A week passes like normal with no mention of your request, and then one day Jason just disappears. He woke up early and crept out of bed without waking you, then went to the woods to wait for the perfect moment to fulfill the fantasy you'd confessed to him. He wants to do it right and has been repeating your instructions in his head and planning it out all week: you want him to surprise you, frighten you a little, act like a stranger and that he's going to punish you, and be a little bit more rough. And most importantly, that you will say 'stop' if he goes too far.

When you wake up to find him gone you're concerned for only a moment before you realize the possibility that he just might be planning to do what you requested a week ago. You try not to get too excited in case you're mistaken and go about your usual business while trying to push the thought out of your mind, but it's difficult. You don't see hide nor hair of him all day, but then when you're closing up the chicken coop for the evening you at last hear a slight rustle nearby. You freeze, then quickly spin around to find Jason directly behind you, not even arms-length away. He managed to pull off his stealthy sneak-attack and you have no idea how he was able to get so close without your having any clue whatsoever, especially considering that all of your senses have been on high-alert all day, waiting for him. You back up until you're pressed against the side of the coop and somehow he seems even bigger and more intimidating than usual. He's towering over you aggressively and you look up into his familiar lopsided eyes beneath the hockey mask… but this time they aren't soft and loving. Instead they look incredibly stern, which is about the best he can manage - he just can't bring himself to look angry with you no matter how hard he tries. He can't summon up anywhere close to the same rage he feels for his victims, so instead he's thinking about punishing you in a much more benign sort of way: like when his Mommy would punish him for sneaking a cookie out of the jar or not picking up his toys when she asked him to. Even though he didn't like to be punished, he still knew that she loved him. And while he doesn't understand why you want to be punished by him this way, he hopes that you will also know that he still loves you.

"Jason Voorhees…" you gasp, but before you can react to his sudden appearance beyond that his hand darts out and wraps around your neck - though not too hard - to hold you in place. He raises his machete, looking almost exactly like he did when you'd first encountered him, and your heart stops for one breathless second before he stabs the machete hard into the side of the chicken coop, right by your head. There is a splintering thud as the blade pierces the wood and your heart resumes pounding a mile a minute even as you feel a sudden rush of heat between your legs. He's off to an excellent start in granting your wish. Jason lets go of the machete, which stays stuck in the side of the coop, then before you know it he has you slung over his shoulder like a caveman carrying off a conquest. He's gripping you tightly, more tightly than he usually holds you, and you begin to struggle and kick and pound your fists against his back. You know that any normal victim would be screaming - and you had expected to be screaming yourself - but somehow all you can do is gasp and grunt and grit out an occasional curse as your utterly ineffective punches land against the solid muscle of his shoulders and back.

Jason is feeling slightly uncomfortable with the situation. His first instinct was to let go of you as soon as you began to struggle… but you had told him before that you might fight back or scream as part of the game and you haven't told him to stop now, so he has to assume you are still enjoying this somehow. Your punches and kicks don't hurt him at all, so he just keeps a tight hold on you as he strides towards your house. He kicks open the front door with a tremendous slam and you're surprised he didn't just knock the entire thing off of its hinges - though you kind of wish that he had. That show of force would have been completely worth having to fix the door later. He brings you straight to the bedroom, but instead of throwing you onto the bed like you expect he takes you off his shoulder and shoves you up against your dresser so that you're facing the mirror above it with your back pressed against him. You stare at your reflections - apparently he's going to do this so you can see it, and that idea and the sight of him looming behind you is unbearably erotic. You continue to struggle, feeling a thrill at how useless your efforts are, then he grabs your hips and lifts you up so your feet no longer touch the ground and he can force his thigh between your legs. You squeal in surprise as your feet leave the floor and you're suddenly finding it hard to struggle. He snatches both of your wrists with one hand and presses them against the top of the dresser, stretching your arms out in front of you to the point where you have no choice but to lay your upper body almost flat against it, bending you at a 90-degree angle so that your butt is pushed tightly against his pelvis as your legs dangle over both sides of his thigh and along the front of the dresser. He's staring intensely at you in the mirror with that same stern expression in his eyes, then he reaches his free hand down to hike up your dress and yank your legs apart even more.

