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jokeringcutio · 1 year

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Otis B. Driftwood x (f) Reader

No one asked for this. I still wrote it. DARK TALE, adult/Mature Readers Only due to themes. IT IS SPRINGTIME, SO PREPARE FOR LOTS OF BABY AND BREEDING FICS BECAUSE I DO HAVE HORMONES. Summary: A urinary tract infection has Baby and Otis take you to the hospital. You think you find a way to escape, but there's more. A nightmare scenario, so you're warned. Fandom: House of 1000 Corpses & The Devil’s Rejects Pairings: Otis B. Driftwood X Reader, Implied Baby Firefly x Reader/ Otis B. Driftwood x Baby Firefly / Otis B. Driftwood x Corpses Warnings: Urinary tract infection, Pregnancy, hospital visit, Mentioning of necrophilia, murder, dubcon and noncon.

~* ~ START ~* ~

You looked incredibly pale. Red spots were covering your cheeks, underneath your eyes. You were shivering, sweat droplets created a sheen on your skin.

“For God’s sake,” Baby said. “She’s really ill. Just give her something.”

Pain shot through your body at all times. Undeniable. Your fever was getting higher.

“I’ll have it checked,” the receptionist said from her spot behind the plastic screen. She spun slightly on the chair she was seated on, putting the little cup of urine – deftly wrapped in toilet paper by yours truly- on the desk beside her.

“Our doctor will probably want to look at you,” she then said, earning a growl from the man beside you. Otis had taken a step forward, teeth showing, but Baby had hooked her arm around his chest to pull him back. She flashed the nurse an apologetic smile. “That’s okay, right, brother?”

“It's okay,” Otis growled, reluctantly.

You winced again. “I really need to- to use,” you didn’t have to finish your sentence. The nurse gestured politely, and you rushed to the door you knew to find the ladies’ toilet behind. You’d been in there the first moment you had set foot inside the hospital. Sitting down brought no relief. It hurt. A fresh burn as you pied. You wished you could stay on here forever, but unfortunately, you had to be in the waiting area with the others. If only so Otis and Baby could keep an eye on you. After all, the two lovers and friends were in on this together and would not hesitate to maim you or do worse if they suspected you of well… anything really. You knew that Otis had been very reluctant to drive you to the hospital at all. He thought it was some kind of ploy you’d come up with to try and escape him and his crazy family.

In the truck on the way over he had made you promise not to give them away. Many times.

You were too delirious to think of running away. Not like this. You were ill and you knew it.

Hesitatingly, you pushed the door open and got out. Just in time to let another lady in. You groaned. The burning feeling in your lower abdomen increased again. Your pussy felt dry and painfully on fire. It had to be a urinary tract infection. It just had to be. You’d warned Otis so often to be mindful about hygiene but of course, he’d never listen. He wanted to take you raw, even if he was covered in blood or feces. Even if he’d just been inside of one of his dead cunts.

That you’d survived as long as you had was a bloody miracle you didn’t know you should praise the lord for.

Thanks to Baby, he finally drove the two of you over here. She managed to convince him that an infection might be potentially dangerous to you. And despite the many corpses lying about the house, the thought of adding you to his collection had miffed him. You didn’t know why. Why did he keep you around him at all? Why was he more pleased to fuck your warm and pulsing pussy than to breach your cold and dead one? What made you different from the other women in his bed?

You faked a smile when you spotted Baby and Otis among the other people in the waiting area. But just as you wanted to walk over to them, quite a feat in itself with the fever and pain you sported, the receptionist called you over.

“Miss?” she said, and you approached the desk, leaning on it for support. You brought your heated cheeks closer to the covid-screen. The little plastic protected the nurse behind it from germs.

“I can’t help to have noticed a certain gesture,” she said, looking at you pointedly. “Would you like to see our doctor by yourself?”

“Of course,” you instantly replied, all too eager to get those damned antibiotics so the pain could finally go away.

But the nurse shook her head, indicating you misunderstood her. “No, I mean, would you,” but she fell quiet when Otis suddenly loomed over you. He’d gotten up from the bench he and Baby had been seated on and had lazily walked towards you, only to wrap an arm around your waist and lean his other elbow on the counter next to yours.

