Chapter Text
This morning the precinct got another missing-person call. Mr. Weldon’s brand-new wife vanished—this makes five in the past few months, all married folks in their early 30s. Small-town PD’s stretched thin; zero leads after months. The first ones are probably long gone. With Halloween right around the corner and strangers flooding in, cops are beefing up patrols, sweeping every alley.
Near dusk, an anonymous tip drops: weird noises from an abandoned mansion on the far side of the block. Nobody lives nearby, so no patrols were assigned. Manpower’s a joke, so the job lands on Miller.
Officer Miller’s first real case. Two months on the force, he’s been the pretty coffee boy—printing, fetching, ignored. Finally, a shot to prove himself. He double-checks the sidearm and peels out toward the old house on the edge of town.
Car rolls up to a crumbling wreck. Sky’s dark. Miller clicks on the flashlight, pushes through waist-high weeds to the porch.
Inside’s pitch black. Doorknob’s rusted solid, no footprints, no nothing. He knocks for show—two crows explode off the roof. Turns the knob. Door creaks open.
Boots hit warped floorboards—creak, creak. Stale rot hits his nose. Flashlight sweeps: faded red wallpaper, oil paintings with faces scratched out, busted furniture everywhere. Rooms stretch into darkness. Few steps in—something drops, rolls to his feet. Doll head. Bald, meat-colored plastic, nails hammered into the scalp. One socket empty, the other eye staring.
Miller flinches, punts it. No windows, no light—just the beam. “Anybody here?!” He yells, swinging the flashlight.
That’s when he sees: living room packed with those dolls. On tables, shelves, floor—even hanging from the chandelier. Were they there a second ago? Some headless, some limbless, none normal. Light lands on a blind one—empty sockets locked on him.
BAM!
Door behind him slams shut. He bolts, yanks the handle—locked.
“Fuck!” His hand drops to the holster—then freezes. Someone’s watching. He turns slowly.
Down the hall, around the corner: two pale hands clutch the wall.
“Police! Show yourself!” Gun up.
“Mu…”
“The hell?”
“Mommy…” A man’s voice. Gross as fuck.
A human head slowly peeks from behind the wall—just one eye glinting in the dark. The rookie cop snaps his gun up.
“Who the hell are you? Get out here!”
“Heh heh.” The guy vanishes back behind the wall. Miller bolts after him. Could this be the serial kidnapper? Catch him and I’m golden—no more treating me like eye candy.
Around the corner: gone, no trace. Miller follows scuff marks on the floor, but after a bit, something’s off. He’s been walking forever, through empty room after empty room, and still no end. How big is this damn house?
Tap-tap-tap… footsteps?! Miller charges toward the sound—smack! Trips hard, face-planting. A half-rotted face stares up at him, eyeball dangling on the cheek, melted skin flapping off the skull. Almost kissed it.
“AAAAAHHHH!!!” First time seeing a corpse this fucked—Miller freaks, scrambles up, and bolts. Screw this, get backup!
In the panic, he’s back in the doll-filled living room. Flashlight on the front door: nothing there now, just faded wall.
“What the fuck…” He lunges, paws at it—solid, no exit.
“Mommy…” That raspy male voice again. Miller whips around, gun raised—nobody. Turns back: the howling creep tackles him full-force. Gun flies.
“Ugh…” That hit nearly kills him. Head spinning, something heavy pins him down.
“Mommy… don’t leave…” Shit! It’s the psycho. Reeks of blood and rot. The guy’s filthy, stinking. Miller thrashes, but can’t budge him—those grimy paws grope everywhere.
“Mommy… you smell so good.” The nasty head buries into the rookie’s collarbone, sniffs like a junkie, then starts biting and licking. Lips suck on smooth skin, leaving slobber and teeth marks. Miller shoves the head, kicks wild—blocked by thick thighs.
“Get off! I’m a dude, asshole!” Pinned under the guy, Miller’s uniform’s a mess. The tiniest deep-blue cop shirt strains over his chest, packed tits ready to rip the seams. Waist to gut fully exposed, just a gun belt. Bottom half? Ridiculous—super-tight deep-blue booty shorts digging into his ass, round cheeks outlined perfect. No wonder Officer Miller’s the precinct’s boy-toy. Dressed like this chasing killers in a haunted dump? Getting dry-humped on the floor and called “mommy” is just karma.
Big rough hands roam his waist; the rookie squirms, ticklish as hell. Sandpaper-calloused fingers drag up from his abs, scraping that smooth honey skin red.
“Mommy… tits so huge!” The creep grabs both swollen mounds hard, kneading like dough. Miller yelps—tight shirt barely containing them, fat spilling between fingers, nipples poking stiff through the fabric, trapped in the gaps. Filthy head buries in the valley, shaking like a needy kid. Hands never stop; nipples rub raw against cloth. Miller’s panting, weird sparks shooting from his chest straight to his dick. Fuck… he is getting hard.
