by Sarah Kate
He turned the water off and she stood shivering. The sun wasn’t warm enough to drive the chill off her flesh. Her long wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders. He let most of the water drip from her, while he stood smoking.
“I’m cold,” she said.
“I know I can see you shivering. Don’t cover up your breasts. See if you can go for half a day without pissing me off, and I might let you have a warm shower next time.”
He took her inside and rubbed her down with an old towel he got from the laundry. He ducked her head in the towel and rubbed her wet hair. “Do you like me being in control like this?” he asked. He rubbed her back and shoulders again with the towel and wrapped her in it. He hugged her tightly, lending her some of his warmth. He tilted her face up to him. “Eh? You like it like this?” He stared at her with dark brown eyes, with a look she could not understand at all. She nodded submissively and he kissed her on the mouth again.
“Can I have some water?” she asked.
“Didn’t you get enough out there?”
“Please?”
He chained her up first. She lay on her side, her wet hair sticking on her back. She was still cold, and couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. She had nothing to cover herself with and tried to keep warm by balling up. She could smell the sickening odour of the mattress. He gave her a drink of water, but forgot to feed her for several hours. She was left by herself. He was in the house somewhere. The room slowly grew dark, and she lay shivering. It must have been about three in the morning when he turned on the lights and sat on the couch smoking. He didn’t say anything or look at her. He switched out the lights again and left.
The next morning she didn’t move even when he nudged her with his foot. She was nauseous and weak.
“Oi!” he said. “What’s wrong with you?” He sat on the mattress and brushed her hair from her face. “Are you okay, baby?”
“No!” she said. “I’m sick. You have to let me go!”
He dragged her to standing by her wrist and took her to the bathroom. “I don’t need to,” she said, but he stood there waiting. Finally she went a little. She couldn’t do anything more than pee. Everything was bound up inside her. It stayed like that for the next few days. Her insides seemed to go into shut down while her body healed itself. Thankfully, he left her alone. He had even put a sheet down on the mattress for her and given her a blanket and one of his pillows. When she finally could go to the bathroom he stayed with her again. He spared her no indignities to the point that she could hardly function.
* * *
Night was creeping in through the curtains. The room was getting quite dark. He lay naked beside her kissing her shoulder, while she stared vacantly up at the ceiling.
“You’re very sensitive,” he said feeling between her thighs. “I bet I could make you come again. Do you feel that? Is that nice?” he said slowly pumping his finger in and out. He kissed the side of her mouth. “Does your ass still hurt?” He pinched her to show her he expected an answer.
“Yes,” she said, numbly.
“Does your vagina hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hate me?”
Her throat convulsed, but her gaze stayed fixed upward. He rolled on top of her, grinding his crotch against hers. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed and sucked her neck, emulating the sexual act.
“I could screw you all day and all night without stop,” he said. “Your cunt is constantly calling me. I can smell it from upstairs. I hate that you don’t want me. It kills me. But maybe you just need some more breaking in.”
He slid to the side of her. He kept one hand wrapped in her hair so she faced him, looking at him. His other hand was all over her body, stroking her side, tummy, and fondling between her thighs.
“You’re damn fucking pretty, you know? What do you do when you’re alone? How do you play with yourself? I bet you put your finger in. Show me. I want to see. Do it—sit up.”
He sat up, forcing her up with him. She obediently put her hand down and touched herself lightly, rubbing up and down. She kept her face turned away. He pushed her leg away from the other so he could better see what was happening between her thighs. “Show me—show me,” he whispered. “Pump your finger in and out. Oh, yeah. Use your fingers to open up that sweet, inviting cunt of yours. Tickle your clit. You’re going to make me come, baby.”
