by Sarah Kate
“My arse.”
“Your ass?”
He took his finger out and lay his chest on her back while she was on all fours. He reached his hand around between her thighs, rubbing her pussy.
“How do you feel about anal sex?” he said. “If it’s done properly, I mean. I was a real cruel bastard before. I can do it so it doesn’t hurt, not much.
“I was watching some girls get their ass’s fucked today. They seemed to like it. You want to watch some with me, and then try it?”
She was trying not to cry, but her tears wouldn’t hold, and she felt them slide hot from beneath her lashes and down her cheeks to her lips. She shook her head.
“No?” he said. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
He stayed pressed against her, and started pressing his tip against her ass, trying to get it in. “Just a little bit,” he said, pushing.
“No!” She collapsed forward so he couldn’t get in.
“Get up, get up!” He smacked her backside.
She turned onto her back, looking up at him, holding her hands open defensively. “I don’t want to!”
“Turn over!” He smacked her again, but she didn’t move. “Fuck you!” he said. He spat at her.
He went and turned on some loud music, and left.
She cried convulsively, and tugged her blanket over herself, sheltering beneath it.
When he came back he was still pissed off. He didn’t give her anything more to eat or drink, and he hardly looked at her. He didn’t smoke a lot, but when he did he some times burned her with it. He was restless for some time, then he went over to her. He took the blanket off her. “If you keep covering yourself with this thing, I’ll throw it away.”
He kneeled next to her, stroked her hair, and ran his hands over her. After all the times he had played with her he was still obsessed with the desire to cup her breasts, grope and fondle her moist tender pussy. He finger-fucked her, jabbing his fingers hard and deep into her. She stared off to the side, silently allowing him the enjoyment of her body.
* * *
He let her have some water late in the evening. He had his dinner in the kitchen. It smelled like fried steak and onions, and she could hear the occasional sounds of clinking cutlery. She was hungry, but didn’t ask him for anything. He had been angry at her all day and struck her a few a times.
Sitting quietly, she looked over her body. It was the first time in all these days that she had allowed herself. She felt emotion well in her at the sight of the bruises on her arms and legs. She touched between her thighs and felt inside herself to see if everything was normal in there. She was constantly aching.
She was still touching herself when he came out. He stopped in the doorway and stared at her with a dead, unreadable expression. She took her hand away, and stared at him with hostile anguish. He went back into the kitchen. Her heart was trembling and breaking inside her. She could smell fresh cigarette smoke. She wished he would choked on it and die.
A little later, he came out smoking, and stared at her again. He threw his cigarette into a nearby dying pot plant. She remained motionless as he approached her. He crawled onto her, his hands either side her head, looking down at her. He lowered his face till he almost touched hers, then whispered, “I want to fuck,” at the same time placing his lips on hers. He put his knee between hers to open them.
She could feel the determination of his hands. There was no putting him off. She stared into his looming face, and clenched her teeth. She slowly felt him sink to the very balls inside her, and she shuddered. Slowly he drew himself back to the very brink of her cunt, and pushed in again delving repeatedly into her, with long slow digs to the very length of his dick and then back again to her twitching opening. She could only look up at him with a numb sort of helplessness.
“Am I hurting you now, Nicole?” he said. He closed his eyes, sighing every time his prick delved down to the hilt inside of her. She saw him draw a deep breath, then slowly open his eyes and look her as if puzzled. She put her hands on his face, almost tenderly, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Please don’t come in me,” she said. “Please. Please don’t. Please—pull out before you come. Please.”
He ground his teeth to hold back his orgasm. He jammed himself deeper and deeper into her. “I’m going to come in you,” he said, grunting. “I’m going to come in your sweet body.” He pushed himself into her as hard and deep as he could, and it felt as if he burst open into her. She sobbed and her hands were vainly clawing at his shirt on his back. He slowly rolled off, breathing heavily. Then he turned on his side to face her.
“When is your menstrual period due?” he asked.
She could barely speak through her tears. “Um . . . in a few days, I think.”
“Then what are you worried for? You’re in the safe zone. I’m not diseased if that’s what you’re worried about.” He leaned over to kiss her, and she petulantly twisted her face aside. “Don’t pull away from me, bitch, or I’ll beat the shit out of you,” he said, pointing her face to him, and they kissed some more, his tongue pushing into her mouth.
He didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave, and kept her close to him. He was mumbling some song under his breath, too softly for her to catch any of the words. She was barely conscious of him, except as an irritant. But every time he moved she became aware of him as a threat. After awhile she risked turning over onto her side. He propped himself up onto an elbow and gazed down on her silently. His fingertips lovingly caressed her curves, her side and her hip and shoulder, up and down continuously, while she stared forward at the wall.
“You can’t hate me forever,” he said. “You don’t really hate me Nicole, do you?”
She wanted to scream yes, but her abused and weak lips said no.
