A scream rang out in the distance, high, piercing. The houses and structures that surrounded Zarina echoed with the sound of pain and terror. It sounded close. She shuddered and continued working.

Moments later, the generator she was working on had completed, its light illuminating the space around her. She sighed, grateful for the light.

It was at that moment she noticed a silent shadow looming, getting closer.

A quick glance backwards revealed a swirling mass of black fabric and material, a humanoid shape within, the only identifier the bone-white mask, almost childlike in design, but striking nonetheless. A lightning bolt of recognition flashed in Zarina's mind, a memory came to her. Not her own, but still hers? Not a subject she remembered specifically investigating, but another her, a different Zarina in another world, another time. The Ghostface was a prolific serial killer, immaculate in his practice. Nearly untraceable, he confounded and eluded law enforcement, spreading his reign of silent terror.

And now he was behind her, sinister knife held high.

Zarina ran, sprinting from the generator. The Ghostface was quick on her trail as she leapt over fences and through empty windowpanes in abandoned houses. She had managed to evade his lunges, ducking and feinting like she had dodged so many Brooklyn ne'er-do-wells in her youth. Underneath the pounding of her heart and quick, heavy intakes of breath, she heard a small whimpering, moaning.

In front of what looked to be a preschool, a small woman, black collared shirt and bowl cut hair, lay bleeding on the floor. A sickening juxtaposition from the cheerful, yet somehow muted colors of the structure before her. The Ghostface was nowhere to be seen, and something called Zarina to the nearly lifeless form. She knelt down by the woman, taking off her own scarf and jacket, preparing to use her scarf as a tourniquet or pad of material to apply pressure on a wound. The woman on the floor appeared too injured to form words, only stifled grunts of pain as Zarina began to help, her hands once more taking on a life of their own. Zarina had never been one for medical training.

As she worked, she kept her head on a swivel, clocking her surroundings for the Ghostface. Behind her. In front. Peeking as best she could into the main entrance of the preschool. Behind again.

And the mask was there, a maelstrom of dark evil surrounding it. Highlighting the pale visage. She gasped, her work on the bleeding woman was not yet finished. And yet, whatever power or force had convinced her hands of their expertise in engines and medicine, a strange power coursed through the veins of her hands. Suddenly, the woman's wounds had closed somewhat, and she leapt to her feet.

It was in this instance that Zarina felt herself become weak, doubling over and coughing up blood. Whatever she had given to the woman was taking its toll on her. As she struggled to comprehend, the darkness of the Ghostface descended on the woman, and Zarina saw a flash of steel cut through the air, aiming for the small of the woman's back. Though it seemed to strike true, that strange power had imbued her with a strength to withstand what would've been a killing blow. Another shock of adrenaline coursed through the woman, vaulting a short fence, and she was gone.

The Ghostface slowly turned, his prey having escaped, facing Zarina. She hacked up more blood, her senses coming to her, and she ran into the school.

She navigated the admittedly small building, slamming down a wooden pallet auspiciously placed in one of the rooms. As she tried to catch her breath, looking behind her, she suddenly felt weightless. The ground, no longer beneath her feet, had given way to a giant hole in the floor, leading to the preschool's basement. Zarina narrowly caught herself before falling, feeling the impact in her knees. She looked around at a maze of piping, steam and condensation quickly soaking the button-up Zarina wore. She was grateful that she had abandoned her scarf and jacket, though she could feel her nipples poke to the fabric of her shirt. In a moment of grim humor, she thought of the voyeuristic ambition she could never achieve that would require her to reveal so much of herself.

There was little time to consider this as the Ghostface descended upon her from the same hole in the now ceiling. A blunt impact to the side of her head and she was unconscious.

Zarina awoke to a strange feeling. First of all, her arms appeared to be bound high above her head, attached by handcuffs to a sturdy looking pipe. Next, her clothes had been removed, save for her underwear, a modestly cute pair of black panties. They stuck to her, clinging to her rear and assuredly giving anyone behind her a full view of the shape of her pussy. Her breasts swung freely beneath her. "Wait," she thought. "Am I... ?" And she was. Zarina Kassir, esteemed documentarian, was on her knees, nearly naked, a filthy mattress separating her from the floor, and bound with no escape.