Those juicy tits drive the psycho wild. “Mommy! Hungry!” He rips the tiny cop shirt clean off. Pale, perky breasts bounce free. Miller instinctively covers—then yanks hands away when furry paws grab again. No barrier now; easier to grope. Palms mash and twist, stubbled face motorboating the cleavage, slobber everywhere.
Pink nipples stand at attention. Psycho pinches one, tugs gently. Miller whimpers, still begging between gasps.
“Mommy… lemme eat…” He lifts his head. Flashlight’s weak beam catches a single blue eye glaring down.
“AAAH!!!” Feral teeth clamp the poor nub. No mercy—just chewing. Miller screams, fists pounding the guy’s skull. Takes a minute for the creep to realize gnawing won’t milk anything. Switches tactics. Swollen, tooth-marked nipple gets sucked in, areola and all. Loud smack-smack-smack as he nurses hard, tongue stabbing the tip, trying to coax “mommy’s” cream.
“Ah… ah—” Pain fades; tingling heat pools. Nobody’s ever sucked him like this. Shorts tent obscenely. The slutty cop’s hips twitch up, shameless moans echoing.
Maybe the house is cursed. Miller’s chest burns hotter; the right tit’s swelling under nonstop suction. Wet slurps fill the room, tongue spearing, nipple stretching long inside the mouth. So full… something’s coming!
“Ah—stop—ah, AH!” A sharp cry—white milk jets out, flooding the creep’s throat. He gulps, a few sticky drops dribbling down his chin, coating the nipple.
“Mommy… so sweet…”
“Ah—” No break. Mouth latches again. Hands squeeze both tits, chugging “mother’s” milk like a starving man. Left nipple starts leaking too.
After rounds of torment, the right’s drained dry. Bitten, bleeding bud finally released. Miller slumps, twitching, crotch soaked with pre. Psycho grabs the left, ignores desperate sobs, and bites down.
“Ah!!”
“Ah—ah… easy… ah… can’t… take it…”
“Tits… gonna break… ugh… why… let me go…”
The rotting house echoes with the rookie’s desperate, slutty gasps.
Time blurs. Under the dolls’ dead stares, Miller’s wrecked. Both nipples mangled beyond recognition. Sobbing, he flips over, crawling inch by inch. Gun’s right there—just a little farther. Hope dies fast. The creep snags his ankle, yanks him back under.
“Mommy… take me home.” Muffled, sticky against his neck.
Miller twists—eyes wide at the monster dick between the guy’s legs. “No—no!” Crawls again. Foot pins him. Hands rip the shorts clean off. Thick head nudges the slick hole.
“Mommy… coming in.”
Another missing person in town. Everyone mourns the hot new cop. Silver lining: no more vanishings after that.
In the remote mansion, a filthy-robed blond lounges in a recliner, hair down to his chest. A grimy beefcake writhes on him, face buried in tits. The blond pets the bobbing head, voice syrupy. “Good baby… slow… drink up…”
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Title: Nightmare Dollhouse Tit-Torture Rape Case – Halloween Special Vol.1
Tags: Halloween; horror; psycho killer; mockumentary; mommy kink; tit abuse; rough sex; uniform; doggy; lactation; sadism; muscle stud;
“I still don’t get why it had to be a mommy-obsessed psycho…” Wrapped in the wine-red silk robe from their first night, Miller curls in the man’s lap, scrolling the fresh drop. Halloween’s close—he’s shooting a paywall series to milk the hype. Holiday themes sell. Hours live and subs are pouring in. Still, the mommy-kink twist was John’s idea. Miller fought it hard—too weird—but he can never say no to the guy.
“Regular psycho’s played out, don’t you think?” John leans, phone in hand, shrugging.
“Fair… but still…” Latest comments love the lactation. Remembering getting railed by the guy twelve years older, calling him “mommy”—made his hole twitches. “Hiss—” Fuck, hurts! Even in softest silk, bitten nipples scream. Been showering with waterproof bandages all week.
“It hurts like hell, all your fault, you went too far, Snake!” The little cam-boy looked up and nipped the man’s chin.
“Mmm… let me rub it for you.” A big hand slipped under the robe and grabbed his pec. Miller quickly seized the man’s wrist and tossed it aside.
“Quit it, it’ll ache worse later!” The man hummed half-heartedly. Miller sighed; at least the fans’ glowing comments were some comfort. A few said the scene looked insanely real—of course it did. He’d rented the venue himself, and he and the guy had spent hours staging it: lining up those busted dolls one by one, plus that corpse John had crafted from latex and fake skin. Miller still thought it was disgusting.
