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makeyoumine69 · 24 hours ago

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Merry Christmas, Bitch!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

��𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: On your way to the American Gardens Building for your family's Christmas party, you suddenly meet a mysterious man from the 11th floor, unaware that your days were already numbered the moment he set his eyes on you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NONCON smut, dark angst, sedating, kidnapping, blood play & kink, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, spitting, multiple orgasms, rough vaginal and anal sex, creampie, dumbification, humiliation, vaginal & butt plugs, sex torture, canonical violence, sex toys, swearing, dirty talk, pet names, masturbating, pussy slapping, nipple play, finger sucking and maybe something more.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 6k

𝐀/𝐍: Merry Christmas everyone! Since the dark option won the poll for the Christmas Special, I brought you this, hehe! I hope you enjoy it, but please read the warnings first!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]🪓

Christmas Eve was one of the busiest times of the year when people would go shopping like crazy and all the stores were so crowded that sometimes you had to spend a lot of time standing in line, but that was something you got used to because it was not a big problem at all. What was really a problem was the fact that you had to work during Christmas and that was really frustrating even though your parents tried to reassure you that they would wait for you and wouldn't start celebrating. That was really sweet of them, but it didn't really help with your exhaustion after a long day at work, and you still had to buy something for Christmas, which completely slipped off your mind - you loved making presents for your family, but oh, sometimes it was so hard to guess what present would really surprise them.

Walking down the street one block away from the American Gardens Building—a place where your parents lived—you stopped at the ATM to get some cash, and from that moment on you had the feeling that someone was watching you, but every time you turned around you saw no one. Although it was not very late, the streets were pretty empty, so when you accidentally bumped into a stranger while walking away from the ATM, you got really scared, but after a brief exchange of apologies, you and the stranger, who turned out to be an old man, walked off in different directions. Still, something was nagging at you, a strange fear, the nature of which you couldn't really comprehend.

A little later, you realized that most of the stores were already closed, so buying a gift was not really an option—you would have to do it tomorrow—but at least you managed to get some flowers for your mother. Soon you reached the American Gardens building—an embodiment of luxury that towered over the streets like a silent sentinel. Holding a bouquet of flowers and opening the heavy door that refused to let you through suddenly became a challenge for you, if not for the mysterious stranger who appeared out of nowhere.

"Need some help?" The man asked, and somewhere you recognized that deep, velvety voice.

As you turned, you set your eyes on the handsome young man holding a briefcase in one hand and a cigar in the other. "Oh, that would be much appreciated," you replied, watching as he gallantly opened the door for you. "The doorman is probably off today."

"Pretty sure he does, it's Christmas," he said, and you both went in, passing the concierge, who nodded politely when he saw the two of you. "Do you live here? I think I’ve definitely met you before.”

As you walked through the polished lobby to the elevators, his question made you wonder where else you could see him other than here, since he seemed to live here, but then a flash of memories pierced through your head like a bunch of small fireworks.

"Patrick Bateman, right?" You smiled and pressed the flowers closer to your chest as you both stood by the elevators, waiting. "I don't live here, but my parents do," the man gave you a cheerful grin, and then the elevator arrived with a characteristic ding. "I remember you used to talk to my dad about some communal problems and stuff."

"Oh, right! Now I totally remember."

As you both entered the elevator and the door closed smoothly behind you, Patrick leaned against the metal wall right next to the control panel, while you stood almost right next to the door, the bouquet of white roses feeling the enclosed space with their sweet scent.

"What floor do you live on?" You asked as the elevator began its ascent.

"Eleventh," Bateman replied briefly, rummaging in the pocket of his trench coat with a rustle. "Just above the floor where your family lives."

Standing half-turned, you could see his looming figure beside you in the reflection of the gleaming metal door of the elevator, and though your inner voice screamed that something was definitely wrong, you couldn't move, as if paralyzed by an invisible spell.

Subtly, Patrick slipped the white piece of cloth out of his pocket, though his face was still blank, not a single muscle twitching, as the mask he wore was practiced to perfection, making it impossible for anyone around to read what was on his mind.

"Hmmm, you surprised me," he murmured suddenly, slowly approaching you. "I really thought you would recognize me right away."

