Chapter 71 Confession No 52: Panther Chase (Cosplay Confession)

Chapter 71 Confession No 52: Panther Chase (Cosplay Confession)
The music thumped softly through the walls of the downtown loft, a low, sensual bass that made every step feel like a heartbeat. The afterparty was invite only, exclusively for the underground cosplay elite where latex, silk, and fantasy collided behind closed doors.

Camille stood by the drink table, dressed in a crimson villainess bodysuit that barely hid her curves. Her thigh-high boots clung to her like a second skin, and the black leather gloves gave her the sharp allure of a femme fatale. Her deep red lipstick matched her mood: hungry.

She wasn’t just here to flirt. She was here to hunt.

Then she saw him Panther.

Black vibranium like suit. Muscles she hadn’t known Malakai possessed flexing beneath the synthetic armour. A mask that hid everything except his electric presence. He didn’t say a word as he passed her, but his gloved hand grazed her hip so subtly she wondered if she imagined it.

Malakai? That sweet, soft-spoken friend she’d watched anime with, exchanged memes with, accidentally cuddled during movie nights?

Impossible.

She followed him. Of course she did.

The hallway was dim. The throb of bass faded behind her as she rounded the corner. Then

A firm hand caught her wrist, pinning it above her head.

She gasped as her back hit the wall. Panther’s body pressed into hers hard, commanding.

“Didn’t your mama teach you not to follow predators?” he said, voice low and distorted through the mask’s filter.

She shivered. “And what if I want to be caught?”

His gloved hand traced her jaw, slow and deliberate. “Then you’ll have to play by my rules.”

He kissed her. Hard. Dominant. Nothing like the Malakai she knew. Or thought she knew.

His hand slid to her neck not squeezing, just resting there like a promise. She melted.

“Get on your knees.”

She dropped, breath shaky. He unzipped, revealing thick, hard flesh. No words just desire. She licked him slowly, teasing, watching him from beneath her lashes.

“You tease like you want to be punished,” he growled.

And she did.

He pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the narrow hallway console table. Her ass pushed against his hips, her breath fogging the glass. He tugged her bodysuit aside and found her soaked.

“No panties, huh?”

“I didn’t come here to play safe.”

He slid into her slow, deliberate.

She whimpered. “Mal”

“Not tonight. You don’t get to say my name.”

Each thrust was a command. Each breath he stole from her was deliberate. He pulled her hair back, whispering filthy things that made her walls clench harder around him.

Then he stopped.

Pulled out.

Walked around her.

Pulled her mask off.

And kissed her lips like he was claiming them.

“Don’t forget this part,” he murmured, voice raw now, unfiltered.

She blinked up. And for the first time that night mask off, breathless Malakai smiled.

Sweet. Soft. Dangerous.

Then he pulled her hand to his still throbbing length and said:

“We’re not done. Bedroom. Now.”

The one behind the mask isn’t always the one in control

The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly, the air was different heavier, thicker with tension that pulsed like electricity.

Camille didn’t hesitate. As Malakai stepped toward her, she walked backward, shedding her gloves and letting them fall like surrendered weapons.

“I know who you are now,” she whispered, licking her lips. “But I still want the mask.”

Malakai smirked. “You want the suit on?”

“I want the predator.” Her voice dipped lower. “But this time. he’s mine.”

Malakai raised a brow behind the mask but didn’t speak. His silence was part of the thrill.

She pushed him onto the edge of the bed, straddling him in slow, sultry motion. Her hips moved like a slow grind to music, only she heard. She tugged her bodysuit down to reveal her breasts round, flushed, nipples stiff from both arousal and power.

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice low and distorted again. Commanding.

But she smiled and leaned close to the helmet. “No, baby. Tonight, you follow my script.”

She slid down his body until her knees were on the floor and his cock was exposed once again thick and pulsing, just like before. She looked up at him through heavy lashes.

“Eyes on me,” she purred.

Then she wrapped her lips around him and sucked slow. Not just teasing tormenting. Her tongue circled his tip, dipped beneath the crown, dragged down his shaft before she took him deeper.

He hissed.

She didn’t stop. Her hands gripped his thighs. Her lips made the filthiest sounds in the quiet room. When he twitched, she looked up and whispered, “Not yet.”

Then, releasing him with a pop, she stood, turned around, and bent over in front of him, peeling off the rest of her bodysuit. Naked now. Glowing. Dripping.

“Take me how you want,” she whispered, “but only after you beg for it.”

Silence. Then the creak of the bed as he stood. She felt the heat of him press behind her. He leaned down, voice right at her ear:

“Please.”

