by Paul Blades
Suppressing a sob, Carly tossed the booze back. She gulped it down. He took the glass from her. “Pull down the covers, take off your shoes and get up on the bed,” he told her.
A numb feeling passed through her. Her hands were shaking. She pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed. She lifted the comforter at the end and tucked them under it. Then she slipped off her slender, yellow pumps, happy to have them off after such a long while, and got on the bed. The mattress was firm but resilient. The old man had not cheaped out on it. She scurried to the other side, nearer to the bathroom. She couldn’t tell what the man was doing. He had his back to her and was holding something. A center of light fell on the bed, but the rest of the room was still dark. She guessed that it was close to 6 in the morning and that the sun would be coming up soon. She had been his prisoner for 6 hours. Now he was going to fuck her. She sat with her back against the headboard, drew up her knees, put her hands over her face and softly cried.
She felt the bed depress when he got on it. He lay down next to her and put his hand on her ankle. “Scrunch down, and move to the middle,” he told her while he pulled on it. Carly knew that she would only be delaying the inevitable by resisting. The light from the lamp was shining directly on where they would be fucking. Her body felt cold with fear. She shuffled her body down towards the foot of the bed. Her knee brushed up against him and she looked at him. He was naked. His cock, thick and long, surrounded by a thicket of black, curly hair, was rampant. “Oh, god!” she thought.
He was leaning on his side. There was something in his hand. She was flat on her back. She felt puny next to him.
“Put your hands in front of you,” he told her. She looked at him. “Do it!” he insisted. Afraid of him striking her, him being so close, she obeyed fretfully. What was he going to do?
Then she saw the rope.
“Oh, please don’t tie me,” she whined plaintively. “Please.” A deep chill went through her. “I’ll do whatever you say. Please!”
“Shut the fuck up!” he told her gruffly. Her body began to tremble and fear invaded her whole being. “Why is he tying me up?” she thought dismally. “What’s he going to do?”
He tied one end of the rope to her left wrist and pulled it tight. Then he brought her hands together, wrist to wrist and circled the two of them twice. He ran the rope between them twice and then around and then between them once again and tied it off. They were forced tightly together. The fingers of her right and left hands were touching.
Pulling her hands above her head, he threaded the rope through one of the gaps in the headboard, right in the center of the bed. There were two rows of decorative cutouts, one low, about four or five inches from the bottom of the headboard, and one row about another foot or so towards the top. He circled the rope around the wood between two cutouts on the bottom and then pulled the free end up to the higher cutout. He tied the end off there, once, twice, three times, pulling it tighter than Carly ever could strain to get it apart.
Even if she could reach it, that is. Since her hands were tied to the lower level of cutouts, she wouldn’t be able to reach the higher. If she got up on her knees, and turned around, she might be able to use her teeth to untie the top knot, but it would take a long time and she was sure he wouldn’t leave her alone for that long. She was effectively tied in place. He lowered himself next to her and brought his body close. His cock jutted up against her right thigh. She bit her lip and moaned unhappily.
He was leaning on his elbow. His wild, black hair was highlighted by the light that shown down on it. His face had a fierce intentness. His tattoos made him seem demonic, his beard, cruel. She closed her eyes. She could feel his body’s heat, smell his sweat. Her legs were jammed together. The room was spinning.
She felt his hand, his big, meaty, right hand, slide slowly over her knees, then her thighs and then her belly. It took hold of a breast and squeezed it gently. He flicked his thumb over her nipple, which had turned stiff from fear, or maybe passion, since the feeling he had arisen in her before was coming alive again. He moved his hand to her other breast, circled it, caressed it, squeezed it. Her breasts were not small by any means. They were plump and firm and resisted gravity. But they seemed small compared to the hugeness of his hands.
His hand ran down her belly again and over her compressed thighs and back up again. Its heat communicated right through her stockings, which she still wore, a refined decoration, meant not for him, but for another whose arms she had been in only hours before. But now they were for him. She could see in her mind’s eye her long and slender legs, encased in shiny, smooth, sheer, mauve. At the tops, there were black lacy decorations sewn into it. Her thighs were pale and she knew that the contrast between the dark, sheik, luxurious encasings below, and her tender, soft, inviting white thighs was tantalizing. That was why she wore them. But not for him! Not for him!