"I have a bad memory for faces," your breathing hitched as you said that. "Meeting too many people every day doesn't help."

Tensed to the limit, you looked up at the small display where the floor numbers changed one by one, and when you finally saw the tenth floor, you felt relieved, but it was too premature, because the doors didn't open. A bone chilling fear crept into your chest, your heart beating fast against your ribcage, and the second you heard Bateman move behind your back, you were on the verge of screaming— unfortunately it was too late.

With a practiced motion, the man pressed a piece of cloth over your mouth. "Shhhh," he grabbed your trembling little form, giving you no chance to fight him, for he was much stronger, much bigger, and the strange odor that filled your nostrils made you see black holes between your eyes. "You don't want anyone to hear you...especially your dear family."

You tried desperately to hit him with the bouquet, but the harder you struggled, the tighter he held you in his arms. The second tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, your consciousness too fuzzy to think rationally, you realized that you were slowly passing out, but the rush of adrenaline was still kicking in.

"Mmhhm!" You squealed as loud as you could, your hands squashing the flowers with a deadly grip, their sharp thorns sinking into your soft skin, but you couldn't feel it anymore. "Mmhm-help!"

Annoyed, the man clenched his teeth and grabbed your throat, almost strangling you here and there as he realized the chemical he used was not enough to knock you out. "If you don't shut your damn mouth," Patrick hissed, pulling you against his strong torso. "I'll break your fucking neck!"

Sobbing into the fabric now drenched in your tears and saliva, your eyes began to roll back in your head as your body slowly but surely went limp, and then you lost your grip on the bouquet, letting it fall to your feet on the elevator floor. Sensing that you were on the verge of fainting, Bateman increased the force of his grip around your neck, pinching the carotid artery until you finally lost consciousness, going weak in his hands like a broken doll.

With a weary sigh, the man kicked the flowers aside, scooped you closer in his arms, and stroked your face with a devilish smile that played on his smug face—a dark gleam sparkled in his dark, mad eyes. "Good girl," he purred into your ear, knowing you couldn't hear him anymore, giving you a light peck on the top of your head before lifting you up and pressing the 11th floor button on the control panel. "Say goodbye to your fucking parents, princess." With those words, Patrick took your hand and waved at the closed elevator door, while his other hand was busy pushing the handkerchief into your mouth to use as a gag in case you suddenly woke up.

Almost a month ago.

It was the last weekend of November and you decided to pay a visit to your family since you hadn't seen them in a long time. Your mother didn't even let you say a word when you entered the apartment because she was so excited to see you, but when you noticed an unfamiliar voice coming from the dining room, you stopped in your tracks and gave the old lady a confused look.

"I didn't know you had guests besides me," you said, taking off your coat. "Who is that?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's Mr. Bateman, he's our neighbor," your mother replied, gently rubbing your shoulder. "He just came by to talk to your father about the problems with the central heating."

Frowning, you didn't say anything in response, just followed your mother down the hall, and soon after you turned the corner, you took a moment to examine this "neighbor", not really noticing that he was looking at you in the same curious way.

This staring contest continued for some time until your father noticed your presence and gestured to the dining table for you to join them. "Don't stand there, darling. There's no need to be shy," he said, waving you over—you didn't know how to refuse in this situation, so you just obeyed. "Patrick, this is my dear daughter!"

As soon as your father said your name, Patrick gave you a toothy smile before taking your palm in his and planting a soft kiss on it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, miss."

Slightly embarrassed, you couldn't even find the right words to reply, but your mother came out of nowhere with the tray of drinks and treats like your savior. The old lady placed the cups of freshly brewed coffee, a bowl of candies and various cookies, small milk chocolates and some truffles. Then she returned to the kitchen, excusing herself that she had to finish cooking dinner.

"So you guys have some serious communal issues here or what?" You asked, sipping your coffee and trying to escape Bateman's scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, I have to say that our utilities are in no hurry to correct the situation," Patrick explained, his hazel eyes tracing your face and then your lips as if he were deliberately humiliating you. "I heard that people on the second floor saw some rats."

"Rats?" You asked in disbelief. "I can't believe it! You're practically living in the most expensive neighborhood in Manhattan."