“What’s this about?” he asked, cruel intent visible on his face. He wasn’t good at hiding his true nature, you thought. Probably never really had to do so before. Baby was much better at it. She could fool the whole town. Him, not likely. And suddenly it dawned on you that the nurse must have seen this as well.

Cruel boyfriend. Your mind raced.

“I was just asking your girlfriend,” and the nurse punctuated that last word deliberately to see what Otis’s reaction would be. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show any hint of it not being the case. You were his, after all. He had made it so. “If she’s on the pill.”

Now that had left you gawking. You’d been on the pill before. Before Otis captured you and your friends. Before he decided to leave just you alive.

“N-No,” you stammered.

“I see,” the nurse said, scribbling something down. She then looked up again and you felt her eyes rove over you. “Done it safely?”

“N-No,” you stammered again.

“Of course!” Otis exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’m always safe with my girl.”

“No,” you stammered again, this time to him. You placed a hand flat against his chest. “She means if we used a rubber, you know?”

At this, Otis faltered. You could see realization dawn upon his face, the way his eyebrow darted up, and then how his lips twisted into a scowl. “That?” he nearly spat the word out, then turned to the nurse behind the counter again. “Sorry, love, but I don’t do that. I prefer to do it raw, like nature intended.”

Though the nurse’s cheeks turned slightly red, she retained a professional posture. “I see,” she curtly said. “You may be seated again. The doctor will come for you soon.”

You turned to Otis, fever eating your brain. “I need to go again,” you murmured, pain racking through your entire body. You felt like you were dying.

“Again?” Otis said, agitated. He let you go though, and you nodded, then rushed to the toilet, angry when you found it to be occupied. You bit your lip and prayed to the gods above that whoever was in there would be done soon. Otis remained drifting behind you. He kept his eyes on the toilet doors once you were in, never letting you out of his sight. He didn’t trust you. That much was obvious to anyone who was around.

~*~

“Clara, I need to speak to you,” the receptionist said, a nurse with a jaunty accent who had worked there a long time. The doctor turned to face her and raised a brow. “Yes?” she said.

“It’s about this patient,” the nurse said, and handed your file to the doctor. “Came in with suspicion of a urinary tract infection. Results came out positive. She came in with her boyfriend and his sister, all the way from a far-end ranch. But something doesn’t sit right,” the nurse said. She watched as Doctor Clara studied your file. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she added.

The doctor nodded. “Think it to be a std?”

“Not necessarily, though we should probably check for that too,” the nurse bit her lip, then pointed at the file again. Crudely scribbled notes were at the bottom. Observations. The doctor, Clara, hadn't read them yet. Signs of alarm. Of Otis and Baby's entrance to the building, their loud remarks, the bruises the nurse had noticed on you.

“I mean the whole situation," the nurse said. "The boyfriend seems very possessive of her and the girl seems way too closed off.”

“Suspicion of domestic abuse then?” Clara softly whispered, understanding dawning in her eyes.

The nurse merely nodded.

~*~

When the doctor finally appeared at the edge of the waiting room and called your name, you were relieved to find it was a female doctor. You stood up and nearly rushed over to her, Baby and Otis on your heels and close behind.

“Hello, I’m doctor Oswald. But you can call me Clara,” the doctor said with a bright smile.

“If you could follow me,” she then hesitated and turned to look at your entourage, all eager to come in with you. “I’m sorry, I should like to speak to her alone,” Clara then said, erupting sounds of protest from both Otis and Baby.

“No, no, it’s hospital policy,” Clara lied, but your two kidnappers were too uneducated to notice. They huffed and finally, Baby took a step back.

“You’re gonna be good,” Otis said, a silent demand that hid a threat deep within. His eyes narrowed at you, a silent warning for you not to speak about what truly was going on here. You bit your lip and nodded, knowing damn well the danger of giving him and his family away. Clara didn’t miss the exchange though. She stood waiting with her arms crossed in front of her,

“Don’t be too long,” Otis then said, brushing a thumb past your lips. The dirt of the last corpse was still stuck underneath his fingernail, scraping past your parted lips. Clara observed silently, then faked another smile while she led you away from Baby and Otis’s preying eyes.