Wherever it went, his hand spread his heat and his power. She felt her pussy begin to hum and she gritted her teeth, squelched her eyes closed to try and stop it, but the hand kept moving up and down her body, caressing her breasts, teasing her belly and thighs, even down her shins and back again. He pulled and pinched her nipples, gently at first, and then harder and harder until she moaned from the pain. He spread his hand over her neck and up over her face, covering it, while he nestled up against her and kissed her throat. His lips were hot and his tongue scoured over her vibrating flesh. He placed his hand on the side of her face and turned her head towards him. “Open your mouth,” he said softly.
A flash of sickness ran through her as she thought of his tongue in her mouth, but she obeyed. She had no choice. She tried not to imagine the things he would do to her if she resisted. He leaned his face closer to hers, his huge hand holding her head still and he brought their lips together. She tasted his hot breath, sour and manly, the bristles of his beard brushing up against her cheek. His lips covered hers and his tongue, huge, insistent, fiercely hot, slipped slowly into her mouth.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh,” she moaned in spite of herself. A wave of pleasure went through her. The booze and the weed had broken down the mental block she had tried to impose against pleasure. He kissed her deeply, his tongue tasting every corner of her mouth, dancing with her own, inflaming her. She felt her left knee rise of its own accord. Her hands twisted in their bonds. She breathed deep and tried futilely to move her head away, to snatch back the last vestige of resistance she had, but he held her face still with his mighty paw.
Then, she gave in. She kissed him back. Sensing the end of her will to resist, his hand fluttered down over her breasts and belly again. She let her leg drop and the hand washed over her thighs. It came back again and seized her breasts, making her moan. And then slowly, slowly, slowly, it crossed her belly and approached the apex of her thighs. He broke their kiss. “Spread your legs,” he told her.
His voice broke the spell his tongue had worked on her. She remembered where she was, what he was doing to her, what he might do later when she was of no more use to him. His coarseness, the two rock solid blows he had given her, his inner cruelty, all came back to her. She had kissed him! His tongue had been in her mouth! Now he was going to touch her there, just like he had done before. He was going to stoke her fires, make her moan, drive her lusts. She wanted to resist, tried to resist, but the hand that insinuated itself between her thighs easily moved them apart, as if they were in cahoots with him, had rebelled against her, and wanted only the pleasure that his ministrations would bring.
She felt his hand slip over her love lips and mesh itself in her sparse, blond moss. It slipped back again and a finger traced a line between her outer labia. It did it again. And then again. And then again. She moaned and her rebellious thighs spread wider still.
He brought his hand up and captured her face, turning it again towards him, pressing his lips against hers and begging entry with his tongue. Her mouth opened. His tongue entered and she moaned. The hand slipped down over her torso again, stopping momentarily
to caress and squeeze her now rock hard breasts, and then descended below. When his finger found the button at the apex of her vulva, when it spread her moisture over it and caressed it, her back arched and she groaned.
Having her mouth and pussy excited both at the same time was too much for her. It overwhelmed her, flung her into another universe. Her mind was whirling, the pot and booze had made her body seem both soft and welcoming and excited beyond redemption all at the same time.
His fingers probed deeply within her and began a slow, steady rhythm, sliding back and forth in her energized crevasse while his thumb pressed down on her clit, massaging it, flicking it softly, circling it and rubbing it. It went on for several minutes, making her madder and madder with lust. She felt her crisis coming. Her mind panicked. “No! No! No!” she thought frantically. But nothing could stop it. Her pussy erupted into a paroxysm of pleasure. It throbbed and pulsed and spasmed and clenched and she groaned and moaned into her captor’s mouth. Her heels dug into the bed and her hands twisted and writhed up above her. “Oh god! Oh, god! Oh, god!” she called out in her mind.
As her pussy’s spasms slowed, the hand abandoned its task again, spreading its warmth over her belly and breasts once more. His tongue remained in her mouth, but became less insistent. She was lost in a fog of swirling feelings all over her body.