Your father sighed and put his hands on the table. "It's New York, darling. It's possible that our utility company just doesn't have enough money to maintain our building."

After your father finished his rant about the hard life in New York and how sometimes even rich people could have mundane problems like that, there was a brief moment of silence that was broken by your mother, who reentered the dining room with a phone in her hand.

"Honey, your doctor is calling," she chirped, getting everyone's attention. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Uh, please excuse me," the old man got up from the table and took the phone. "I'll be right back."

With that, your parents left the dining room, and for a moment, you had a panic attack—this man, Patrick Bateman, whose lips curled even more after the two of you were left alone, made you feel uncomfortable, but you couldn't even tell why.

Coughing nervously, you took another sip of coffee to clear your throat. "So," you began after the pause had become unforgivably long. "How are you going to celebrate Christmas?" God, that was probably the stupidest and most primitive question you ever asked, but your brain just refused to work properly. "People used to plan such things in advance."

Bateman raised the mug to his lips and looked at you over the rim. "Let me think," unlike you he drank black tea and never even touched any sweets. "Probably going to some Christmas party. No big deal though." The man licked his lips after another sip, and that gesture sent a tingle through your core that forced you to avert your eyes. "What about you? Pretty ladies like you usually spend Christmas with their loved ones?"

You almost choked on your coffee, choosing not the best time to take another refreshing sip, just to do something instead of sitting idle. "I...uh...to be honest, I don't...don't have any particular company for this Christmas, and besides, I have to work, so..."

"Really? Work? Oh, that sucks," Patrick complained worriedly. "Our government should make it illegal to work on Christmas."

Damn, this man was blessed with charisma and a gab that made you feel like a schoolgirl on her first date.

"Yeah, you're right," you managed to say, not really able to hide the broad smile that appeared on your face. "They definitely should."

A metallic, salty smell filled your nostrils. It took several attempts to finally open your eyes, as the lids seemed so heavy, as if they each weighed a ton. Blinking in confusion from the surrounding darkness, you suddenly felt something dripping on you—a warm, slightly sticky liquid, but when you managed to focus your vision, you noticed that it seemed to be red in color, and then you screamed, but you couldn't hear your voice as something tightly covered your mouth. After a few soft footsteps, a familiar voice echoed through the room, but you couldn't tell where exactly.

"Welcome back," Patrick crooned, stopping somewhere not far away when you heard his voice more clearly. "You had me worried," he said as he turned on the switch and the blinding light made your eyes water from its sharpness and you could finally look around to find yourself lying on the bed in a spacious room with white walls. "Because for a moment I thought you would never wake up."

Weeping quietly, you tried to move your limbs, but it didn't work either, because something was holding you tight. With all the strength you had left, you craned your neck to see a red ribbon wrapped around you, the way Christmas presents were usually wrapped, and you realized that the red liquid was blood...your blood? The thought almost made you vomit, but the duct tape on your mouth stopped you from making any sound.

"Do you like the ribbon? I think red really suits you, although I was thinking of picking something more innocent for you...pink or white or maybe beige," the man kept muttering in a casual tone that only added to the creepiness of the situation. "Oh, I forgot you can't talk," Bateman giggled, slowly sauntering across the room holding something shiny in his hands. "I got rid of your clothes because you looked like shit in them."

Damn it, did he really dare to do that? Tugging at the ribbon with your hands, you closed your eyes tightly, denying that everything here was real - you just needed to find a way to wake up from this nightmare.

But Patrick had other plans, and giving you a break was definitely not one of them, as he quickly rushed to the bed and hovered over you, pressing something sharp against your mound, and then you felt a searing pain as a cold metal cut your skin, as if you were not made of flesh and bones, but of some wax.

"Mhwwww," you cried in pain, jerking on the bed as you heard the oilcloth rustle beneath you. A small scarlet trail of your hot blood ran down your hip after another cut. No matter how hard you tried to free yourself, Bateman knew what he was doing, as the ribbon was securing you just the way he wanted , but still you were writhing as if you were lying on the burning coals. "Mmhm-ple-lease," you managed to whimper through the tape as it became soaked with your saliva. "S-s-t-top," your legs trembled uncontrollably as the man lowered the knife to your now exposed cunt, sliding the blade along your salacious folds but never pressing too hard. "Please-se."