You sighed a sigh of relief once you passed the double doors into a white hallway. The air was much fresher here and it was less crowded than the waiting area. Plus, you were, for the first time in months, away from the people who had defiled you. Who made you do horrid things that even your own nightmares could never imitate.

“In here,” Clara said, she held open a door and waited until you’d taken your seat at the desk. Then she sat opposite of you. She placed her reading glasses on top of her nose.

“So, you came in here with symptoms that could indicate a urinary tract infection. We checked your urine and it will come as no surprise to you that we have found evidence of bacteria that cause these symptoms. If you like we can send it to the lab to see which bacteria are responsible,” she said whilst scribbling something down on a note in front of her. Then she looked up at you from over her glasses.

“I- er,” you hesitated, thinking of how Otis had flipped his lit against the receptionist earlier on when you’d just arrived here. He’d been ranting about money before you went to the toilet for the first time, and was still going on about not paying your medical bills by the time you came out of it. You had Baby to thank for wanting to pay for your antibiotics and wanting to pay upfront. You didn’t think it a good idea to try and push your luck. That Baby had wanted to go as far as take you to the hospital and pay for your medicine was short of a miracle. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Clara looked at you pointedly, then looked down at her notes again and scribbled something down. “All right, so I'm going to prescribe a course of antibiotics. And you can use painkillers with that to ease the pain a little and dampen the fever. Can I just measure?”

You agreed. “Sure,” and waited for Clara to put the thermometer in your ear. She hummed displeased. “Pretty high,” she then said, and scribbled down the number. Yep. Pretty high indeed you saw. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten such a high rating before. It quite frankly scared you.

“Is there anything I can do to prevent this from happening again?” you carefully asked, thinking of all the times Otis had touched you. Could you truly prevent this from happening again?

“Well,” Clara started, pausing her writing while she looked up pensively. “There’s good hygiene, of course. Always pee after intercourse. Make sure you and your partner wash down below-”

“What if he er.. what if he doesn’t?” you carefully asked, interrupting her.

“Try and convince him?” Clara said, but something about her expression seemed to change. A doubt crept into her eyes.

You decided not to comment. Changing his mind or manners seemed improbable.

Clara took your silence as an answer in itself and shifted on her chair, looking at you sideways. “Have you had one bedpartner or more?” she then carefully asked.

“Uh…?”

She smiled kindly at that. “I’m just asking if we should check for STDs as well. You’re in a monogamous relationship?”

Here your cheeks heated up. “Uh…”

“I see,” Clara said, making another note. “Your boyfriend might have been seeing others?”

“Might?” The word spat out on its own, and you instantly sat back, pressing your hand to your lips in shame. “I mean, uh, he has. Several.”

“I see,” Clara looked at you with a gaze that said very little, then scribbled something else. “So we’ll check you for that as well.”

“No, no!” you instantly interfered, though your mind said ‘yes please’. You felt dirty, as if each and every of Otis’s touched was infected. Knowing where he had been only moments before, who wouldn't feel that way? “I mean, I’d love to know if I am clean but, you know, I don’t have any money.”

“I see,” Clara said again. Then she wrote something else down. “Is there a chance you might be pregnant?”

“I- I don’t see how that matters?” you asked, not believing your own ears. You didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want the possibility to even exist, even if your period hadn’t been around for weeks. Because just thinking about it was harsher than living in denial.

In fact, when you saw blood again for the first time in what felt like forever, you had been relieved. Happy even. You thought you might be in the clear. And those little cramps and belly aches were all due to you having to get your period again, so you told yourself. Until the symptoms got worse and you couldn't stand being a moment away from the toilet. Figures it was only due to the urinary tract infection that you bled. Otis would never have brought you here if the pain and symptoms hadn't been intervening with his routine to fuck you. He couldn't even get his cock in now. The thought brought a bitter smile to your lips. Like this, you weren't the toy he wanted. But then your body reminded you of the hurt it was going through.

Your spirits lowered and your shoulders slumped. You rested a trembling pale hand on your tummy.

