Feature Writer:
Feature Title: LET HIM IN
Published: 21.10.2025
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: A fantasy post lures someone dark and real into Rhys’ life — Rhys thought a comment on a random forum was harmless, just a fantasy he’d never admit out loud. But when a masked stranger shows up to make it real, with his girlfriend watching, Rhys is forced to confront what it truly means to surrender control, and what that might awaken in him.
Let Him In
I lean against my gray ’97 Sedan. The air is thick with an autumn chill. The phone in my hand is the only glow in the dark, deserted parking lot as I send yet another frustrated text to my group chat. The silence that follows makes the night feel even lonelier.
I flick over to my socials, desperate for distraction. The endless feed of grinning faces in costumes only makes the darkness around me feel deeper. After a few minutes, I notice a reply under a comment I had left earlier that morning. It was a stupid comment, really. One I thought no one would notice. The prompt question was “What is one fucked up fantasy you’d never tell your girl?” I commented about how I’d be pretty down for someone to make me their bitch while she watches, but I don’t have the balls to be anything more than a dom. I can’t look like a pussy in front of her, after all.
The reply to my response is a series of emojis, a gun, a blood droplet, and a wink. A DM pops up next, “Leave your location on.” from an account with no profile photo and some randomly generated name, clearly given by the website.
My hair stands on end for a moment, knowing that all my accounts are linked to my actual phone number, but I manage to convince myself it’s just some asshole with nothing better to do the day before Halloween. It’s the internet, right? Just a bunch of freaks. There is no way someone close enough to me would be able or want to find me for some weird sex thing.
Before I can contemplate it much more, the group chat finally starts going off.
My cousin Tucker first, “Fuck dude! COMING ASAP… tomorrow.”
Riley sends, “You can handle decor and snacks alone, right?”
Dante sends, “With Tucker getting shit-faced. You got this.”
Even my own girlfriend, Sierra, couldn’t be bothered with me tonight: “Sorry, Rhys piece!”
I stuff my phone in my pocket and resign myself to going out there alone this time. It sucks, but shit happens. Tucker’s cabin isn’t the farthest thing from town. A thirty-mile drive by myself won’t kill me. It is frustrating that they assume I’m okay doing everything for them, though. I say yes far too easily.
The drive is pretty chill for the first twenty or so minutes until a few emergency broadcasts keep interrupting every station I try to use. It’s a bit frustrating at first, but I go ahead and let the radio do what it is going to do, as long as I can get back to something musical soon.
“This is an emergency broadcast. All residents are advised to remain indoors this evening. Authorities confirm another fatality attributed to the suspect known as the ‘Jack-O’-Lantern Killer.’ The victim was found in his residence at approximately 6:45 PM, with a single gunshot wound to the head. Officials report the body was post-mortem altered. Candy was discovered stuffed into the cranial cavity. The suspect, Malachi Thorne, is still–”
I shut off the radio immediately.
“Oh, fucking gross.” I murmur, “YouTube it is.”
When I reach for my phone, there isn’t any reception. No bars. No data. No music. Fantastic. Before I have a chance to react, a deer jumps out in front of me while I am looking between my phone and the road. I swerve hard, missing the deer, and spinning for a moment before there is an eardrum‑piercing grinding noise followed by a pop and what sounds like my frame kissing cement. I grip the steering wheel for dear life until the vehicle finally comes to a stop.
I don’t move for a moment. I don’t even want to check if I am alive yet.
A few deep breaths later, I grab my phone and manage to climb out. The car is fucked. A tire popped, something is clearly bent or broken, and there is fluid leaking everywhere. It could be oil or gas. It smells like maybe both. One spark and it’ll all go up in no time. I try to dial 911, but there’s still no signal. Of course.
I do a quick pat-down to check if I am okay. I’m fine. The airbag didn’t even go off. That’s good, at least. The night can’t get any worse at this rate.
Decision time. I can stay here, or I can walk the last few miles to the cabin. It isn’t too far. I can get there right as the sun is going down. I teeter for a moment, trying to think through the logistics, before deciding it would probably be smart and less flammable to head to the cabin and wait it out. If I remember correctly, there is an old wired phone up there.