She felt a presence from behind her. Craning her neck, she saw the Ghostface standing, a menacing figure as otherworldly straps of fabric hung off him and floated in the muggy air of the basement. The cold steel of the large knife still in his hands, he brushed it against her skin. The coldness made her jump, gasp loudly, her ass squirming as she tried to avoid the blade. She felt a gloved hand hold her side, the serial killer kneeling down beside her. Though her life was in peril, she couldn't help but feel an extra element of wetness begin to permeate her panties. Her brown, tiny nipples were hard as diamonds.

The Ghostface pointed the knife high above Zarina's head, and she saw two polaroid photographs tucked neatly between one of the pipes and the wall. A sickening display of the killer enjoying his work, he had taken ghastly self-portraits with the others she had started the trial with. She recognized them, a greying old military man and a handsome square-jawed man with a high collared jacket. She shuddered at the thought of where they may be, if she had passed their corpses in her mad dashes. The gloved hand moved from her side to her hips, and finally cupping one side of her ass. She shuddered once more, a little more coyly.

"Please," she whispered. "Just let me go. I'll do anything." She strained her neck to look at the man, the thing that held her life in his hands, hoping for some element of compassion or sympathy. There was only the mask. The ghost. An eternity passed in a moment as she stared into the blank, black eyes. A cacophony of noise as the knife was dropped, and the hand that held it now held her face. The other hand moved to one of her tits, squeezing it roughly.

"Anything," she strained. Zarina closed her eyes. Still silence from this oppressor. Her last effort to survive. The gloved hand forced her jaw open, and with surprise she opened her eyes just in time to feel the tip of a hard cock enter her mouth with force. At first she struggled, pulled away, but the restraints on her arms prevented her from moving much. And still the cock remained in her mouth, the head resting on her tongue.

It withdrew. She coughed, sputtered, and in an instant - SLAP! The gloved hand struck her across the face. It was hard, yes, but strangely not unwelcome. A lascivious smile crept across Zarina's face. She opened her mouth again, willingly this time. And the Ghostface's meaty cock once more penetrated her mouth, this time Zarina gently and eagerly wrapping her lips around it. She licked and sucked as best she could without the use of her hands, her hips gyrating with arousal. The member filling her mouth was not unyieldingly massive, but it still filled her and within a few moments her jaw was sore. The Ghostface was silent thus far, his hands now at his side as Zarina worked his dick. And his silence only turned her on more and more.

A few minutes passed, the wet sucking and slobbering the only sounds within the wretched cellar. Zarina moaned, whimpered with pleasure. What a taboo it was to bring such carnal pleasure to such a beastly being, and the fact that somewhere, in some far off world, she had hunted and sought to document the Ghostface. And here he was, fucking her face. And she liked it.

Zarina withdrew, the glistening cock twitching only inches from her face. "Fuck me." She demanded. The mask tipped itself to one side. His dick seemed to erect itself from the formless dark that comprised him. But the presence moved away. Behind her. She felt those sterile gloved hands remove her panties, her pussy and asshole exposed to the world. Exposed to him.

Though she had demanded it, as soon as he left her eyesight she began to have second thoughts. But her arousal fought against her common sense. Was it not prudent to document every part of this killer? Every urge, every strong, stiff inch? Her indecision spiked as she felt a hot, hard tip press against her asshole. "Wait," she stammered. "Not there!" But the Ghostface was already pressing, strangely gentle, and her asshole began to widen as his cock was pushing through. "Stop!" She cried, and to her amazement, he did. But just as he stopped, she felt a cold finger trace her pussy, the wetness that now saturated her waxed, hairless lips. The finger collected this natural lubrication and generously applied it to her asshole.