“Well, it is important when it comes to the antibiotics,” Clara said, she turned to take a flyer out of a plastic box and handed it to you. “Many can harm the baby. So if there’s a chance of you being pregnant, I would need to know so we can give you something that won’t be harmful to the child.”

“Yes,” you whispered, looking surly at your own hands and refusing to look anywhere else, especially at her.

“Yes?” she said.

“There might be a chance. I mean, I don’t know," you admitted, though you hated to press the words forth, to feel them pass your lips. You hated the thought that a monster like Otis could have impregnated you. "He never, never used a....”

Your voice trailed off but you didn’t need to finish. Clara already had her notes from the nurse and already knew, though of course, you were unaware.

“We have a quick test to use for that,” Clara said, then took a look in one of the drawers of her desk. She revealed a little stick. “When was your last period?”

She placed the stick in front of her on the desk. A pregnancy test, you saw. Just the sight of it sent shivers of dread down your spine.

You muttered something.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

And you said it louder this time. The last time you had seen your monthly blood. It was too long ago. Clara’s look was one of compassion at that. “Are you scared?” she then asked.

“Terrified,” you admitted.

“How would your boyfriend react?” she then asked, and the question came out of nowhere, catching you by surprise. You felt you broke down, and thick tears started to stream down your face.

“You know you can tell me anything," Clara said, kindly but professionally. You appreciated her for it, for keeping her distance while sounding so honest and so caring. It only made matters worse, because you wanted to get out of this. You wanted to be free from Otis and the Fireflies and all of their deranged hunting and art and torture. But if you told her, would she believe you? And if she wanted to help you, could she?

They'd know, a little voice in the back of your mind said. They would know instantly that you told her. And they'd come and burn the hospital to the ground. You couldn't let that happen. "Everything you say will be between these four walls, unless you ask me to, share it with other professionals such as the police,” Clara hesitated and made sure you locked eyes with her before she continued. “I am willing to help you. And I have a feeling you’re in need of help. Am I correct?”

You nodded.

“Okay, first things first. Is he your boyfriend?” she then asked. Another surprising question. Another beat of your heart skipped.

You shook your head.

She frowned, then cocked her head. Her gaze had become sterner. “But you are living with him?”

“He is dangerous,” it came out unwanted, the words spilling like an overflowing river. “He is insane, his whole family is. I-I went missing months ago. No idea how long. Might be four months, might be three. Perhaps five or six. It feels like forever. You can look me up.” You gave your real name and watched how Clara typed it into the computer. You watched how her eyes lit up by the changing screen, how her gaze turned from stern to sympathetic.

“He did it. Well, they. All of them. They keep me on a ranch. I’m tied to his bed most of the time and he- he, god, I can’t even say it.”

“We should call the police,” Clara whispered, her fingers still bent on the keyboard.

“No,” you said, resolutely. “No.” Firmer now. “They kill people. Clara, you have no idea. They killed all of my friends. I-I am lucky, he only takes me. They kill whoever goes near them. But if you call the cops now they will know it came from you. From here. They’ll come and kill you next. And they always win.”

Clara let that sink in. “Murderers?” she whispered.

You nodded. “They call themselves Firefly. Pretend they're a family. O-Otis, the man who took me, who is with me, he, he’s a vile beast. He kills them, turns them into pieces of art. Decorates his room with them. Even uses them for- for,” you couldn’t say it.

“His sister as well?” she asked.

“What? If he fucks her? He does. She’s not his sister. They’re friends with benefits or something. Always fucking each other. If he’s not fucking the corpses, that is.”

Clara visibly paled. “He fucks corpses?”

“Where did you think the infection came from?” you let out a shrill laugh. “Good god, one moment he’s in them, then he slides back into me. Enjoys it, he says. You see?” Your laughter fell short and you looked dejectedly at your own hands. “I can’t prevent this from happening. None of this.”

Then you looked up at her ashen face, paler by the horror she has heard.

“But I can protect you and the other nurses working here.”

Clara took her time to process your words. You watched her in silence. "He- He kept me alive," you said, whole body trembling whether due to the fever or due to your emotions. It was all too much. "God, why does he keep me alive?" Clara licked her licks slowly, then seemed to make up her mind. “This is serious,” she said.