"Fuck!" you gasp when his hand presses roughly against your crotch with only your panties in the way. They're soaked already and you're glad that you chose to wear a dress today. Jason also notices how damp they are and it relaxes his worries a bit - you really are enjoying this, and for the first time since this game began he starts to feel a little aroused as well. Feeling how wet you are for him always does the trick and he thrusts against you, grinding his crotch into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel him getting hard and you're glad that he's enjoying this too, but then his hand retreats from between your legs. Before you can whine about it, however, he suddenly slams his fist on top of the dresser right next to you so hard that it makes the entire dresser rattle. You jump and then gasp when you see that he's holding your meat cleaver, though he's gripping it so that the blade is to the side instead of buried in the wood. He doesn't want to ruin your furniture, though honestly right at this moment you wouldn't have minded if he did. He lets go of your wrists but keeps you pinned to the dresser with his body, then for the first time ever he wraps his fist in your hair and tugs, tipping your head back and exposing your throat as if he is about to slit it. You never would have guessed you'd enjoy having your hair pulled, but he did it just hard enough to be stimulating and not so much as to hurt. So far he's finding the perfect level of roughness and you squirm against him, your fingers scrabbling to grip the far edge of the dresser but then you go still when he brings the cleaver up underneath your jaw. He expertly presses the blade against you in such a way that you can tell how sharp it is, but not so it will actually cut you. He's watching you like a hawk, ready to instantly remove it if you make any move that might result in you getting hurt or if you to tell him to stop. He's taking no pleasure in this part - to the point where he almost loses his erection - but he wants to make sure that he meets your request for him to frighten you a little. You, on the other hand, are incredibly turned on and as you meet his serious eyes in the mirror you really get into character: "Please don't kill me… I'll be good! Please, I promise!" you whimper, and his eyes narrow as he pushes the cleaver just a little bit more firmly against the underside of your jaw. He looks as though he's not convinced, is giving you that same suspicious look he'd worn for the first few days after you'd met and your heart bursts with affection for him, for his willingness to play along with you in this way. "Please don't kill me, oh god, I swear I'll be good, just please don't kill me!" You're trying to sob, but you can't do it because you know there's no way he'll actually hurt you and you're just not that good of an actor. You probably sound even less-convincing than many of the inexperienced actresses in the terrible B-horror movies that you watch together. But it's fortunate for you that you aren't any good at it because if you started to cry - even pretend crying - then Jason would stop immediately. He's unwilling to make you cry, no matter how much you may ask him to. He'd do anything else in the world that you wanted, but not that. He would never want to hurt or even frighten you to the point of tears, not even if you said you wanted it - it's probably the only thing on earth that he would deny you. He squints at you even more suspiciously, trying to keep in character himself, then he finally brings the cleaver away from your throat - though he doesn't let go of your hair. He tucks the weapon back into his belt because if you actually were his victim he'd want it well away from your reach, just in case you tried to attack him with it.

You gulp and suck in a shaky breath, imagining how terrifying it would be if you were actually one of his victims in this moment. The meat cleaver thing was intense, but before you can spend any more time reveling in that intensity he rips your panties right off of you without warning as if they were tissue paper and you yelp in surprise. He's never done that before either, but you decide that you love it even more than the hair-pulling, ruined panties be damned. He rubs one finger against you a moment, testing to make sure you're wet enough and ready for him, then plunges that finger inside so fast that it takes your breath away. You see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, clearly worried that he was too rough, so you break character to give him a little encouragement: "Yes…" you moan and try to wiggle your ass against him as much as you can in your present position, so he starts moving his finger the way he knows you like it… but just a little bit more forcefully than usual this time. He lets go of your hair to run his hand down your back, then he slips it beneath your dress to squeeze one of your cheeks as he ruts against the back of your thigh. He adds a second finger and then a third, and your head drops down to rest against the top of the dresser with a thud and a moan of pleasure. You can feel his erection pressing against your bare skin through his pants before he steps back just enough to drag down his zipper and free himself with a grunt of relief.

