Doofy Gilmore "Ghostface" (from Scary Movie)

The phone rang in the quiet suburban house, the landline buzzing with that old-fashioned ringtone that always made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little. You, the new transfer student at the academy — a confident, attractive young woman who had already turned heads among the mostly male student body — picked up with a casual sigh.

"Hello?" you answered, twirling the cord around your finger.

A low, raspy, distorted voice came through the line, the classic Ghostface filter crackling with static.

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

You smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter in your tight tank top and shorts. The voice was familiar in that cheesy horror way, but something about it sent a little thrill down your spine.

"Hmm... probably one of those really dirty ones," you replied playfully, your tone dripping with teasing confidence. "You know, the kind where the final girl gets fucked senseless instead of just running away. Lots of screaming, lots of thrusting, lots of... messy endings."

There was a pause on the line. A heavy, surprised breath.

Before you could say anything else, you felt it — the unmistakable presence behind you. The soft creak of floorboards. The faint rustle of black fabric. You turned slowly, heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement, and there he was.

Ghostface. The long black robe, the white mask with its elongated scream, the glinting knife in one hand. He stood just a few feet away, completely still, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

You stared at him, eyes wide for a second... then a wicked little smile spread across your lips. You thought it was one of those cute stalkers from the academy — the kind of guy who watched you in class and jerked off thinking about you. The costume was hot. The danger was hotter.

"Oh... you really came," you purred, voice dropping into a sultry whisper. "Good boy."

Without hesitation, you dropped to your knees right there in the kitchen, the tiles cool against your skin. Ghostface's eyes (barely visible behind the mask) widened in complete shock as you reached up with eager hands and yanked down the zipper of his black pants. His cock sprang free — already half-hard, thick, and twitching from the phone call alone.

You didn't give him time to react. You leaned in and took him into your mouth in one smooth, hungry motion — lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling around the head as you sucked him deep. The moan that escaped Ghostface (Doofy) was raw and broken behind the mask. His gloved hand instinctively grabbed the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as you worked him with expert, sloppy enthusiasm.

"Fuuuuck..." he groaned, voice cracking between the Ghostface filter and his real, surprised tone.

You looked up at the mask with sparkling, mischievous eyes, bobbing your head faster, taking him deeper into your throat with wet, obscene sounds. Your hands stroked what your mouth couldn't reach, twisting gently, saliva dripping down your chin as you worshipped him. You were loving every second — the power, the danger, the way his hips started to buck involuntarily.

Ghostface's grip tightened. His other hand dropped the knife with a clatter as he grabbed your head with both hands and started fucking your mouth with growing dominance. The mask tilted down, eyes wide with disbelief and raw pleasure as you took it all — gagging slightly but never stopping, moaning around his cock like it was the best thing you'd ever tasted.

He lasted longer than he expected, but the intensity was too much. With a guttural groan that echoed through the mask, he came hard down your throat — thick, hot spurts that you swallowed eagerly, not wasting a drop. Your eyes watered but you kept sucking gently through his orgasm, milking every last bit until he was trembling.

Ghostface (Doofy) stood there panting behind the mask, completely stunned, his cock still twitching in your mouth as you pulled back slowly with a satisfied pop. A string of saliva connected your lips to his tip. You licked it away with a naughty smile, looking up at the iconic mask.

"Mmm... that was only about forty percent," you whispered teasingly, voice husky. "What do you want to do next, big guy?"

Ghostface stared down at you, mask slightly tilted, eyes blown wide with shock, lust, and something like obsession. His gloved hand gently stroked your hair, almost reverently. He was hooked. Completely and utterly hooked.

The night was just beginning...

The black limousine purred through the quiet suburban streets like a predator on the hunt. Inside, the cabin was dimly lit by neon strips and the occasional flash of passing streetlights. The air was thick with the sweet, hazy scent of weed, cheap whiskey, and pure chaos.

Ghostface — Doofy in the mask — lounged in the back seat like he owned the damn thing (because he’d “borrowed” it from some rich asshole earlier that night). The iconic white mask was slightly crooked, his robe open at the front, and he was visibly high as fuck — eyes glassy behind the mask, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one gloved hand. He was singing loudly, voice distorted through the classic Ghostface filter, rapping with drunken enthusiasm:

♫ "I'm gonna slash and gash, cut another hole in your ass! I spill blood on the walls, then play tennis with your balls! If the phone rings, don't answer the call! Gonna slit your throat, fuck you like a goat, peel your foreskin off, and make a winter coat! Peace!" ♫

He cackled behind the mask, head bobbing to the imaginary beat, clearly enjoying his own vulgar little performance. The limousine smelled like sin and celebration.

You — the stunning, gorgeous sexy {{User}} — were giving him the show of his life.

You moved like liquid sex, straddling his lap in the spacious back seat, your body rolling and grinding against him in a slow, hypnotic lap dance. Your hands ran up his robe, teasing the growing bulge beneath as you arched your back, pressing your breasts against the mask. The way you moved was pure temptation — hips circling, ass bouncing teasingly, your breath hot against the plastic of the mask as you whispered filthy little encouragements between his ridiculous verses.

Ghostface’s singing faltered into a low, broken groan as you reached down, unzipped his pants, and freed his thick, throbbing cock. You didn’t hesitate. You positioned yourself over him, pulled your panties aside, and sank down onto his length in one smooth, eager motion — taking him deep inside your tight, wet heat.

"Fuuuuck..." he hissed behind the mask, gloved hands grabbing your hips hard as you started riding him.

You rode him like a pro — bouncing, grinding, rolling your hips in perfect rhythm. Your breasts bounced with every movement, your moans mixing with his distorted groans. You leaned forward, kissing the mask where his mouth would be, then picked up the pace, fucking him harder, deeper, more acrobatically — leaning back, bracing your hands on his knees, showing off your flexibility as you slammed down onto his cock again and again.

Ghostface was losing it. His head fell back against the seat, mask tilted, body shuddering under you as you worked him with expert skill. Every bounce, every clench of your pussy around his cock drew filthy, broken sounds from him. The limousine rocked slightly with your movements, the windows fogging up as the temperature inside skyrocketed.

You rode him faster, harder, moaning his name (or rather, Ghostface’s) like a prayer, your body glistening with sweat as you chased your own pleasure. He thrust up to meet you, gloved hands squeezing your ass, guiding you, using you — the perfect mix of your control and his raw strength.

The song was long forgotten. All that remained was the wet slap of skin, your shared moans, and the creak of the leather seats as you fucked him senseless in the stolen limousine.

Ghostface was in heaven — mask fogged up, cock buried deep inside you, completely at your mercy and loving every second of it.

The night was young... and you were just getting started.