He got up on his knees. “Suck me a little while you do that.” He slid his prick into her mouth, and she closed her lips gingerly over it. He pushed his hips forward and back, fucking her mouth, while she delicately sucked him. “Show me that tongue. Show me that pretty tongue,” he said, pumping slowly in and out. He stopped and pulled out, looking down between her legs. His thumb brushed her clitoris as he put his lips over hers, probing her mouth with a lazy tongue. “You want me to lick your pussy?”
He grabbed her legs and pulled her flat on her back. He gouged two of his fingers into her tight, warm pussy, and frigged her. Her hips heaved and jerked, then her knees flung out, only to clamp shut again as she arched up her pelvic basin to the intrusion of his fingers. The irritations gave her the sensation she needed to pee. He latched his mouth on her pussy, his tongue snaking in between the warm flesh searching for all the spots that made her squirmed.
She moved uncomfortably under the irksome tickling she was experiencing. It was nasty in a way that sent shivers up her spine and made her clit stand up. She plunged her hips so frantically that she almost dislodged his mouth, but he held the rigid muscles of her inner thighs and kept her legs spread open. Her head rolled from side to side, as she struggled with a fast increasing feeling that she would go mad if he didn’t stop. Thrusting his tongue as deeply into her pussy as he could force it, he tickled and licked. Then taking her clitoris between his lips, he sucked hard at it. She spasmed purely from being oversensitized, not from any pleasure, but it seemed to satisfy him and he licked harder.
“Stop! Stop! I’m coming!” she gasped, becoming sorely sensitive. He stopped and gave her one final lick. She clamped her knees around his head. He kept his mouth pressed on her wet, swollen flesh. She could feel his hot breath panting. He slowly dislodged himself and loomed over her, his hands either side her body. She was panting looking up at him.
“Did you really come?” he asked in a shivery voice. He would just keep torturing her if she said no. She swallowed tensely and nodded. He kept staring at her as if trying to bore into her brain. She tried to hold his gaze but he made her so uncomfortable, she blinked and looked away for a second.
“You’re fucking lying,” he said in a dead voice.
“I did,” she said, frightened of the way he was looking at her.
There was silence.
“I did,” she whispered, looking at him. He clutched her throat so suddenly, she bit her tongue. He dug his fingers in, barely refraining from choking her. “Please!” she said, gasping. “Please! Don’t hurt me.”
“You like it, Nicole, you like being fucked. You like the way I fuck you? Answer me!”
She was crying, but answered, “Yes! I like it! I like the way you fuck me!”
He slapped her, then again, and again, and again, and she brought her arms over her face.
“You lying slut! I know you hate me! Don’t you ever lie to me, you prissy little cunt!” He smothered her mouth with his hand until her crying ceased. He looked heavily at her, while she pushed slightly up and down in keen distress.
“My father always told me if he ever saw me hit a woman he would beat the fuck out of me. He said you have to respect the fact that a woman is weaker, more fragile. Only thing is, I’ve seen you bitches deserve it sometimes.
“I caught my dad beating on my mom one night. I bust his balls so bad, he was coughing blood. I found out afterwards that she had been playin’ up on him behind his back for years. She also got drunk plenty of times and had a go at him. Now what’s he suppose to do? Sit there and take it? You get pushed too far by a woman. You see? It works bo
th ways. You can’t fall back on being helpless. You provoke a man and he’ll make sure you don’t do it again. He’s pushed—he’s pushed to do what he knows he shouldn’t do.
“I can’t tolerate deceit, Nicole. You lie to me, you get slapped. Hey?” He gave her face a couple of taps. “You killed my hard on.”
She kept her face turned away, sniffing and catching her breath.
“You hate this, don’t you?” he said. “Don’t you lie to me.” He grabbed her breasts, kneading them hard, every which way over her ribcage. She put her arms over her chest, so he slapped her in the side of her head. He slapped her left, then he and slapped her right. “You hate me, don’t you? You hate me!”
“Yes!” she broke out at last. “I hate you! I fucking hate you! I hate you—you fucking prick!” She caught her breath, and was uncertain. She blinked, not knowing what he was going to do to her.