You could even recognize your own voice because of how badly it was distorted. The fact that this psycho was waiting for you to wake up so that you could feel and see everything he was going to do to you made you so disgusted that you almost bit your own tongue. It would be much better if he just killed you and you could only guess what monstrous things he was going to do to you.

"What a pretty little pussy you have," Patrick grinned to himself, the knife still pointed at your womanhood. "When was the last time you had sex?" His question—so full of mockery and disgust, but he was so damn proud of it—remained unanswered, and he didn't bother to ask you again, because in reality he certainly didn't give a fuck. "You're dripping... and bleeding. I hope you know what that means? Luckily, we still have some time before you bleed out completely."

With his eyes still on you, Bateman got up from the bed and brought the knife to his mouth to lick your blood and flavor from it, savoring the taste—you could swear you heard him moan with satisfaction and that sound sent chills all over your body. That was insane. That was wrong. That was sick. And you were the witness to this depravity—you were literally the victim placed on the altar to satisfy all the dark needs of this beast.

Slowly, Patrick got rid of his suit, then his luxury loafers and garters. When the silk boxers were the only thing left on him, the man stopped and, unfortunately for you, walked back to you, but without actually getting on the bed, the man lifted his leg and placed it on the edge of the mattress next to your feet to get a prosper look at your naked, tortured, bleeding frame.

"People usually give each other presents for Christmas," he chimed in suddenly. "And since you already gave me a present," he pointed at your quivering figure lying beneath him. "You can ask me for anything," Bateman sneered in a teasing initiation. "But no cheating, you can't just ask me to let you go."

Panting, you closed your eyes for a fleeting second to consider the possible outcomes and whether you had any chance of getting out alive. Considering the circumstances—probably not. At one point, you even thought that asking him to give you a quick death was the best option, but then you reassured yourself that it was too early to give up.

Rocking from side to side, you mumbled something incoherently through the handmade gag, causing a hearty laugh to break out from Patrick's broad chest. "What is it, honey? Would you like me to remove it?" He leaned down to run his finger along your covered mouth. "All right, all right," he smiled wickedly and tugged at the edge of the tape. "But think twice before you say anything if you don't want it shoved down your throat."

A brief sting of pain rippled through your system as he removed the damned piece of tape and you were finally able to breathe properly, too close to choke on your own saliva. Never stopping to grin, the man stepped back to the floor and gave you an impatient stare in anticipation of your begging.

"You... c-can do whatever you want to me, but please... don't touch my family, sir." Every syllable you said took a lot of strength, but when you finished, Bateman couldn't hold back a wicked, maniacal chuckle.

"Holy shit," he grinned wildly, a knife still in one of his hands while another darted across the toned muscles of his chest before it reached his briefs and he grabbed his groin, rubbing his rock hard dick through the expensive material. "I can't remember the last time someone called me sir as sexy as that, you're something, little one," and with that Patrick finally raked his underwear down to free his thick cock, which sprang out like a fucking arrow. "See, I don't give a fuck about your family," his eyebrows furrowed as he began to stroke himself, the swollen tip already drooling with his pre-cum, which he smeared all over his shaft to smooth the friction. "And I'm gonna have my way with you in every possible scenario. So... enjoy the ride and try not to bleed out before I'm done with you."

Bateman quickly pulled his boxers back and got on top of you, and you began to thrash around on the bed with reckless abandon, giving it everything you had. "You... fucking monster... they will find you and lock you up in prison. You..." His big palm covered your mouth harshly, silencing you as if you were a little bug. In the end, Patrick sealed your mouth with the same duct tape, although it wasn't that sticky, he didn't care because the next thing he did was get up and walk out of the bedroom into another room.

For a moment you thought he went for some deadly weapons like scalpel and he was going to dissect you, cut out your intestines and fucking eat them while you were still alive. But then music began to play somewhere in the distance—a male vocal that was so familiar, but your tormented mind couldn't figure out who it belonged to.

Within a few seconds, the motherfucker was back, this time holding a strange bundle of wires and electronic chips—you watched him in undisguised horror, even though your neck was in excruciating pain from being in such a crooked position.