“You believe me?” you asked, your body still trembling. You found it hard to believe the truth yourself, mostly because you didn't understand any of it. You didn't understand how you'd gotten from a nice sunny holiday with friends to being a prisoner in someone's house. You didn't understand how one moment your friends were smiling and happy, and the next they were cold and rotting. You didn't understand how your best friend had been chatting and telling jokes, and the next she'd been on Otis's bed while he thrust into her cold body before he flipped you over and took you in yours.

'So warm,' you still heard his hoarse words as he whispered them in your ear. 'Such a warm living cocksheet. It'd be a shame to make you cold like the others.' You wished he had. But by the gods, while you were alive you would keep fighting to live a little longer. You'd keep fighting till you got out of his hands and back to your real home. You realized that despite everything, you wanted to live. Clara was still looking at you and when you looked up at her, finally breaking out of your thoughts, you saw how she flashed you a small smile, then turned the computer screen toward you. On it, you saw all sorts of news articles, sporting your face. Not just yours. Your friends as well. Missing, it said. Presumed dead.

“You’re not the first victim of abuse case we’ve ever had in our waiting rooms,” she carefully whispered. “And you won’t be our last. But you are our worst. I want to rescue you.”

“You can’t,” you said, voice croaking. You rubbed your hand past your sore belly and stood up from your chair. “We’re taking too long. They’ll start to suspect something.”

“Sit down,” Clara said, her eyes boring into yours. And somehow, you did as she said. “I’m going to help you. Perhaps you won’t be safe right away, but you’re going to be free again. We'll think of something that won't endanger us, but will get you out. And soon." You looked at her in awe. It felt as if you could believe her. "But before all that,” she rose from her chair and walked to the door, then called out for one of the nurses to bring in a machine. “I just want to make sure.”

~*~

“It’s taking too damn long,” Otis said. His leg kept bobbing up and down while he ran both hands through his sleek white hair. Baby seemed just as nervous. “It’s just a quick urine check, right? What else could they possibly be talking about?”

Baby turned to him, her lips pressed into a tight line, clearly displeased. “I agree,” she said. She looked up at the clock again. Over ten minutes had passed.

“She’s run,” Otis said, groaning. “Dammit, you cunt. I told you. She faked it!”

“You’re telling me she faked her fever and her blood?” Baby scolded him, but she feared her brother might be right about the running thing. What if you had told the staff about them and what they had done?

“The police will be here any damn minute,” Otis continued whilst gritting his teeth. He curled his fingers around the fabric of his jeans, right at the knees. “Shit,” he cursed. “we should never have come here.”

Another look at the clock, then both were up on their feet. “Let’s go get her, before she can get away,” Baby agreed. They locked eyes, an unspoken agreement between them, and then they were off towards the double doors that lead to the different examination rooms.

“Hey, you cannot go there!” One of the nurses shouted. But despite not having a card to access the area, Otis managed to break the darn security system by smashing the button in, uncaring about the damage he had done. The two of them passed the doors, not to be stopped by any of the nurses who rushed after them.

“Where is she?” Otis shouted, glimpsing into the first room they came across. A different patient. Then to the next, this door was ajar. No one.

“Where is she?” he called again.

“Please,” a nurse behind him said. She tried to grab his arm but he shook it out of her grip and roughly pushed open the next door. Then he froze.

“I’m so sorry, doctor,” the nurse started, blabbering. “These two just came barging in, I tried to stop them, Oh, if you could come-”

“It’s not necessary,” Clara said, smiling up at the two intruders in the room. Baby was gazing down at you. The stern expression in her eyes faded instantly when she saw what was going on.

Otis was different. He stood frozen like a statue, hand still resting on the door and the other on the wall from where he had come barging in. His cold gaze betrayed nothing.

The loud rhythm of a beating heart filled the room.

And there, on the screen, was the first trace of what you had hoped never to be true. A child. Developing. Not quite there yet, but already recognizable as a human. You were farther in than you had thought The cold gel on your tummy was another reminder of everything that was wrong with this.

