Willing Chaff – Story Fodder Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark Tags Authors: J.A. Huss Advertisement

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I bet he puts his whole mouth across my pussy. Not just his tongue—his entire mouth. Seals it over me and sucks, pulling at my clit while his tongue flicks and presses and explores.

And that beard stubble of his… holy shit. I can still feel the ghost of it scratching the inside of my thighs, rubbing them raw in the best possible way. The slight burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, the contrast making everything sharper, more intense.

I let out a long, shaky breath, my pussy throbbing hard just picturing his mouth between my legs again. His grey eyes looking up at me while he devours me, watching my face while he tears me apart with that skilled, relentless tongue.

"All right, Scarletta," I mutter to myself, trying to shake off the heat building between my legs. "If you want his big, hard cock in your sopping wet pussy again—exceed his expectations."

I snicker at my own ridiculous internal pep talk.

But yeah. I'll do it.

Whatever it takes.

I inch my way around the tree trunk, keeping my back pressed against the rough bark. The platform is exactly what I thought it would be—a small wooden ledge that feels stable enough under my bare feet.

I exhale hard, my heart still racing, but slowing down now that I'm not actively terrified of plummeting to my death.

"See? You did it," I whisper to myself.

And I actually did. Without him holding my hand this time. Without his mouth distracting me or his voice guiding me.

I kind of want him to acknowledge that. To tell me I did good.

But he's not here, so I bend down and pick up the envelope that's nailed to the platform.

The paper feels expensive between my fingers. Heavy card stock, the kind you'd use for wedding invitations. I break the wax seal—because of course there's a wax seal—and pull out the card.

My filthy little Valentine wants to earn my cock,

Square your shoulders, set your jaw, and prepare yourself for shock.

Zip down the line to station 2, trust gravity and steel⁠—

At the end you'll get your chance to be fucked with something real.

Spread wide upon the cross you'll wait, exposed for all to see,

Then maybe if you're very good, I'll let you come for me.

I read it twice.

Then a third time because my brain is struggling to process the words "exposed for all to see."

Who's all? Who the fuck is watching this besides him?

I glance up at the harness suspended from the zip line. It's professional grade—thick nylon straps, metal carabiners, the kind of equipment rock climbers use. Not some sketchy DIY project that's going to snap halfway through.

He wouldn't let me fall. I know that now.

The plank proved it. He walked me across. Kissed me between steps. Made it feel like the most natural thing in the world to trust him sixty feet in the air.

And the way he touched my face after. Gentle. Almost reverent.

That wasn't part of the plan. I don't think it was, anyway. The kiss felt spontaneous. Like he wanted to do it and just… did.

Like maybe he actually likes me.

Not just my body, or my stories, or the way I submit to him. But me.

Which is insane. I know it's insane. He's a literal murderer who's been stalking me for six months and orchestrated an entire fake auction just to own me.

But he also killed Derek. For me. Because Derek hurt me.

And he memorized my stories. Not just read them—memorized them. Quoted them back to me word for word.

He thinks I'm exceptional.

I look at the harness again, studying how it's designed. Two leg loops, a waist belt, and a chest strap. The attachment point connects to a pulley system on the zip line cable.

This is just like the corporate team-building courses I've seen in movies. Except those people wear clothes and don't have "spread wide upon the cross" waiting for them at the end.

My pussy clenches at the thought.

A cross. He's going to strap me to a cross and fuck me.

And people will see.

The cameras. Of course there are cameras. There were cameras at the auction, cameras in my apartment, cameras everywhere he wants them.

He gets off on watching me. On knowing other people are watching me too.

I should be horrified.

Instead, I'm so wet I can feel it on my inner thighs.

"This is fucked up, Scarletta," I mutter, but my hands are already reaching for the harness.

I step into the leg loops first, pulling them up around my thighs. The nylon feels secure against my bare skin. I fasten the waist belt, checking that it's snug but not cutting off circulation. Then I clip the chest strap and double-check every connection point.

My fingers are shaking but not from fear this time.

From anticipation.

He wants me to trust gravity and steel. To let go and fly down this line into whatever's waiting for me at Station Two.


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