by Paul Blades
The man tossed the purse on the bed and the jacket and knit cap onto the floor by the wall and regained his seat in the chair. He took off the black baseball cap and tossed it away. He pulled the sweat shirt off of his torso and tossed it over by the jacket and cap. He got up and did some more exploring of the little cabin. There was a narrow broom closet with an ironing board and a yellow straw broom. Over the stove was a small cabinet that held an old fashioned, four cup percolator coffee pot, some bowls and plates, some condiments and some more glasses and a couple of coffee cups. Carly just sat on the bed, eyeing the man warily as he moved about. When he was done exploring, he came back to his chair and sat down. He leaned over, his hands on his knees. His white t-shirt was pulled tight over his chest. His arms were large and round. With his black beard and wild hair he looked a bit like a pirate. Blackbeard. He reminded her of Blackbeard. He was the terror of the high seas. He had pillaged and looted. He had no conscience and was cruel and ruthless. Carly shivered with fear.
“Okay,” he said as his eyes peered into her, “it’s warm enough now. Take off your clothes.”
Carly grimaced. People said that she had a cute, pert face. Her nose was short, not too short or button like, but just the right size to complement her face. Her lips were thick, not too thick, but enough to give them a slight pout. Her short cut blond hair, that framed her face and descended down over her ears to a few inches above her shoulders, emphasized her cuteness. She had had a few boyfriends since high school. She had slept with two of them. But Randy was the real thing. They had made love about eight hours ago. It was sweet and passionate and loving. And now this man was going to….
She burst into tears. She grabbed the sides of her russet colored parka. It had been unzippered all night since the heat was on in the car, but she had decided to leave it on to hide her body. She pulled the parka tight around her body now and wrapped her arms around herself. “Please don’t,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“You know,” he responded, “I could jump over that bed and be on top of you before you could even begin to scream. I’d first break every bone in your face with my fist. Then I’d tie you up and really go to work. And then I’d fuck you anyway and you’d have gone through all that for nothing. So don’t be stupid. Take off your clothes and do it now.”
His voice was cold and certain. She was sure he would do all those things. The vision of her face all bloody and pulpy came into her head along with all the other things he could do to her. Tears were streaming down her face. She had been scared when she was kidnapped, but now a fierce terror ran right through her, stronger even than that. The urge to vomit came over her again and she fought it off. Her heart was thumping away madly. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. The man made a move as if to get up from his chair. She sprang to her feet, panicked. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” she screeched.
The man relaxed. “Okay, then do it. And stand over here where I can see you better.” He pointed to the foot of the bed, some four feet away from where he sat.
Slowly, cautiously, Carly edged her way over to the spot. She took off her parka and let it drop to the floor. Her skimpy yellow dress showed off her attributes nicely. Her thighs were well toned and her hips were sweet. The dress had a semicircular bodice, just above the rise of her grapefruit sized breasts, with puffy half sleeves that went down to just below her elbows. Her tan, sheer nylons, made her long legs seem graceful and alluring. Her yellow pumps brought her appropriately erect and jutted her breasts into presentation position. She cringed as his eyes flowed over her.
She had to pee. He would beat her if she peed while he was fucking her. She was sure of that. She was so scared she could barely hold it in. She pressed her thighs together. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said to him meekly.
He laughed. “Okay! Okay! Go ahead,” he said mirthfully.
She went around the bed to the bathroom. The door was open. She flicked on the light. It was like the old man had said. It had been recently redone in a dark blue tile that went up the wall about five feet. The toilet was sparkly new. There was a long tub with a shower curtain, light blue with little green, red and yellow fishes swimming on it. The vanity was painted light blue and the walls above the tile were bright white. There was a dark green oval throw rug on the floor. The old man had put a lot of money in it. That’s why he got extra for the place.
She turned to close the door and saw that the man had followed her around the bed. He pushed his hand forward and held the door open. She got the message. She went to the toilet, reached under her frilly yellow skirt and pulled her panties, a white silk thong, down to her ankles. She squatted, closed her eyes and let it go.