She moaned.

He grabbed her hips and rammed inside in one brutal stroke. She screamed but in pleasure. Raw. Real.

He gripped her hair. Bent her back. Fucked her like she’d asked for it. His hands roamed, mouth tasted her shoulder, her neck, her back. She rode every thrust like it was the last.

They flipped.

She climbed on top, riding him in the dim, warm light. Her fingers on his chest, her breasts bouncing, his hands fisting the sheets.

When she came, she collapsed against him, trembling.

And then, slowly she reached for the mask.

He let her take it off.

And underneath Malakai. No act. No bravado. Just flushed skin, glistening lips, wide eyes.

“Still scared of predators?” he whispered, brushing her cheek.

She smiled. “Not if I can tame them.”

They stayed like that naked, sticky, tangled.

And somewhere in that messy, breathless silence, she knew the game wasn’t over.

It had just begun.

Before the mask, before Camille, there was a boy with hunger he didn’t know how to name.

Long before Camille ever saw Malakai in leather and power, he was just the quiet one in the background—smart, soft-spoken, always watching.

But he had a secret.

A fantasy that rooted itself in the shadows of his teen years and bloomed into something darker every time he was alone.

It started with late night streams. Cosplay vixens in tight armour. Dominatrix tutorials masquerading as ASMR. A forum thread on predator/prey kink that he scrolled through until his hand shook.

He didn’t want to be the good guy.

He wanted to hunt.

In college, he joined a drama club just to wear a mask not to act but to become. It was freeing, stepping into someone else’s skin. Being obeyed. Desired. Feared.

The first time he tried the voice modulator in his dorm room, he came untouched, just from hearing himself growl, “Get on your knees.”

He built the suit piece by piece over two years. Not just a cosplay. A second skin. One he could hide behind when he was too afraid to say what he really wanted.

Until Camille.

She had no idea what she ignited when she wore that villainess suit, bent over during their game night to grab a controller, hips swaying, lips red.

That night, he went home and whispered her name while his hand wrapped around his aching cock.

“Camille” he growled, imagining her on her knees, looking up at him like prey.

He wanted her for months. Needed her.

But he didn’t want to ask.

He wanted to take.

So, when he saw her name on the private invite list for the cosplay party, he decided that would be the night.

No more waiting. No more silence.

He would become what he always dreamed of being.

And when her lips parted for him, when she moaned around his length and gasped his name later with her face pressed to the wall

He knew he wasn’t pretending anymore.

The fantasy wasn’t just in her head anymore. It was at her feet… waiting to be obeyed.

The morning after left Camille sore in all the right places. Her body hummed with aftershocks, with memory. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

She watched Malakai from the balcony of his penthouse. Shirtless, cooking, humming under his breath. He had no idea how much danger he was in.

Her fantasy had always ended in a reversal.

A man strong enough to dominate her—but daring enough to hand her the leash.

Today, she’d make him her Panther.

That night, she sent him a text:

“Strip. Mask on. Kneel in the dark.”

When Malakai opened the bedroom door, he found the lights off and Camille lounging on a leather chair in full villainess attire tight corset, thigh-high boots, sheer robe tied at the waist.

A single spotlight lit the centre of the room. A collar lay on the floor.

“Crawl,” she commanded.

His chest rose. Fell. But he obeyed.

When he reached the circle of light, she stood and circled him slowly, her boots echoing against marble. "You always wanted a prey fantasy, Panther. Let me feed it to you."

She fastened the collar around his neck and snapped the leash tight. "You're going to beg me without a single word."

Her robe slipped off, revealing her curves wrapped in tight black lace. She straddled him. Slid down onto his cock without warning. His breath punched out of him, but he didn’t move.

She whispered at his ear, "You don’t get to come unless I do."

Every roll of her hips was torturous. She gripped his jaw, forced his gaze upward.

"You wanted to hunt me, but now look at you—tamed, collared, dripping."

She rose up and slammed down on him again. His hands trembled. She leaned back, moaning, one hand tugging his leash, the other playing with her clit as she rode him into pure sin.

Her climax hit first shattering, loud, messy.

Then, and only then, did she lean in and whisper, “Now, baby. Come for your Queen.”

He exploded beneath her, body arching, hips jerking, the mask slipping up just enough for her to kiss the edge of his mouth.

They collapsed together, tangled and breathless.

Camille licked his neck slowly, possessively. “Next time I’ll be the one watching.”

Malakai chuckled. “Promise?”

She tightened the leash once. “Oh, Panther. That wasn’t a request.”