"Listen to this masterpiece," he hummed mostly to himself as he placed his belongings next to your bound limbs. "Have you heard it before?" Bateman's question forced you to try to roll onto your side, but your body just wouldn't listen. "This is one of my personal favorites by Genesis. 'Land of Confusion'—an epic meditation on intangibility, you can get the meaning of this song from the opening lines alone."

All the while, the man was attaching some clamps to your nipples, which were hard from the cool air in the room. What was this thing? Was he going to burn you with electricity or something? Until you were nothing but ashes. Just the thought of it made your eyes water in a new wave of panic—you didn't want to die, you didn't want to be here—you tried to think of your family, but it only made things worse. Patrick literally sang the lyrics of the song in a soft, peaceful way, like he was doing something casual, but not torturing a poor woman he had knocked out and then kidnapped. The clamps he put on your little tips were connected by wires to a small device that looked like a TV controller, with a precise movement he placed another clamp between your legs, he had to lose the ribbon a bit to spread your hips, and after he pinched your clit, he placed a small clamp right there and pressed it hard into your flesh.

"Mhmm," you let out a muffled gasp as he finished his wicked preparation. "Mmm-please..d-don't do that!"

Biting his lower lip, Bateman picked up the device to press the button and then you felt an electric shock pierce through every little pitch of your body, but it was not real electricity, it was the pulsation that set all your nerve endings on fire. Although you tried to close your legs and avoid the vibration—it seemed to be impossible as Patrick prepared all this absolutely perfectly, he knew how you would try to act, he knew exactly how he had to tie you up.

"Not exactly what you expected?" The man chuckled, watching in pure awe as you twitched along the oilcloth, your chapped skin itching with every frantic move, but you didn't care because you were about to bite into that damn tape from that strange sensation that was coiling in your gut. "'Looking good, princess... but this mode is for weaklings. You can do better, right?"

The man took his previous position beside the bed, but this time he took off his briefs completely, his dick throbbing, so full of blood and the moment he grabbed it, every vein on it tensed, ready to burst.

"Ah-fuck," he groaned, pumping himself faster and faster, every move of his hand greedy and desperate as the muffled sounds you made only fueled him more and more. "You whimper so sweetly, girl."

Tilting his head, Bateman switched the vibration to another mode that was much more intense, making you want to pass out, your pussy now soaking wet from your flavor, your blood drying a bit, now draping your skin in a crimson ornament.

"A-awwhhhhh," you managed to cry out through the gag, your hands aching so badly from being tied up like that for such a long time, but the way those fucking little clamps were working you up, sending millions of little needles into the bundles of your nerves, was something you couldn't handle. "Mmhm-turn it-t off!"

The tape was only partially covering your mouth now because the moisture from your mouth made it so wet, but Patrick didn't care even if you started to scream louder— it seemed like everything was going according to his plan. With the grace of a predator, he stood in front of your trembling legs to spread them, and in one smooth motion, he plunged two fingers at once, curling and twisting them to find the right spot that would make you explode.

"Easy, easy," he cooed as he dipped his long fingers deeper until he reached the spongy joint inside your throbbing slit, and then Bateman began to rub it more persistently. "Your cunt wants to break my fingers or what? Uh, so greedy...starving for a good fuck."

Patrick's words triggered something that was hiding at the very bottom of your sophisticated mind—something you never knew about—it unsettled you in every possible way, both physically and mentally.

The moment of your orgasm could be compared to a waterfall that broke everything in its path, it was unstoppable and brutal, but the torturing vibration didn't stop, nor did Bateman, in fact he did just the opposite, the second he felt you clench around his fingers, the man began to move them faster, scissoring them, then burying them deep down to the knuckles, continuing to stimulate you in this way, feeling the vibration of the torturing device that coursed through your clit, adding to the whole mess.

"Mhmm-enough!" Your voice sounded even louder than a scream, it was a fucking cry for mercy. "Please...please...p-please-"

As soon as he added another finger, you climaxed again, this time even more vividly and you nearly choked on your spit, you stuck out your tongue involuntarily, your eyes rolled back in your head, but as if that was not enough, you felt an overwhelming, strange sensation in your lower abdomen and before you knew it, you were squirting so hard that everything underneath you was soaked.