“Shit. Call an exorcist,” he said. He lay his weight on her and stroked her hair, trying to get her to calm down. “You drive me crazy, you know? You push me, like I said before. Can you see what I’m saying to you? It’s that curse. That warm wet pussy of yours. It drives a man crazy. There’s nothing like hot cunt.
“Can I tell you something? You’re my favorite. Fuck all those other girls, I just want you. I mean it.”
She moaned and turned her face to one side, but he tangled his hands in her hair and pressed his face to hers. Gripping her tightly, he got his stiff prick against the lips of her pussy, then pushing steadily, he drove it into her, fucking her gently at first, then thrusting, ramming, shoving his prick spasmodically in her.
She tried to stay calm, but pain jarred her too often for her to fully relax. His kisses became bites, and he gripped her too hard, forcing her to resist him until she became accustomed to the pressure. Her vision blurred with tears and she shut her eyes, trying to last in silence until he was done.
Chapter 6
Later that night, he sat in front of the television. She couldn’t tell what he was watching, but he was engrossed. Occasionally he glanced over at her. She was safe under her blanket, watching him from under half-closed eyelids. Every time he looked, she felt herself tremble. He probably thought she was asleep. She stayed very quiet, she was still hurting from earlier, but she was busting to pee and was forced to get out from under the protection of the blanket. She was very self-conscious in her nakedness and held herself bunched tightly. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said in a small voice.
He completely ignored her, as if she hadn’t spoken at all or if she wasn’t even there. “Use the bowl,” he said in a moment.
He looked at her once while she used it, but was otherwise uninterested. She closed her eyes, and kept them shut. It was as though if she couldn’t see him then he couldn’t see her. She quickly finished and slipped under the blanket again. The chain she was perpetually fastened to hurt and aggravated her wrist. She desperately wanted to free herself.
She had just started to settle into some feeling of security when he stirred and switched off the television. He walked over and got on the mattress tearing the blanket aside, exposing her body. He unzipped his jeans without a word. Then he mounted between her quivering naked legs, kneeling and lowering himself towards her, guiding his cock with his hand. He pushed inside her. He raped her with long steady strokes, then with more rapid and uneven shoves and thrusts. She didn’t struggle, but lay passive in his arms.
He came in her again. She was becoming terrified that he would get her pregnant.
The next few days were hell. He’d just come straight in and mount her, then he would leave her alone for hours. This was her life. His voice was the only sound she knew. He had sex with her two or three times a day, sometimes four. Often he came to her in the middle of the night and made her suck him off. Sometimes it took up to half an hour, but she preferred that to when he was inside her.
She didn’t try and fight him anymore. She just listened to everything he told her to do, hoping someone would find her. She constantly hoped she would be rescued, and tried at all times not to anger him. She was a dead thing which he used and abused, forcing himself into her lifeless body. When it was too painful, she pressed her hands weakly against his shoulders. Sometimes he noticed and would ease off, just a little.
* * *
“Can I have a shower?” she asked after he had given her milk and cereal for breakfast. She hadn’t washed since being hosed down outside those few days ago.
“Later,” he said. She put her empty breakfast bowl on the floor, disappointed. He must have noticed her looking at the dirty dishes piling up, because he gathered half of them off the floor, looking pissed, and took them out into the kitchen. She heard him tossed them into the sink.
She didn’t have to wait as long as she thought she would for her shower. He took her upstairs. For some reason she felt a new surge of anxiety going to a new part of the house. He let her brush her teeth, while he threw back the clear plastic curtain, and adjusted the shower. The water ran hard and steaming. The steam billowed up and made the bathroom warm. He took her by the arm and got her to step in. He was naked too. He often like to go around the house like that.
As soon as the hot water hit her, she had a moment of queer gratitude toward him. He could have been worse. He could have cut her, mutilated her, broken bones. But this moment of gratitude was quickly disrupted by the introduction of his naked body against her back. He slipped his left arm around her waist, drew her tightly against him, then while he held her firmly, his right hand passed over her stomach and slowly approached her pussy.