I reach into the trunk and grab my overnight bag. As I do, I swear I see someone out of the corner of my eye off in the distance. Tall. Masked. Watching. When I turn my head fully to see them, no one is there. I’m suddenly filled with intense dread. I am shaken up from the crash, that’s all. No weirdo would just stand by without helping.
I trudge my way to the cabin. The relief is instant. The entire walk, I feel like every critter in the forest is waiting for me to let my guard down so they can pounce. The inside is a bit dusty from months of sitting untouched, but it’s not the worst thing ever, and it’s way less eerie than the woods, at least.
The first thing I do is look for the old corded phone to let my friends know what happened. I find it in the corner of the kitchen on the wall next to the pantry, but it’s rotary. I don’t actually know how to use a rotary phone, and I have no way to Google this information right now.
“Come on, give me a fucking break!” I shout and slam my fist against the wall before taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. I need to chill or I’m going to wreck this entire cabin.
I force myself to calm down and grab the silicone pink and yellow skull bong out of my bag. Thank fuck it’s silicone. If it broke during the wreck, I’d lose my shit right here, right now. The weed I grabbed before coming out is pretty potent, too.
I pop open the bag and take a deep breath of it before slipping onto the back porch with the bong, a lighter, and the weed. I don’t exactly want to be outside again, but there is a rule about smoking inside the cabin. I have to obey the rules around here if I want to keep coming back around.
The moment I light up, it feels like a weight is lifted. A few puffs in, and I feel like a person again. Every sight, every sound, everything feels electrified and beautiful. I can hear birds chirping off in the distance and the cool night air rustling through the leaves better than I could before. Sure, I’m still pissed, but–suddenly, my thoughts are cut short by a rustling sound out in the woods.
“Hello?” Nothing. “If someone is out there, then stop fucking with me!” I shout.
Another rustling and a twig snap. No. Absolutely not. I grab my supplies and head inside, locking the sliding glass back door, then setting it all on the counter. There is no way I am staying outside in the creepy-ass woods on the barely lit porch. My nerves are shot at this point.
I grab a box of Halloween decorations out of the hall closet, dead set on getting this place ready for the party. I grab two boxes and set them down on the kitchen island, then grab a Snickers out of the candy bowl.
When I turn around, someone’s there, masked, with a bloody knife. I drop the candy, rearing my arm back to punch them, but Sierra yelps, “Wait! It’s me!” while yanking off her mask, “Blood packets! It’s packets!” she says defensively.
“Sierra, don’t. It’s been a rough fucking day.” I bend down and grab my candy off the floor as I speak.
“Yeah, was that your car back-”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I snap before ripping open the package and taking a large bite of my candy.
She reaches for it, but I snatch it away, “Mine. I’m high and stressed. Get your own.”
She huffs, but obliges, grabbing her own bar from the dish.
“You’re being so pissy. If I wanted to deal with PMS, then I’d get a girlfriend.” She plops down on the couch mid-sentence.
I roll my eyes and join her. “Stop being a bitch,” I mutter, then instantly hate how weak it makes me sound.
She climbs in my lap, straddling me, “I thought you liked it when I’m mean. You get to put me in my place.” She giggles.
“Oh, it’s like that then.”
“You said you are stressed.” She coos, tossing her hair out of the way to pepper my jawline in tender kisses.
She loves it when I take control, despite it never being my most refined talent. Part of me wants to, but the other part of me just wants to eat candy and breathe for a moment.
“I’m not really feeling it.”
“Quit being such a baby. Get hard for your hot girlfriend.”
“Sierra, stop.”
She rolls off me with an exaggerated sigh. “Jesus, you’re no fun late-”
Slam. I turn my head. A large masked man stands at the back door. His gun smashes against the glass. I bolt up, panicked, and rush to dial 911 on the rotary phone, but a loud error tone sounds instead of anything helpful. Before I can try again, the glass shatters under the pressure of his weapon hitting the window.
The impossibly large man steps through the space where the door once stood, his boots crunching on glass before turning into loud thuds against the hardwood floors. The metallic tang of blood and the sweet scent of candy follows him, filling the air between us in an instant. The lights cast dark shadows on the barely visible eyes beneath the gnarled Jack ‘o lantern mask.