Watching you gush like a fucking fountain, Bateman couldn't help but grin in dark satisfaction. "Look at you, literally pissing yourself from how good I make you feel."

Completely out of breath, you made no protest as he hovered over your face to kiss you through the wet tape, his tongue sliding along the edge but not going deeper, and that was only a matter of time. With a raspy groan, Patrick removed the gag completely, leaving itchy marks on your skin, but you were too stunned to react, to resist, to fucking breathe?

"Let's see if you can take my dick as well as you took my fingers," he brushed his fat cock against your wet opening, feeling the aftershocks still running through your inner muscles. "You little filthy bitch," his heavy, bulky body pressed you down like a fucking stone, making it impossible to move. "Every little hole of yours is mine to ruin now." And then he bit your cheek, almost taking a chunk out, you screamed, but he silenced you with his finger, shoving it so deep that you gagged in response, while he kept grinding against your abused body to make you feel how heavy his balls were, so fucking tight and full of cum.

Despite your urge to bite his finger, all you could do was whimper around it as Bateman's large palm landed on your overstimulated pussy, the vibration never ceasing to take everything out of you, but the slaps made you cum again before the man aligned himself with you and slowly but possessively sheathed his cock inside you.

“Look at me,” he spat into your face and yanked your hair, almost scratching your scalp. “Fucking whore…pretending being so innocent and all for what?” Patrick pulled his finger out from your mouth only to kiss you hard on your lips, plunging his tongue inside of it, licking it out and sucking on your lips while his strong hips were bucking against yours, his cock so huge that it easily reached your cervix and it hurt so bad. “Only for me to make you moan like a slut!”

Opening your mouth wide, the man spit into it before plugging it again with his thumb. As much as you hated to admit that your body was enjoying the curve of his dick brushing against your already too sensitive G-spot, you couldn't stop yourself from cumming, even though the multiple orgasms were about to kill you. When Bateman found the remote again, without even looking, he set the speed to maximum and threw it away, only to stop abruptly and pull out. That was the little pause you craved, the fleeting second to catch your breath, but it didn't last long as he cupped your breasts and squeezed them painfully, your nipples about to explode from the crazy level of stimulation.

"Mmm...are they natural?" Bateman asked before slapping both of your tits and then squeezing them again. "It would be such a waste if you died right now."

The mischievous grin on his face changed to something more animalistic, but your vision was nothing but a white, shocking veil. With practiced ease, Patrick flipped you onto your stomach and positioned you on all fours, pressing your head flat against the mattress. The man had to tear the ribbon that held your legs together a little more so he could spread them the way he wanted. And then a fucking miracle happened—the vibration stopped—and when Bateman noticed, he cursed and grabbed the remote. You used it as your only chance to escape as he lost his grip on you. Shaking, barely breathing, you tried to crawl away from him, and you even managed to slip off the bed and fall to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing, you stupid bitch?!" His angry baritone hit your eardrums like a fucking thunderclap, but the worst part was that you couldn't really move since you were nothing but a wet, shaking mess. "You soaked the floor with your fucking blood!"

Bateman didn't get up right away, but when he did, it took him several steps to approach your weak, exhausted frame. Smirking, he looked down at you before stomping on your shoulder blade until you screamed in pain as you thought he was going to crush your bones.

"Stop," your voice broke into a hushed squeal as you ran out of strength. "Just...k-kill me already."

"You don't have a say in this," Patrick removed his foot and grabbed your hair, starting to drag you somewhere you didn't know. "Fuck it...I have to clean the whole apartment anyway."

For a moment you seemed to black out, but only for a moment. The next room you were trapped in turned out to be a spacious living room, but the walls were as white as the bedroom - it felt like you were already in a morgue, the cold floor beneath your hot skin only intensifying this feeling. When the man finally lowered you to the floor, which was covered with many copies of various newspapers, mostly the Times, he placed you on your knees and elbows again before positioning himself behind you. Looking down at your sore pussy covered with his cum, he jerked off for several fleeting seconds that felt like an eternity to you, and you didn't even say a word, you didn't feel a thing, as if you were already dead. When he was hard again, Bateman slid inside you to the brim, stretching you even more in this position, but he still wanted more, so he pushed you face down on the floor, the smell of ink filling your nose, mixing with the smell of sex, sweat and your blood, making it hard for you to resist the urge to vomit, but you had no choice but to hold back as best you could.