"No, no!" But it was too late. With the pussy lube and his already raging erection, the Ghostface plunged his cock into Zarina's virgin asshole. She screamed, felt the length of him, three, four inches at first, and when she caught her breath, the remaining five, six, and then seven inches inserted themselves deeper into her ass. She cried out, biting at the flesh on her arm to keep from screaming, and she sighed relief that on what could have been the eighth inch or close to it, she felt his hips press against her ass. The Ghostface's cock pulsed and throbbed within her, staying at maximum depth in her rectum for the moment. Zarina breathed deeply, trying her best to accommodate the stuffing of an area that she herself had never felt any desire to explore on her own with toys or fingers.

He began to slide himself out of her, Zarina immensely grateful that he may have been satisfied, but before he was completely out of her, he pushed his hips against her once more. The Ghostface was now fucking her ass, him now seemingly satisfied with the way her anus accommodated him. Back and forth, the girth of him made Zarina feel like she was being split in half. She cried out in pain, more pain, then pleasure began to creep into the pain, bit by bit, until there was no more pain and Zarina Kassir was moaning in ecstasy, hands bound to rusted pipes, begging this serial killer to fuck her ass.

He fucked her hard, without consideration to her enjoyment, though she derived plenty. The vigorous motion moved her entire body back and forth. The movement jostled the pipes her hands were attached to, and somewhere in the middle of her most taboo sex the pipes became loose. Zarina caught herself enough to come to, to grab the pipe before it fully fell. She struggled to come up with a plan amidst the feeling of his cock and hips pounding into her, but a plan she devised.

Time was malleable in this place, on this filthy mattress. But eventually the Ghostface quickened his pace. Though they had never been allowed to penetrate her ass, she had been with enough men to know what was coming.

The sounds of wet, sweaty flesh pounding against each other quickened and loudly filled the room. Zarina was covered in sweat, soreness quickly overtaking her lower half, but she was still aware enough to want to live, the pleasure of being so used and filled was nothing to the pleasure of living another day. But still the Ghostface quickened his pace, faster and faster still until he suddenly paused, balls deep in Zarina's ass, and a stream of hot, sticky cum erupted from his cock and unloaded into her asshole. She moaned a deep satisfied moan. He let out a long, contented sigh, the most noise she had heard from him all evening. He was still cumming as he pulled himself from her, a few last errant shots splashing across her tan, toned ass and lower back.

The strangest sound all night; the winding sound of a Polaroid camera being prepared came to Zarina's ears. "Oh no you don't," she thought. "This was off the record, no evidence for you." And with a mighty grunt and exertion, she gripped the pipe she was bound to from the wall, its moorings loosened by their vigorous fucking, and swung it into the Ghostface's head. It connected solidly, the camera flung from his hands and with a little more grim humor Zarina noticed that a few last drops of cum splashed from the tip of his dick onto the dirty mattress. He sighed, this time incredibly disappointed.

She had no time to waste. As soon as the pipe connected, she was sprinting, sweat and cum bouncing off her as she leapt through the maze at the bottom of the preschool, finally bounding up stairs and back into the open air. With a sinking horror, she noticed that the ground itself seemed to be falling apart with great orange gashes in the earth.

She saw in the distance a great stone wall, with a huge iron doorway completely open. She ran towards it, stumbling from the strange sensation of having a freshly fucked ass, with a serial killer's cum still leaking out of her with every step.

As she got closer, she noticed, with a sinking horror, that a figure was already awaiting her within the doorway. Just between her and freedom, the woman from before her sexual misadventure, the one she had assisted in escaping the Ghostface, stood tall.

The woman saw Zarina, called over to her and waved her down. The earth was now falling into nothingness, great glowing orange chunks of earth slipping into void. Zarina, naked, sore and aching, sprinted across the sturdy stone tiles of the exit from that wretched place, and with the woman, crossed running into whatever safety they could find. As they ran, leaving that realm far behind them, the woman looked over with curiosity, her eyes alight.

"Oh my god, is that cum?! Did you get to fuck Ghostie?? He is soooo cute, you are so lucky!"

Zarina, shocked but still running, supposed she was.