“Aw, good boy, leaving your location on just like you were asked. You follow directions so well.” The man’s voice is almost inhumanly deep.
My heart races. Gun. Jack ‘o lantern mask. The emojis. The DM. Have I led a killer to my doorstep over a horny post?
The masked man advances methodically and slowly. I try to scramble away, try to run, but I can barely feel my legs. The closer he gets, the harder it is for me to breathe. I back away from him, but I trip on a small box of decorations and fall to the floor, landing with a painful thud.
“You poor thing. Isn’t this what you wanted? To be made someone’s bitch?” He crouches to my level on the floor, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back so I am forced to look straight into his piercing gaze, “Don’t back out now.”
“I don’t want this! Get out of here!” My voice cracks despite my attempt at chivalry.
He raises his gun high in the air, bringing it down across my cheekbone hard enough to make my head snap to the side. My face stings and aches from the impact.
Sierra shouts for him to stop. His head snaps up, dark eyes focusing in on her momentarily, “Hush. I don’t usually go for pussy. This is a treat for you.”
She goes quiet, watching the gun in his hand closely. The look in her eyes tells me she is thinking, plotting, searching. I hope she is trying to find a way out for us both, but I know my girlfriend pretty well. She can be selfish when she feels she needs to be.
“Strip,” He orders, “both of you. I want my new toys unwrapped.”
“Strip?” I repeat.
“You heard me, pretty boy.”
The twitch in my groin leaves me feeling disgusted with myself, “O-okay, just relax. No need to use that anymore.” I gesture to the gun.
I slip my clothes off and let them land on the floor in a messy heap beside me. For just a moment, I hesitate. I could fight back again, could run, but my hands move as if of their own free will. I feel ashamed. From my chest to my cheeks blushes a light red. Sierra watches me with a look I’ve never seen before, a mixture of disgust and arousal dances across her features. I’m giving up too quickly. I can feel it. She wants me to fight, to be the man. His gun hurt, though. I imagine the bullets would hurt much worse.
“You too, little lady.”
“You said you don’t like pussy. Why do I have to strip?” Her voice comes out more confident than before, as if she is realizing I am the main target. She’s just a prop, like in the goddamned comment I made on that forum post.
“It’s part of the game.” The masked man sounds irritated but amused.
“He’s naked. He’s being a pussy. That’s what you wanted, right?” She looks at me like I’m a different man. Her gaze isn’t loving; she’s in self-preservation mode. I’m on my own.
“Sierra!” My voice cracks.
Holy fuck, she’s throwing me at the killer like a steak to a ravenous wolf.
The killer laughs a hearty sound straight from the gut, “Wow. You were so quick to turn on him. Cute. Admirable.” He turns his attention back to me, “You see this bitch?”
He stands up to his full height and motions for me to follow, “Come, puppy.”
I shake my head a little, but he doesn’t take my defiance nearly as well as he took Sierra’s. He aims his gun at me, thankfully not cocked for now. When I freeze, he drops back to the floor, running the muzzle against my cheek so gently it almost aches.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” The words come out as an almost taunting coo.
“O-okay. I’m sorry.” Consciously, I know if I play along, then I will probably be fine. Subconsciously, a deep-seated part of me wonders if being ordered around might be better than always being in charge, always taking the hard things without allowing any cracks to show.
“There we go.” He stands again, repeating the motion from before, “Now, come.” His voice drops slightly, like he is reprimanding a misbehaving pet.
I feel disgusted with myself, but my cock twitches all the same as I crawl across the floor. I’m vulnerable and exposed, yet my body is betraying me with every passing moment. I glance up at Sierra, but her gaze is on my hardening arousal. Her lip twitches and her eyebrows lift slowly, a new emotion I’ve never seen before dawning across her face.
“Bend over, arch your back. Spread your legs…” I move to try to obey, a position completely new to me in every way, “Wider than that. Good.”
He gets to his knees behind me and runs the gun along my spine, pressing the muzzle into my ass, “Wait! I’ve never put anything back there!” I shout, but the masked man just pushes my face into the wooden floor,
“You asked for this.”