Her back was dry against his chest, but her front was wet with the hot blast of water. He fondled her, nestling his face in her hair. “Does that feel nice?” he said. “You’ve got a beautiful body.” His hand slid up her stomach and squeezed her breast, plucked at the nipple, then glided back down between her thighs. He was leaning heavily on her. They both were stooping a bit, while he dipped his middle finger inside and sawed it in and out. His breath shuddered on her shoulder. She stood absolutely silent while he was molesting her. In some small way she was just happy to be in front of that comforting spray of warm water.
He stood very quietly, feeling her up, kissing her a bit here and there. He got the soap and rubbed it over her. It smelled like him, but at least it smelled clean. When he got her to face him, he hugged her tightly. He licked and bit her cheek, sucking the water off her skin, then kissed her mouth greedily. He had an erection but for some reason didn’t get her to do anything with it.
“Wash me,” he said, giving her the soap. He got under the water stream, then made her lather the soap all over him. He pushed her hand down to his dick and forced her to wash and massage at the same time. Then he turned and put his hands up on the shower tiles for her to do his back. She scrubbed all over his broad shoulders and down to his buttocks. “Rub my back,” he said.
He bent his head as she massaged his shoulders and ran her hands down and over the lines of his back. He became very relaxed, sighing. Without turning, he took one of her hands and brought it around to his mouth. He spat on her finger and said, “Stick it up my asshole.”
Her stomach was tense. She reluctantly put her fingers between his buttocks and locating the tight hole, pushed her finger in a little way. He made a sound and spread his legs further pushing out his rear. She could feel the little muscles around the rim gripping and throbbing as if trying to pull her finger up and push it out at the same time. Easing it up, her finger glided all the way up to the knuckle. He made an even louder, deeper sound, and told her to move her finger in and out like she would with her pussy. While she did that he got her to wank on him with her other hand. She had done this before with her boyfriend. But with Cameron it was exciting and erotic. With this man it was depraved and degrading. In a moment he groaned like a goaded bull, and his kneels buckled under him. She could feel his ass contracting and pulsing around her finger, and spurts of come shot out his dick over the tiles. He leaned
against them, too weak to move. She waited behind him, not daring to move.
He swiped some of his semen off with his finger, and rubbed it around her pussy and pushed it inside. She gripped his hand with her hand, as if she could stop him. But she didn’t even try. She knew what would happen if she did. Once or twice he stopped and tried to get his prick into her standing up, but didn’t work.
After her shower she didn’t want to get back on the dirty mattress, but that’s exactly where she went.
“Can I put my clothes on?” she asked.
“But I prefer you this way, Nicole. You’re a real woman now, probably for the first time in your life, because you’ve had a real man. My dick’s been inside you—my come’s been inside you—my come is still inside you.”
He got her to lie on her belly with her bottom sticking up. Her face was pressed into the mattress, and she licked her lips and blinked rapidly. She was nervous because it was such an extremely vulnerable posture. She didn’t trust him.
“I love this position,” he said, running his hands up and down her inner thighs, touching her pussy lips with his knuckles. He rubbed his hands over her waist, hips and sides, playing with her ass cheeks—squeezing them, pushing them together, spreading them outwards, slapping and kissing them. “It felt really good what you did to me in the bathroom.”
He spat on his finger and stuck it up her anus. It was uncomfortable, but she stayed relaxed. “A finger feels small now, huh?” he said, twisting it in and out. “Have you had a cock up your ass before?”
She shook her head, giving a little whine. She was on all fours. He dug his finger in deeper and kept it there wriggling it. “I was the first to fuck your ass?”
She nodded in misery.
“Your boyfriend got your pussy virginity, I got your ass virginity. Which one hurt more, Nicole?”