“Where’d you put the dolls?”
“Backyard shed. Corpse too.”
“Halloween hits, we drag ’em all out front, rig some jump-scare triggers—scare the living daylights outta those neighborhood kids, ha!” Mentally sketching the perfect Halloween setup, Miller grinned, wriggled his hips to get comfy in the man’s lap, and rested his head on that firm chest. Feeling the muscle bounce under the back of his skull, he couldn’t help adding, “Tch, honestly, you’re the one who should be the milker.”
The man chuckled. “Sure, wanna suck?” Picturing that thick, knotty-haired chest, Miller grimaced. He loved nuzzling and rolling in it, but actual mouthing could wait.
[ One week until Halloween ]
“John, so you’re shacked up with that porn streamer? He your boss or something?” came the Southern drawl over the phone.
“What boss? He’s not my boss.”
“Thought he hired you as talent. So what are you… you shoot his vids for free?”
“Not exactly. I tip him.”
“You pay to help him film porn.” The voice sounded incredulous.
“Uh, no—I crash at his place rent-free, and he cooks for me every day.” After a beat, he added, “Adam, his food is legit amazing. You gotta try it.”
“Emmm, so he’s keeping you as fresh old meat.”
“Huh? No way, it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“…” John went quiet; he’d never labeled it. “Fuck-buddies who vibe?” A damn good lay.
“Just fuck-buddies? You’re inviting your whole chaotic crew over—he cool with that? It’s his house, right?”
“Why would he care? He agrees to whatever I say.”
“Did you ask him?”
“…” Silence again. He hadn’t even thought to check with the cam-boy.
“John, charming as you are, some basic courtesy still applies,” the voice teased with a laugh. “Not everyone knows you like I do.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to him.” John hung up.
The last dish hit the table, and it was clear the cam-boy had struck gold these past few days. Whenever his income spiked, John got treated to feasts that put regular dinners to shame. Tonight, each of them had a massive rib-eye the size of a hubcap—John had clocked the price at the supermarket; one slab could cover a week and a half of his wages. Right beside him sat a huge bowl of smoked-salmon salad, pink flesh piled high, ringed with halved soft-boiled eggs. Miller always insisted they needed more greens and protein. The finale: two racks of lamb, still sizzling, crusted with cumin and chili flakes. The milky lamb-fat aroma flooded the dining room; the roasting tray came loaded with onions and whole charred garlic cloves to cut the richness. Not even the swankiest joint in Diamond Dog could plate something this good. Halloween series must’ve printed money.
“You’re saying your old war buddies wanna swing by on Halloween?”
“Yup.” The man demolished his medium-rare rib-eye in a few bites—prime meat barely needed chewing, melted into fat and umami. Now he was gnawing a lamb bone, too busy to talk. Miller’s cooking turned even bare bones into flavor bombs; once you started, you couldn’t stop.
Normally Miller would prop his chin and stare, entranced, while the guy inhaled everything in sight. But right now he was thinking. He’d never met any of John’s friends—or, honestly, knew much about John’s past at all. Days: separate jobs. Nights: either fucking or Miller yammering one-sidedly at John. They’d been living together a while now, and Miller’s intel still stopped at “ex-soldier, ditched his old life, now delivers packages.” This was the first time John had voluntarily cracked the door to his world.
“How many we talking?”
“Not many. Four, five.” The man snatched another meat-laden rib.
“No problem! We can grill in the yard, whip up beer cocktails, maybe some Halloween games!?” Miller’s brain lit up with visions of a packed backyard. He loved parties. Ever since going full cam-boy, he hadn’t done real group socializing in forever. “You’re on setup duty. Got pics? Let me study faces so I don’t botch names and die of embarrassment.”
“Mmm… mm-hmm.” The last rib was picked clean; the man started sucking sauce off his fingers.
A heap of greens and salmon landed on the man’s plate. Miller sliced off another chunk of his own rib-eye and forked it over. The man grinned and accepted. “Eat up, I’m stuffed. Uh—they know about me?”
“Huh? Yeah.”
“Oh… what’d you tell ’em?” Miller leaned forward on both palms, ears perked.
“Porn streamer.”
“Wha—?” Miller’s face fell.
“Uh… accountant?”
“No!”
“Cute accountant?” Now the dark face was blushing.
“That’s not what I meant!” The cam-boy was losing it; the man looked innocent as a puppy. “I mean, how’d you describe us?”
“Oh, that…” Miller bit his lip, staring motionless at the man deep in thought—nervous or hopeful, hard to tell.
“Roommates.”
Every spark drained from that pretty face. The rib-eye chunk he’d just gifted was stabbed and yanked back. The man sounded disappointed. “Huh? Thought you were full?”
Miller ground his teeth and crammed the steak into his mouth. “Eat your own damn food!”