I really did bring this on myself. I don’t even know if I want to go back at this point. Not when I’m harder than I’ve ever been before. The muzzle presses more firmly against my entrance, as if he’s trying to test the give of my body.
“It hurts, please, just, at least spit or something.”
The masked man chuckles, “Have you earned some relief yet?” his tone is mocking now. He looks up at Sierra, “Well, has he earned it?”
Sierra looks stunned for a moment, finally manages a soft, “Yes.”
When I look at her, she’s squeezing her thighs together, grinding against herself. Maybe I’m not the only one into what’s happening. The masked man laughs again, still deep, shaking me a little.
“You want to watch me do this to him, too, don’t you? You want it as much as he does.”
Sierra looks away, blushing deeply.
“Answer me, or I’ll shove this gun inside him without a second thought.”
“Yes.” Sierra says, “Yes, I want to watch.”
Her admittance hits me like a ton of bricks. Assuming she’s into this is one thing, but hearing her makes my stomach tighten.
The masked man leans down and drags his warm tongue between my shoulder blades before whispering, “I like anal the most, you know. I go in, no lube, no prep, and get to feel you writhe in pain while I simply fuck and fuck…”
My dick twitches despite the fear that pools in my stomach from the prospect. He takes the gun away from my body, setting it behind him on the counter. I could grab for it, could try to end this right now, but I don’t want to anymore. He could take this so far. He might. He probably will fuck me. Oh, god, I think I want him to.
The masked man takes notice of how hard I am and the small precum spot pooling beneath me, “Look at that. See? Your body knows exactly what it wants.”
He grabs my face, forcing me to look at Sierra. She’s clearly aroused, but there is something else to her. I think she is seeing me differently now. I’m not the man she loves; I’m a plaything for her to watch get wrecked.
The masked man leans over me, turning my face back toward him as he goes down. “Open.”
I reluctantly open my mouth wide. It’s startling when his spit hits tongue. I freeze, not moving. It’s strange. I hate it and I love it all at once. Even as the spit slowly drips further into my mouth toward my throat. When he finally releases my jaw, I swallow it, almost savoring the humiliating act without realizing that is what I am doing.
Out of the corner of my eyes, Sierra is spreading her legs and slipping her hand into her underwear. Her fingers find the wetness I would usually be savoring. Now she is abusing it, using it, while this man uses and abuses me. My mind races. This is so fucked, but god, I need it.
Without a single word, the man behind me unzips his pants. I can’t see, but I can hear the swift metallic click, some rustling, his jeans hitting the floor. He spits on my asshole. Before I can react, he pushes against me. It’s thick and throbbing. He wants to be inside, and I want it too now.
“Don’t pull away.”
Before I can question the command, he is pushing inside me. The entire length is forced inside within moments. It burns and aches. The stretch makes my muscles seize up, and I cry out in agony. Tears brim in my eyes, and I ball my fists up, pounding the ground to try to force myself not to run away.
He groans deeply, “Fuck, that’s it. Scream for me.”
I cry out again as he starts to move. It’s not soft. There is no time given to adapt to the invasion. It’s one slam after another, the push and pull of a large man buried inside my previously untouched ass.
Despite the agony, I’m leaking all over the floor. The precum is dripping like a faucet. I don’t even care if Sierra is enjoying it anymore. I want this. I don’t want it to stop. I want it to hurt. It’s shameful, but I’m too far gone to second-guess myself.
“Go on, play with yourself. I know you want to.” The man laughs.
I reach between my legs, tears streaming down my face now, and wrap my hand around myself. It feels foreign and wrong, but I am melting into the pain and pleasure of it. When I look over at Sierra, her hand is still buried in her panties, fingers sliding in and out of herself, running over her clit, then slipping back inside.
This must have been exactly what the man wanted, because he fucks faster, harder. Every thrust rips the oxygen from my lungs. I can’t tell if the slickness forming inside me is from his precum, blood, or both. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop until he finishes.
The man barks out a deep, guttural thing close to a laugh, “She’s such a perv. Bet you didn’t think she’d get off on your little fantasy.”