Jason reaches into his jacket pocket for the bottle of lube that he'd packed earlier in preparation for this moment, and as he drizzles some onto himself he wonders what the best way to proceed from here would be. Even though you're finally able to take almost all of him inside of you now thanks to months of practice, he knows that you can't quite handle the entire length of him. Every time he takes you from behind he has to be extra-careful not to thrust too deeply, which will make being rougher now without hurting you difficult. So he goes back to a method you'd discovered together earlier in your experimentations when you were still working up to penetration: he removes his fingers and instead of entering you he pushes his hips forward to slide his cock between your thighs and against your crotch, and you both gasp in pleasure. He pulls back and does it again, and soon he's pounding you hard against the dresser over and over and you squeeze your thighs together as his hard length drags between them and against your clit with each thrust. You writhe and moan, clutching the edge of the dresser as though your life depends on it. He's slamming against you so fast and so violently now that the dresser is thunking repeatedly against the wall hard enough to leave dents and you vaguely worry that he might knock the mirror down… but this ferocity is exactly what you wanted, what you needed to try, and you look up into that mirror and see him staring right back at you, his eyes dark and intense and completely focused on you, waiting for you to tell him 'stop'… but if he stopped now you think you would die of frustration. You're so close... then he twists one hand in your hair again and leans over you close enough that the fabric of his ragged old jacket brushes your back and you can feel his harsh breath against your neck through the air holes in his mask, and with only a few more thrusts and a particularly hard squeeze of his other hand on your ass your orgasm hits you.

"Ohhh, fuck, Jason, fuck me, fuck me please!" you cry out as you spasm against him, thighs quivering and clenching. Never in a million years would you ever have guessed such a phrase would escape your lips and you're somewhat embarrassed, but you feel so achingly empty that if he doesn't get inside of you immediately you're going to lose your mind. Jason ruts between your legs even faster, panting hard and trying to hold back his own climax. You've never said anything like that to him before, and the wantonness of those words and the desperation in your tone ignite something deep inside of him and when you beg him again he relents. With an animalistic growl he lets go of your hair and thrusts into you as deep as he knows you can handle, but faster than he ever has before. "Ohhh, fuck, yes!" you wail in ecstasy and he's so far gone that he only manages three more quick and brutal thrusts, then he groans loudly as he comes inside of you. Your nails dig into the dresser hard enough to scratch the varnish and you watch his climax in the mirror, remembering what it was like before you had seen his real face, back when his mask was his face to you, and he looks just as sexy coming with it on as he does without it.

When he finishes he stays draped across your back for a few moments while you both recover, and his heavy weight pressing you against the dresser feels divine. At last he pulls out and takes a step back, then pulls your dress back down to cover you. He tucks himself back into his pants before placing his hands gently on your waist to lift you off of the dresser and set your feet on the floor once again. Your legs are slightly shaky and he holds you steady for a moment until you're able to turn around and hug him. He runs his hands lightly all over your body, petting your hair and looking at you with concern and tenderness in his eyes, waiting for you to reassure him that you're okay. You're more than okay. You're fantastic, actually, and you beam up at him as you reach for the straps of his mask to remove it before pulling him down to you for a passionate kiss.

"Thank you so much, Jason," you say between kisses. "Thank you for trying that game with me, you did such an amazing job sweetheart, I really, really liked it. I loved it, it was so sexy. Did you like it, too?" He nods but also shrugs a little, hoping you'll understand what he means: anytime he gets to be with you he likes it - and this time was no exception - but in all honesty he prefers to treat you gently and lovingly more than brutal and rough. Brutality is part of his work, and you are anything but work. But he's extremely glad to hear that you think he did a good job at what you asked him to do. He always wants to do a good job for you. You understand what he's trying to communicate and are glad that he at least didn't hate the experience - though his powerful orgasm was certainly enough proof of that on its own. "Not your favorite way to have sex, huh?" you ask, and he shakes his head. "Me neither," you say honestly, "I liked it a lot, but I like it most when it's gentle and soft and loving. Is that what you like the most, too?" He nods again, much more enthusiastically, and you give him a smile and another kiss. He's so sweet and so caring, and you wonder what you ever did to deserve such a gentle, loving man in your life. When you pull away you look at him a little bit mischievously. "But would you be okay with maybe being a little less gentle from time to time? We don't have to do the whole 'masked-killer' game again if you don't want to, but just maybe a little more rough like that every once in awhile. It's kind of exciting for me. Would that be okay?" Happily he nods, and you can tell that he means it and isn't just agreeing to make you happy. While it's true it wasn't his favorite way to have sex, it certainly wasn't bad by any means. He'd rather not have to pretend he was about to kill you again, but being a little rougher felt good and he didn't mind wearing his mask - and he definitely wouldn't mind hearing you beg him to fuck you like that some more. Plus seeing you so excited and enjoying it so much makes him excited as well. You take his hand and give it a little squeeze. "I don't know about you, but I need a shower after that workout. Wanna join me?" He nods eagerly and allows you to lead him towards the bathroom as you toss his mask onto the bed. You drag your free hand along the surface of the dresser as you walk past it - you're never going to look at that particular piece of furniture the same way again, that's for sure.