think...I think it has, now."

Mason stared a few seconds, leaned back in his complaining chair and rubbed his face roughly with one hand. "What, did he just yank your pigtails and run to the other side of the playground?"

"Basically, yes," she agreed tartly, even as a shiver passing through her. "As a full, grown man that has no concept of seeing a woman different from his targets except as someone who could be impregnated 'in wedlock,' whatever that means."

"Beautiful," he groaned, his face tight in a grimace. "Well." Mason contemplated that. Took a breath. "Well, um. No one at Depot's going to mess with you, Cammie. And he seems to trust me with you. That's something."

That is something, indeed.

"We're so fucked, Mason," she told him. "Both of us."

He chuckled as the cynic rose again, his soulful, brown eyes meeting hers. "I've been saying that since you got here, operative. But only because we haven't cracked. We aren't insane, like him. Not yet."