Fucking you from behind at a relentless pace, Patrick closed his eyes and threw his head back, his hands holding you in place, using your body like a fuck toy, his girth brutally spreading your little channel in this position and from time to time Bateman would look down to see your cunt struggling to encompass him and it spurred him on to fuck you even harder until he was literally squatting down on you, fucking you in a doggy mating press. Each time he jackhammered into your malleable body, a wet, squelching sound would come from your pussy.

"You're... so tight," he breathed out suddenly, before pushing you down some more, almost cracking your skull from how hard he was pressing you to the floor. "Mmh-fuck!" That little rub on your overstimulated bud he gave you forced you to explode once again, that was another time he made you squirt, your soft inner walls milking him so hard, literally asking him to pump you with his cum and the next second he squatted down as hard as he could, sinking deep before he unloaded the dense ropes of his seed, pumping you hard until his cum began to flow down the insides of your hips, dripping down to the floor and thank God he had planned everything out and placed the newspapers. "So how does it feel to be a cum-dumster, honey?"

Sobbing, you didn't answer, but slipped to the floor and curled up, your knees pressed to your chest. How did you feel? There was probably no right answer to that question, but the only thing you could admit for sure was that this man had literally ripped your soul out of your body, and now you were nothing but an empty shell that had once been someone's daughter, someone's friend, someone's love? All these thoughts were like a whirlpool in your mind, you were drowning in the pain of being degraded to the point of losing your identity—could you be called human after this?

Eventually your eyelids became too heavy and you drifted off for some time, you couldn't tell exactly how long you were unconscious, but the next thing you remembered was a painful sensation pooling all over your lower abdomen as Bateman pushed something like a plug into your creamy cleft to keep his cum inside you because he wanted to open you up later like a fucking bottle of champagne. After another hour of rough anal sex, Patrick was finally exhausted, your asshole was torn and bleeding, but it didn't bother him at all as he pushed another plug into your asshole.

Genesis' tape Invisible Touch seemed to be playing for the third time in a row, Patrick was sitting on the draped couch, naked, covered in your blood and his semen. He took a drag from his cigar and leaned back in his seat, admiring the view in front of him—you, standing on your knees, still naked and bruised, a shiny garland wrapped around you, making you look like a fucking Christmas tree. There was not even a one spot on your body that was left untouched and unscarred, as the man had spent a lot of time carving his initials into your skin, along with words like: hoe, slut, cum-dumster, fuck toy, and maybe something more.

Shaking pathetically, you opened your eyes to see him sitting smugly on the couch, still smoking his cigar. "Kill me...please...just kill me."

"Hey! Christmas trees don't talk," he grinned, fixing his messy hair before blowing out some smoke. "And they don't sob, so stop fucking crying!"

With an exhausted exhale you sat down, feeling the sharp thorns of the flowers you bought for your parents cutting into your knees, but that pain was nothing because there was nothing left of you in this body.

"My family..." you murmured in a trembling voice. "They will find out..."

The man nodded as if he really believed what you said. "Don't worry about it. By the time they find out, your body will probably be dissolving somewhere," Patrick laughed as he noticed you almost falling to the floor. "I cut the phone line, so your family will need some time to fix everything." With that he got up and walked over to you. "You know, I really enjoyed this Christmas...maybe I'll keep you to myself," he stroked your bruised cheek. "I will personally express my condolences to your father about his loss. I promise you, sweetheart, no one and nothing will keep us apart. Not now, not ever."

Phill Collins' voice was still blaring in the background, but the lyrics slept away from you like your life slept away the moment you stepped into that damn elevator, because now your life didn't belong to you anymore.

♪ I must've dreamed a thousand dreams Been haunted by a million screams But I can hear the marching feet They're moving into the street Now did you read the news today? They say the danger's gone away But I can see the fire's still alight They're burning into the night There's too many men, too many people Making too many problems And not much love to go 'round Can't you see this is a land of confusion? This is the world we live in (oh, oh, oh) And these are the hands we're given (oh, oh, oh) Use them and let's start trying (oh, oh, oh) To make it a place worth living in ♪

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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