“They may stay,” Clara said, calmly, despite knowing she was looking at not one, but two murderers. “After all,” her voice was deliberately slow and low, making sure Otis would not miss it. “He is the father.”

~*~

Otis was uncharacteristically silent in the car on the way back. While you were clutching your bag of antibiotics close to your chest – Clara had given you some extra in case Otis fucked another corpse again and infected you before the police could get you out. The ultrasound images of the baby were, very fittingly, in Baby’s possession. It seemed she couldn’t stop staring at them, flipping through the few shots Clara had taken.

“Well, Mom will be proud,” she said, “She’s always been asking about grandchildren.”

Otis remained silent behind the wheel. You wondered if he truly was in the right state of mind to be driving.

“But to think after all these years it is you who will be expanding our family,” Baby clicked her tongue. “She’s gonna be delighted.”

You wanted to ask why Baby herself never had a baby before, especially with Otis. The two always seemed close. But you did not dare to ask. Instead, you bit your lip and felt how Baby placed her hand on your knee. Her eyes sparked with excitement when she looked at you.

“I think I’ll have to pick a new name now, I won’t be the baby of the family any longer,” she happily chirped.

Otis’s eyes darkened. His grip on the steering wheel increased, knuckles whitening and jaw tightening. You observed him, silently, unsure of his thoughts. Would he kill you for it? For accidentally falling pregnant? Despite it being all down to him and his vile habits of fucking you raw and often, taking delight in finishing inside of you until you overflowed.

No, don’t pick another name, baby, you thought darkly. Your hand slipped to your tummy, subconsciously protecting the life growing within. Clara had been right. There were two lives to save now. It wasn’t just you any longer. You just needed to survive a little longer and give Clara the time she needed to call the police without the trace leading back to her and the hospital staff. She promised she’d save you. She was clever. She'd come up with something.

Otis’s eyes met yours in the rearview mirror and you saw how they darkened. His lips parted. You expected a crude comment, a nasty remark, but in its stead came a warning that was perhaps even more bone-chilling than any comment you could have thought up.

“You’re gonna keep that baby, love,” he said, voice as cold as the dead corpses he kept at his house. “We’re gonna continue the Firefly dynasty one at a time.”

No, you thought. Please, God, No.

You hoped Clara would come and rescue you soon. This man was not fit to be a father. And you did not want your kids to live in a house full of corpses.

Beside you, Baby pressed a kiss against the picture of the baby and you knew your situation had officially gotten worse.

Far worse. ~*~ FIN ~*~ AN: I have had so many UTI's I HATE them. They are the worst. So this is half based on experience. I'd be scared to death if Otis ever got his hands on me I'd be getting those infections. I mean, man's not clean and safe. Worse than that would of course be to get pregnant of him. Also, feel free to hit me up with ideas/headcanons/imagine requests etc. I am currently working on a Patient Arthur Harrow x Reader Breeding Multichapter fic from moonknight, uploading a Grabber x Reader fic from Black Phone, and have a few Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader prompts pending. But I have been ill (not uti, just regular migraine followed by the flue) and I am working on two different costume projects (YES, I will attempt a Gaga costume again. Bet most of you can guess what i am working on). I know this isn't your thing. But I'll tag you anyway because it's OTISSSS @myers-meadow Love you hun <3 I'll be writing something new and fresh for you soon again.

Not betaread, will take out mistakes later on...

#Otis B. Driftwood #Otis B. Driftwood x Reader #House of 1000 Corpses #The Devil's reject #Slasher x Reader #Reader is pregnant #Reader is ill #Baby firefly

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venus-haze · 4 months

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Pretty Tied Up (Otis Driftwood x Reader)

Summary: Or, the perils of working at Red Hot Pussy Liquors.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place between House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Based on the Guns N' Roses song. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Armed robbery and implied kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent and sadism, gags, bondage, groping, and gunplay. Otis is pretty much his own warning. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Having regulars at a liquor store was a double-edged sword. You got to know some customers well enough to like them, but over time you’d notice they looked increasingly worse for wear as they came up to the checkout with their usual purchases. The exception, of course, were the Fireflys, who you always found unsettling, despite Baby’s attempts to seem affable.