Chapter 7
All the lights had been switched off. The room was dark. She was almost asleep beneath the blanket, when she felt him crawl in silently next to her. She could feel his soft, groping hand touching her body, feeling for the warm flesh between her legs. She pretended to be asleep, but he kissed her and made her squirm. He held her down firmly and, in spite of her determined resistance, he got her on her back and himself on her. He kissed her neck passionately, while his hand ran over her waist and hip. “I love you,” he said. He was intently thrusting into her body with long, even strokes. “I love you.”
When he was finished he left again as quietly as he came.
* * *
In the morning he fed her breakfast. Then he wrapped duct tape around her hands and feet, so that she was lying on her side, hands bound behind her back.
“I’m going to be gone the whole day,” he said. “No one ever comes around here, but just in case . . .” He stuffed a rag in her mouth and put a layer of duct tape over it. “Can you breathe through your nose?”
She shook her head, feeling claustrophobic. She was scared to be gagged all day. She was scared of suffocating.
He stood over her watching for a moment. “Just stay calm, you’ll be all right.”
When he was gone she closed her eyes against the fresh flow of tears. She was trying to stay relaxed and not cry. Her nose was running freely. She didn’t want it to become stuffed up. She wouldn’t be able to breathe. She put her head down finally resigned to her position.
She became so still she went into a kind of sleep, which she didn’t break out of until she heard the front door close. He had only been gone half the day. She was torn between being grateful he was back, and hating that she had to look at him again. He went into the kitchen with a couple of grocery bags before he cut the tape off her with a pair of scissors. She sat up stiffly. Her skin was sore and itchy where the duct tape had been.
“Hey, I got us some nice dinner,” he said, kissing her cheek, and searching her face with a steady gaze. “And I got this just in case,” he said showing her a pregnancy test box. “I’ve got to go lie down for a while, but we’ll talk some more later. Okay?” He kissed her again. “I’
ll leave this with you.”
He tossed the pregnancy test box onto the floor next to her. Staring at it, she could feel a dangerous prickle in her throat at the thought. She didn’t want to look at it.
For dinner they had homemade fish and chips, with some kind of pre-prepared salad on the side.
“I’m going to get you some ice cream,” he said, unusually cheerful. “You’ve been so good.”
He retrieved a tub of ice cream, then sat down with her on the mattress. He watched as she dipped the metal spoon into the tub. Her face was still streaked with tears, and her hand was trembling slightly. Ice cream was the last thing she wanted, but she knew how it would be if she turned it down. She took a bite, and slowly swirled the melting morsel around her mouth. It was cookies and cream.
“Is that good?” he asked.
“It’s good.”
“Give me some.”
She held out the tub but he didn’t take it, just opened his mouth. She got a bit on the spoon for him. “More than that,” he said. She dug out even more then put it in his mouth. “Mmm. That is good. I’m going to get fucking brain freeze.” She forced a smile, with a laugh something like a cry. “Give me another bite. Do you have cookies and cream in Australia? Have some more.”
She obediently took another mouthful, and nodded.
“Is it your favorite?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Strawberry.”
“Strawberry? Does your boyfriend know that’s your favorite?”
“Yes.”
“I bet he knows everything about you—everything a boyfriend should know about his girl. Do you get to talk to him all the time on the phone?”
“Yes.” She tasted some more ice cream, not looking at him.
“What do you talk about—are you all flirty and sweet with him? You missing him a little right now? He can’t be too far from around here, maybe a couple of hours. What’s his name?”
Her blood went cold for a second. She didn’t like that he was showing so much interest in Cameron so she lied. “Gary,” she said.
“And I suppose you two have the perfect little relationship, can’t wait to get married, have some babies, build a life together. Is he a good guy, makes you feel wanted, screws you nice and tenderly? But he never makes you come properly, does he? What are some things that you have been fantasizing that he would do to you? Hmm? You can tell me—tell me what you what him to do to you—what you miss about his dick.”
“Stop talking about him!” she said.
He took the ice cream off her, and started eating. He was looking into her eyes. “You can’t get to have sex with him very often when he’s over here and you’re back home. Aren’t you worried some other woman’s got her legs wrapped around him? Do you think he knows where you are right now? You think he knows you’re getting fucked by another man?”
She clutched her hair in both her hands as if she would tear it out, and started crying quietly.
“I could let you call him,” he said, “but what are you going to say to him? Hey?” He touched her hair. “What are you going to tell him about me? You think he would mind if I told him his girlfriend’s a sexy little fuck? That I like taking her hard and fast?”
A muscled worked in her jaw. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Does he like it that way, too? Does he like a bit of dirty talk? Does he call you a slut, just when he’s into you, just before you come? Gives you a bit of roughing up, a little bit of, ’you slut’, ’you bitch’, gives you a few slaps? He’d like that, don’t you think?”
“He’s not like that,” she said.
“Like what? Like me? Let me tell you something, sweetheart. They’re all like me. You’re nothing but a hole to fuck, just a slut and animal, like all women. You got to remember that to every man you’re nothing but hot cunt. That’s all you’ll ever be.
“It’s that hungry pussy of yours. That’s what gets you into trouble. It makes it so you can’t help but love the man beatin’ up on you and fuckin’ you, making you want it. That’s what your body is made for, that and giving birth. That’s what men see when they look at you. They all want to stick their cocks in you, even your daddy.”