“Why me? Why me? Why me?” she kept repeating to herself. The sound of her liquids hitting the water below her echoed through the small room. It soon faded. The man was standing right next to her. She wiped herself and stood, pulling up her panties, and her body bumped into his. She bounced off and he didn’t move a millimeter. She went to leave.
“Stay here,” he told her. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand. With his right, he drew down the zipper to his pants and fished out his cock. It was thick and springy, like it had begun to fill with blood but had not quite finished. His grip was tight and secure, like a handcuff over her wrist. She closed her eyes while listening to him piss. When the drops ended and she felt him do a little wiggle before restoring himself, she opened her eyes again.
He pulled her out into the bedroom and to her spot. He sat down in the chair and looked at her. “Okay,” he said. “Strip.”
Carly looked at him forlornly for a second and then, when she saw impatience creep into his face, she reached behind her over her shoulders and undid the clasp at the top of her dress.
She pulled the zipper part way down and then lowered her arms and brought them behind her again. She was keeping her vision to the floor, not wanting to watch him watch her. She got the zipper down to her waist and was about to pull the dress off of her shoulders when the man said, “Slowly.”
His voice was like a rapier right through her. He had utter control over her. He could make her do anything he wanted. All because she was afraid of the terrible pain he could cause her. She felt like a coward. She hated herself. She hated him. She did as he said.
Slipping the dress slowly over one shoulder at a time, she let the bodice fall slowly to her hips. Its fall revealed her lacy bra, half cups, worn specially for Randy. For his eyes only. And now this beast was polluting it. She knew that her frilly attire would egg the man on. There was nothing she could do about it now.
She put her thumbs inside the waistband of the dress and slowly shimmied her hips until it slid over her them. Rather than let it fall, and perhaps, in her mind, to slow the revelation of her slim, shiny, white panties, she bent over and lowered it gradually, realizing at the last moment that she was giving him a wondrous display of her breasts. She felt them shift as she leaned over. The bra pushed them together nicely, despite its skimpiness, and she knew that the man was getting a view of the dark tunnel of her cleavage. She pressed her lips together tightly to suppress a whine. She didn’t want to give him the benefit of it. She was going to keep her feelings to herself. He could have her body, but not her emotions. She would do what he said, but remove herself from it as much as possible. It would be like fucking a mannequin as far as she was concerned.
When the dress was to her ankles, she stepped out of it, one leg at a time. “Give it to me,” the man said gruffly.
She handed it to him, at first without looking, and then when he didn’t take it, she looked up. He was grinning. He took it from her hand. “Keep going,” he said. “This is great.” He tossed the dress aside.
“Twelve years,” she thought. “Twelve years without a woman. What passions had built up inside him? What was fucking him going to be like? She was sure it would be brutal and nasty. His hands were as big as bread plates. They would soon be all over her, pawing her, poking her, despoiling h
She decided that the stockings would be next. She started to kick off her lemon yellow pumps.
“No,” he said suddenly, “Leave them on. The stockings too. They look nice.”
Carly suppressed a sob. If not the stockings or the shoes, there were only two other things left. “Fuck it,” she thought, rendering an uncharacteristic profanity. She straightened her back and reached behind her with both hands. She felt her breasts bulge out. She undid the clasp expertly, like she had a thousand times before. She brought her arms back before her, crossed her arms and drew the bra off of her shoulders and then her breasts. Carelessly, she let the bra slip from her right hand into her left and dropped it on the floor.
She didn’t hide her breasts. She didn’t slump her shoulders. She just looked at the man coldly. “There, you see,” she tried to say wordlessly, “that’s all you get. Not the inside. Just the outside.”
The man smiled. She then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, drew it out and slowly brought them down over her thighs, then her knees and then to her ankles. She carefully stepped out of them, making sure not to catch her heels and dropped them on top of the bra. There. She was naked. So what.