His breathing is labored now. He’s getting close, I can tell. A rustling of the mask being lifted slightly is followed by teeth sinking deep into my bare shoulder. He doesn’t even hesitate. Blood leaks from the wound. I scream in agony, my body feeling like it is being torn apart.
The only relief I feel comes when his teeth leave the wound behind, replaced by his tongue tasting me, “God, you taste good.”
That’s it. Too much. My cock jumps in my grasp and sprays the floor. I thrash against the man, milking him and trying to escape the intense sensations all at once.
“Oh, god!” My voice cracks.
“God doesn’t save fags from their punishments.” He pants, “Now, keep being a good boy. Lay there. Take it.” His words are choppier now, punctuated with grunts and groans.
My body goes limp beneath him. I grunt and groan with each thrust now, too tired to fight back as I lie in a puddle of my own cum and blood. It barely registers when he cums deep inside. His body is stuttering a little as he unloads inside me. It’s warm and sticky.
When he pulls out, he slaps my ass hard enough to leave a bruise. I groan in pain, but remain there. I’m frozen in time and space, unable to force myself to move away. Moving would be useless now anyway. He’s taken everything he came for.
The man stands and walks over to Sierra, who is still finger fucking herself desperately close to finishing too. He grabs her face, forces her jaw open, and pushes past her lips. She groans like a whore, accepting the soiled dick without a second thought.
“Good girl, clean up your boyfriend’s mess.”
She seems lost in a trance, fingers moving in her underwear, head bobbing on the softening cock in her mouth. She moves her mouth along him, sucking, eyes rolling back. She releases the shaft just to move to his balls, sucking them in one at a time. It only takes a few minutes of this for her to finish on her own hand. She cries out in ecstasy. A strangled cry escaping around the man’s genitals. Her mouth is now full of his cum and musk. I can’t look away. It’s oddly beautiful.
The man steps back. He’s laughing now, openly mocking us both. He zips up and then slaps Sierra. “Good slut.”
His boots slam against the floor with each step towards me. He slaps me too, gentler, but hard enough to leave a red mark. He grabs my chin and forces me to look into his eyes through the holes in the mask.
“I’m coming back for you. I expect your doors to always be unlocked for me.”
Then he releases his grip and walks away without another word. He doesn’t even look back. He’s gone through the same way he came, and I’m left alone with Sierra in the mess I created.
I start to crawl toward Sierra to check on her, but she holds up her hand, “I’m good.” The look in her eyes tells me she no longer sees me as her boyfriend or even a man worth seeking comfort in.
“Sierra-”
“Shut up. I’m going home.”
~
A few months pass without a word from Sierra or the man who attacked us that night. It is safe to assume the relationship is over. Tucker is still pretty pissed about the back door to his cabin, but I was too ashamed to do anything but lie. I have distanced myself from the group entirely, letting Sierra have our friends while I slowly become more isolated. No more group texts. No more friends over for a beer. My own cousin never talks to me anymore. No one is left to ask how I am, and I’m not sure I’d be able to answer that question if anyone did ask. I talk to myself nowadays, letting my voice echo off the walls of an empty house.
I can’t even cum anymore without thinking about that night. I feel like a part of me is gone, but something else is entirely too alive. I tried a few hook-ups with some chicks off the internet, but I can barely get it up for them anymore, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to reach climax. when I finally do finish, I’m more frustrated than relieved.
I keep the doors unlocked. The windows, too. I check them again and again, morning, night, terrified I’ll do something to make him angry. I drink more than I eat now, mostly coffee. Every dream, or maybe they are nightmares, is riddled with him. I can’t tell if I miss the feeling of him inside me, or the fear that he instilled in me.
Tonight, I lie on the couch, naked, unable to force myself to bed. Another cup of coffee, another night staring at a streaming service without really paying attention while I overthink and run through every possible scenario. I could have done so many things differently, but if I could change them, I don’t know if I’d want to.
Am I even a real man, or does that word mean anything anymore? I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter at all. Maybe I don’t care how others see me. I need to cum as hard as I did with him inside me. My balls ache for it. I need to feel that release. I need someone to tell me what to do and who to be.
The back door creaks, and heavy footsteps shake me from my thoughts. Fuck, yes, he’s back.
THE END