“My brother likes you,” she said one day, leaning against the counter as you rang up three bottles of vodka and two six-packs of beer.

“RJ?” you asked, glancing at her brother standing a few feet behind her.

RJ was always nice enough. Didn’t say much. Tall. Burly. Strong. Ruggedly handsome. You’d be open to going out with him.

She laughed in her usual high-pitch that always toed the line of being spine-chilling. “No silly! I’m talkin’ ‘bout Otis.”

You stared at her blankly. “Who’s Otis?”

“You know, long hair, blue eyes, scruffy ol’ beard. He came in here the other night. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. He won’t shut up about ya.”

Oh yeah. Him. Bought a bottle of whiskey and a stack of hardcore BDSM porno magazines. ‘You ever look at this stuff?’ he’d asked, eyeing you as you put a magazine with a nude, distressed-looking woman suspended by intricate ropes on the cover into a brown paper bag. When you first started working there, you could hardly stomach the sight of the rougher fare. As time went on, you found yourself hesitantly intrigued. ‘Gotta have something to do besides go to church on Sundays,’ you replied, earning a wicked grin from him.

“That’s nice,” you said.

She snickered. “My brother’s not nice.”

“Is this everything?” you asked, hoping to move the interaction along.

“Hey RJ, you gettin’ anything else?” Baby asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head, approaching to pick up the crate you put the bottles in.

Baby handed you a wad of cash. She almost always overpaid, letting you keep the change, which was most of the reason you humored her antics in the first place. “Thanks darlin’! See ya real soon!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, keen to something you were yet to be aware of.

Two nights later you were working the store alone. Your coworker Billy didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know he wasn’t coming in–or quit. He just didn’t show up at 9:30 when he was supposed to, and your phone call to his house was met with a busy dial tone. Asshole.

It’d been a slow night anyway, but you would have appreciated the heads up, or at least another body in the place when the front door was kicked open.

“This is a robbery! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

Despite the bandana covering the bottom half of his face, you knew who it was right away. Long, graying hair and piercing blue eyes that were burned into your memory from his last visit to the liquor store.

You lifted your hands in the air. Your manager had told you on your first day that there was always a possibility of this happening. Better to just let them take whatever cash and booze they wanted and report it to the police once they left. ‘Don’t go playin’ hero. We got insurance.’

“Keep those hands up,” Otis said, slowly approaching the counter. “I’m gonna walk back there, and you’re gonna open the register for me.”

You nodded, eyes glued to him as he slithered around the counter like a snake, gun steadily pointed at you.

“Go on,” he said.

With a trembling hand, you opened the register, the cash-filled drawer popping open for him. He pressed the gun to your temple, instructing you to put the cash in one of the brown paper bags by your side. You tried not to glance at him too much while you stuffed the paper bag with the money, finally pushing it toward him and sticking your hands up again.

“Alright, now turn around.”

“Wh-What?”

“I ain’t got all night.”

You glanced at the door. No way you could make a run for it, but maybe someone would walk in and be able to do something.

He followed your gaze and let out a cruel scoff. “Ain’t nobody coming through that door who can save you. I’m the closest thing to salvation you’ll ever get. Now turn the fuck around.”

With a shaky breath, you did as you were told, freezing when you felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of your head. His free hand grabbed your ass through your jeans, his strong grip almost painful as he squeezed each cheek. “Wonder how much it’d take to make you bruise?” he mumbled, almost to himself. He squeezed again, harder this time, as if he were trying to dig his fingers into your flesh. “Too much work when I can just cut into ya.”

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, though hearing your own voice, you weren’t quite sure how convinced you were that you didn’t want him to do his worst. Knowing what you did about the Firefly clan, the rumblings around Ruggsville about the strange family–it would be pretty damn bad.

“C’mon now, mama. You led me to believe you liked it rough,” he said, voice gravelly and low as he slipped his hand between your legs from behind, rubbing the rough denim material and your cotton panties against your pussy, the friction hitting your clit in just the right spot for you to let out a shameful moan. Your hand flew to your mouth, the other clenched in a fist as you tried not to give him the reaction he wanted. Didn’t want to prove him right. Show him how curious you were. You didn’t even have it in you to fight back, not when you were on the edge, so achingly close until suddenly you weren’t anymore.