The man sat there admiring her for a while. “Twelve years,” she thought. “Twelve years.” She was looking at the wall behind him, avoiding his gaze, but not directing it downwards from fear or shame. Despite herself, when he got up, she flinched.
“Put your hands on your head and spread your legs,” the man ordered her. “And close your eyes,” he added.
Carly did as she was bid. Her nervousness was coming back. Not being able to see him made things seem different. He had power; he could see. She had none.
She sensed and heard him moving around her. He circled her once and then again, stopping when he was behind her. His hands came from around her sides and took possession of her breasts.
The hands were hot and strong. They felt rough on her breasts’ tender skin. But his touch was gentle, like he had cupped two little delicate birds in his hands. The heat of his hands went right through her. He was standing right behind her, his chest pressed into her shoulders, his belt into the small of her back. Carly had been one of the tallest girls in her class, or at least in the upper tenth percentile. But this guy made her feel tiny. Her resolve to remain neutral and detached was ebbing away. The hands could not be ignored as they gently caressed her breasts, squeezing them softly, running their thumbs over her nipples lightly, surrounding her breasts like they were small creatures caught in tender traps. She could feel her heart beating. Her body was beginning to sweat. She could feel her knees trembling. She could feel his stiffened cock against the top of her ass.
Then, one arm went around her waist. The other hand descended her belly, lower and lower, spreading a hot caress. She flinched when she felt it and she cursed herself for it. The hand played momentarily with the sparse, blond hair that bearded her loins. Then it went down lower, drifting lightly over her mons. Two thick fingers traced the outline of her crevasse, on the outside, between her outer labial lips and her thighs. The man was leaning over her and she could feel his hot breath in her ear. The fingers went delicately, up and down, up and down, slowly, several times. It was tantalizing. She wanted to bring her legs together to deny him this touch, but two things stopped her. One was her obvious fear of him and what he might do if she moved without permission. In the bathroom she had gotten a look in the mirror at her right arm and the large, deep purple bruise that had arisen there.
The second was that to move was to confess her responses to his touch. She could feel a warmth arising from her loins. She felt a thick finger probe at the entrance to her womb. It sank into her just a smidgeon and drew a line from her perineum to the apex of her slit. Then it went back down again. She knew that she had gotten wet because the finger slid so smoothly along her crevasse. The finger probed a little deeper, just up to its first knuckle. She felt her outer lips pushed aside by it, actually felt it within her. Her body shuddered and she bit her bottom lip. She kept her eyes clasped tightly shut.
Then, after two or three more traverses, it sank deeper. There was no denying it now. He was inside her. When the finger reached the top of her velvety cavern, it rubbed a bit back and forth across the top, hitting the spot that drove her wild. She issued a little moan and cursed herself again. It wasn’t fair what the man was doing to her. He should just get on with it. She didn’t want to respond to his caresses, didn’t want the pleasure they were bringing. She wanted him to fuck her and get it over with. But that was not the man’s plan.
He chuckled when he heard her moan. He twirled the tip of his finger over her clitoris a few times. Carly experienced a rush of pleasurable sensations. She bent her waist and tried to draw her hips back, but the man was stronger and bigger than her and she could not remove her pussy from his reach. He slipped two fingers into her vagina, almost all the way, slid them back and forth in her energized hole until she moaned again. Then he withdrew his hand, chuckling again, and released her.
He stepped away. She kept her eyes closed, her hands on her head. She was woefully self conscious of her nudity, the only nude thing in the room. She heard him moving around and then the sound of him cracking open a bottle. She knew what it was. It was the Jim Beam. She had been waiting for when he started on the booze. The idea of him drunk frightened her. He was callous and cruel sober. What would he be like with a load on?
The sound of crinkling paper struck her ears and then the sound of a pouring liquid. The bottle was put down on the table. He stepped around her and went to the small kitchen sink. She heard the faucet running for a moment or two. Then it stopped. He stepped in front of her.
“Go sit on the bed,” he told her.