Angry tears burned the backs of her eyes, followed by a feeling of panic. He leaped on her and crushed her face in his hand. “You ever look at me that way again, you little bitch, and I’ll cut you so bad your boyfriend couldn’t be paid to let you suck his dick!”
He shoved her away, and kept eating ice cream as if nothing had happened.
She stared at him in shock, then hid her face in her hands, murmuring brokenly, “What do you want from me? What do you want?”
He suddenly stood up. He disappeared into the kitchen. She heard water drumming into a kettle or something. In a moment he came out with it. It was steaming. He grabbed hold of her hand.
“What are you doing?” she cried. She fought him, pulling and twisting, screaming no no. She was strong. She was still strong. But he straddled her arm, her face pressed against his backside, and he poured boiling water slowly over her hand and fingers. She screamed and strained desperately to break free behind him. He let her go and she fell back, clutching her hand, making torn sounds from her throat that she couldn’t even recognize as her own. It just kept burning.
She was rolling, and squirming trying to get away from the pain. He kneeled on her chest to make her still, holding her head back by her hair to make her look up at him. She sobbed making deep sounds of agony.
“Stop crying! Stop crying or I’ll do it again,” he said. He kept her face tilted up toward him. Tears kept rolling down.
* * *
He stuck her hand in a bucket of ice water. It helped. It numbed everything. Her hand was red, the colour of pain, and white blisters were showing up over the back of it and on her fingers. He raged around the room tearing at things and swearing. Then he stopped and looked at her. His brown eyes were shot with red. “You shouldn’t of pissed me off,” he said with some emotion.
He stayed away from her all night and all the next day. He didn’t touch her, except to put burn treatment cream on her hand and bandage it. He fed her and gave her water. She didn’t move much. This unfamiliar aching weakness was alien to her, and her wounded hand frightened her. She hoped it wasn’t too bad. But most of all she was afraid of what he was capable of and how far his violence would escalate if she triggered him.
It was late afternoon when he wanted to take her outside. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to her feet. “I know you’re tired, and a bit weak, but you’ve got to move,” he said.
“Um . . . Okay,” she whispered. He walked her to the front door and took her outside. The sunlight seemed really bright and unnatural. She let him hold her in his arms, clasp her close against him.
“You’re not so scared of me anymore?” he said quietly.
“No. I’m not scared.”
“I got you somethin’. It’s still in the truck.” He led her over, holding her by the hand. The grass was sharp like prickles under her feet and she walked gingerly. He opened the car door and leaned in, still holding her with one hand. He pulled out a white linen summer dress with lace trim and spaghetti straps. He got her to lift her arms and slipped it over her head, careful of her bandaged hand. She pulled the dress down the rest of the way by herself. It was light and comfortable and so strange to be wearing. It almost made her cry.
“You like it, baby?” he asked.
She nodded, choked up.
“You look so fucking pretty,” he said. He raised his left arm, and nestled her nape in the crook of his elbow, and pulled her face, her trembling lips, right up to him, tight, and planted another kiss on her, a soft and wet one.
“I don’t want to do nasty shit to you,” he said pityingly, as if he were comforting a child. “You just got to be real careful not to trigger me.” He gathered her hair in his hand, and burrowed his face in neck. “Say you love me,” he
pleaded. “Say it, baby. Say it.”
Only his voice forced her. Her senses were entirely shut off from him.
“Tell me you love me,” he said. “Say it, even if you don’t mean it—say it Nicole, say you love me.”
“I love you,” she said, in real agony, forcing the words out.
He picked her up as he had when he first brought her here, just over a week ago, and stood clutching her tightly to him. Her arms were around his neck, and her face lay on his shoulder. Holding her around the waist with one arm, he smoothed his other hand up and down the curves of her thigh, and under her dress to her naked bottom. “Do you want me to fuck you? Tell me.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered.
He carried her back to the house. She didn’t make a sound. She was too broken up inside, torn into pieces. He set her down on the mattress but didn’t chain her or take off her dress. He dropped first to his knees, then he lay on top of her. Guiding his dick with his right hand, he pushed it about the lips of her pussy. Then, tightening his grip under her shoulders with his left arm, he slowly lowered himself. As she felt his shaft press between the inner lips of her pussy, she uttered a sobbing groan. She was tight and closed. Suddenly something seemed to give way inside and his prick glided well up her cunt, and he settled down on her body.
“Oh, you feel how that just slid in?” he said. “You see? It feels good when you relax.” He began to move slowly. “Put your arms around my neck.” She put her arms around him. “Just keep kissing me,” he said. He moved his mouth over hers with prolonged, adoring kisses.
She was loosening up, but just a bit, and was getting moist down there. He clutched her harder. He lifted his face to her and watched as she made efforts to stay relaxed. She didn’t want to hurt any more.
“I love you, I fucking love you!” he said. He clamped his hand around her throat. “Are you thinking of that other prick? Is that who you’re screwing right now!”