You nearly whined when he pulled his hand away, horrified at yourself, your reaction to his groping you. He grabbed each of your arms, roughly pulling them behind your back and tying your wrists together with something itchy and uncomfortable that dug painfully into your skin as you fruitlessly tried to free yourself from the secure knot he made. What the fuck did he use? Your eyes widened at the carpet burn-like sensation that’d begun to sting your skin. The roll of twine beneath the register. You used to secure some customers’ more sensitive purchases sometimes.

Fingers and cloth forced their way into your mouth until you were gagged with the bandana Otis had pulled off of his face. He turned you around, looking you over with a slow, satisfactory nod. “I was having trouble getting over this mental block in my art. Started drivin’ me crazy. Y’know, they showed this nature documentary about a group ‘a lions a while back. How they protect and provide for their families, stalk their prey and go in for the kill–do you ever think about how we’re the only species where killing is taboo? For the rest of the animal kingdom, it’s just nature, part of the circle of life. There was a scene where the lion saw a gazelle from way across the savannah, and it was like nothing else existed except for its prey. It couldn’t rest until it tore that damn thing apart. That’s how I felt when I saw you.”

You shook your head frantically, your pleas of mercy muffled by your gag. Fat tears blurred your vision until he morphed into something monstrous, straight out of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

“I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he said, roughly petting your head, “not yet anyway, that’d be a waste when I’ve barely even started.” He gave you a mean grin as he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots. “I got a lot planned for you. Those magazines gave me a lot of ideas too.”

He lowered the gun, dragging it between your breasts and further down your abdomen until he reached the waistband of your jeans. Using his other hand, he unbuttoned and unzipped them with alarming ease, pulling them down until they fell to your ankles. Your breath hitched as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your cunt, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from being able to slide it inside of you.

Still, the cool metal sent a shiver through you as he rubbed it against your clit, black spots creeping into your peripheral as you hyperventilated through his sadistic experiment. He was hard. That much you knew, but what frightened you, perhaps most of all, was how wet you had become since he tied you up. Your skin still screamed against the rough twine that’d been cutting into your flesh, soon to draw blood as you kept struggling.

Your hips jerked, pressing the gun barrel closer to your pussy that was eager to betray you and clench around it if he just pushed past your panties and shoved it up there. You didn’t want him to do that, not in your right mind. But no one in your situation could be considered in their right mind, could they?

“Don’t fight it,” he encouraged gruffly, blue eyes piercing through you as he watched your knees threaten to give out as you neared orgasm. “Give the devil his due, mama.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails threatening to break through the skin of your palm. Then he did it. Slipped the barrel of the gun past your soaked cotton panties. Your brain short-circuited in a rush of terror and thrill at the sensation. You came, eyelids fluttering shut, a guttural moan tearing from your throat and pushing through your gag. Your limbs felt like ghosts, incorporeal parts of you that could only offer a vague sense of feeling compared to the sensation that overwhelmed your body, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your veins all the same.

Gun be damned, you collapsed against the checkout counter, unable to support yourself any longer. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath with the now saliva-soaked bandana still shoved halfway down your throat. An astounded whine escaped your lips when he brought the gun up to his nose and sniffed. “This is it, mama. This is the devil’s salvation.”

He wasn’t making any damn sense, or your brain was too fuzzy to comprehend what he was saying. All you knew about the devil was from the Bible and that stupid Dr. Satan story people regurgitated like spoiled food. If Otis was the devil, you’d believe it, though.

The sound of a car door slamming shut made your eyes widen, and you glanced over your shoulder, your muffled screams of either help or warning to however was approaching.

“Sorry about this, darlin’. We’ll have a lot more fun later,” he said, hitting you across the face with the gun, sending you to the brink of consciousness.

The bell on the door faintly jingled, and the last thing you remember seeing was a large, familiar figure walking towards you.

“C’mon and help me get ‘er in the car,” Otis said just as you passed out. "Don't forget the cash."

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