She opened her eyes. He was standing in front of her, the glass of sour mash in his right hand. She quietly obeyed him, knowing that by going to the bed, she was one step closer to her ravishment. She went to the head of the bed and snuggled up against the headboard as if it offered some protection.
He followed her there and then held out the glass. “Here,” he said. “Drink this.”
She looked at him unhappily. While she had been standing she had been able to summon her reserves of strength to maintain her dignity and pride, but sitting on the bed, naked, with him towering over her, she lost her aplomb. She scrunched her shoulders and pulled her legs together. She didn’t want to drink the alcohol. The messages of lust he had sent her with his hands were bad enough without the effects of alcohol. But he knew that. That’s why he was doing it.
“The booze is for you,” he said. “I don’t drink. Never have. It’s for suckers. Take the glass and do what I say and things will remain nice and calm and peaceful between us.”
Carly cringed at the thought of them being otherwise. She took the glass in her hand and took a sip. She was never a big drinker and she didn’t like the taste of hard liquor, even when it was diluted with water. But she knew that she had to do what she was told.
While she sat and held the glass, taking little baby girl sips, he went over to her pocketbook that was still lying on the bed. He picked it up and rummaged through it, emerging with the little tin she used to keep her joints in. Randy had given them to her. She liked to take a toke or two before she went to bed at night. She usually didn’t carry the tin in her purse. She had a special drawer for it at home. Randy had run out for once and she had brought it over. She cringed when she saw him pop the lid and remove a sleek, expertly rolled joint.
He put the tin back and tossed her pocketbook onto the floor. Pulling a lighter from his pants pocket, he lit it, took a toke, blowing it out without breathing it in, and then handed it to her. “Smoke it,” he told her. He put the ash tray on the bed next to her.
She took the joint from him and put it in her mouth. She took a little puff. The last thing she wanted was to be stoned. She didn’t think she could handle what was coming if she was drunk and stoned. He saw her emit a small puff of smoke.
“I’ll give you a choice, cunt,” he told her, agitated now. “You can smoke that joint right or I’ll shove it up your ass! And that would be just for starters! Got it?”
Carly whined but nodded her head. She took a deep toke of the joint into her lungs and held it there for about ten seconds. The she let it all out. She got a rush right away. Randy did always have good weed. This was the best he had had in a while. The room seemed to grow larger and smaller all at the same time.
The man left her to sip at her drink and smoke the joint. He sat on a chair in front of the bed and began to untie his boots. She tried not to watch him, but her eyes just seemed to drift to him naturally. She took another sip of liquor and another toke of the joint. “Maybe it would be better if I was wacked out of my mind,” she thought. “Maybe I won’t remember it as well then. It’ll be just like some kind of horrible dream that I can put behind me.”
His boots were off and he pulled off his socks. White ones. He reached to his waist and pulled his undershirt up over his head. There were more tattoos on his muscular chest. His chest was not as hairy as she expected, almost hairless, in fact. He tossed the t-shirt to the side and stood up. He released his belt and his fly and drew his pants down revealing a sparkling white pair of boxer shorts. His cock and balls formed a lump in the appropriate place. Carly looked away.
He got up and moved towards her. She felt a weakness in her belly. When he was a foot away from her, towering way up high, he told her to take another toke of the joint. When she finished, he took it away. “I don’t want you too wigged out,” he said. “Finish the drink.”
He tossed the joint into the ash tray, put it on the table and then walked to the standing lamp next to the bed on the other side. He turned it on. It cast a soft light on the bed. While he was there, he drew down the shade on the small window on that side. He walked over to the door. There was a brass chain lock on the door and he slid the end into the slot. He turned out the overhead light. The room went from a garish brightness to a soft, mellow tone. The hollow feeling in Carly’s belly got worse as she knew the moment of truth was coming. He stood next to her. She had finished about half of the booze. Her head was getting woozy. “Drink it all down,” he told her. “All at once. Enough fucking around.”
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