Then, she felt the man’s thigh cross hers. It was hot and heavy. It spread her other leg further apart and she felt the other one cross. His hips were between her knees. “He’s going to fuck me!’ she thought, panicked. “He’s going to fuck me! Oh, god, please don’t let him do it! Please!”
He broke their kiss. His hand went over her body again, twisting and turning her breasts, harder now than before, with authority and dominance. They were his, not hers. All of her was his. Her body was his. Her pussy was his. His whole demeanor, his strength, his callousness and lust proclaimed it.
It was stupid, she knew. She was ashamed at her baseness later, the next day, when she thought about it. But some part of her thought it possible, that if she just asked him, begged him, pleaded with him, he wouldn’t do it. He would abandon his intent, respect her declination. Grant her mercy.
“Please don’t do this,” she whined desperately. “Pllleeeeeeeease! Pllllleeeeeeeeeeease! Don’t fuck me! Pleeeeeeeeease! I don’t want to! I don’t want to, pleeeeeeeease! Pleeeeeeeeease!”
His mighty hand grabbed her cheeks and clasped them hard. She squealed from the pain. He made her look at him. “Shut the fuck up!” he hissed. “If you talk out of turn one more time, I’ll make you hurt like you never hurt before! I’m going to fuck you, cunt, and you’re going to open up and your going to make me feel good or you’ll be real sorry. Got that?”
Carly whined a terrorized response. Her body was trembling. His thighs pressed hers wider. “Lift your knees,” he told her. She lifted them. He was nestled on top of her. His hand went down to his crotch. She felt the head of his cock slip along her labial lips. It sent a wave of electricity through her. She was crying silently, but her mind was focused all so intently on the spot of contact between their loins. “That was his cock,” she thought. “His cock. Oh, god! Oh, god!”
Then, to her surprise, he didn’t enter her. Instead, she felt the head of his manhood slide slowly up and down her crevasse, dipping ever so slightly in, like he was teasing her. Her rebellious pussy yearned to be filled. She wanted to bring her legs together, but he was between them. She spread them, instead, as widely as she could to forestall the contact between her sensitive, burning inner thighs and his hips. He was balancing himself on his other hand and the only part of him that was touching her was his cock. The cock kept sliding up and down. She wanted it to go away. She wanted it to enter her. She wanted him to fuck her. No! She didn’t want that! She wanted him to melt away into a fog as if he had never been here, as if she were in her own bed, in her own apartment and all this had been some horrible dream. But the ropes on her wrists were not a dream. Her aching pussy was not a dream. His leering face, his demonic eyes, his wild hair, his broad chest, his meaty hands, hands that had already claimed her as his, they were not a dream.
He leaned forward. He placed his mouth on hers. His chest lay against her breasts, forcing them down with his weight. His tongue entered her mouth. All her senses concentrated on it as its heat spread within her, as her own tongue greeted it with glee. He kissed her hard, for a long, long time.
And then she felt it. His cock was moving forward. Slowly, slowly, slowly, it edged its way inside her. Her tongue was flitting wildly with his, but her pussy was absolutely still, waiting to be impaled. His cock was thick. She could feel it filling her. It was creating a buzzing sensation all over her body. Her pussy screamed its welcome, sending trilling vibrations down her spasming legs. It went on and on and on. She didn’t think she could tolerate it for one more second. And then it stopped. His hips were pressed against hers. Their bellies matched. He was sunk deep within her. He was fucking her! He was fucking her! “Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god, please no!” her mind screamed.
When he began his movements, her prayers evaporated, subsumed by the overwhelming sensation of his cock scouring her womb. He started slow, slipping his cock back and forth leisurely, smoothly. Carly felt about to burst. How he could maintain such self control was beyond her. She wanted him to go faster. Yearned for him to go faster. She couldn’t stand teetering on the precipice like this. It was agony.
Then their mouths separated. He raised his head. His hands came on either side of her face, holding her head still. His motions were increasing. She could barely breathe. “He’s going to come inside me!” she thought suddenly, panicked. She didn’t want that! She didn’t want that! “Oh, please stop! Please stop!” she thought madly. She closed her eyes again to try and blot out what was happening. She didn’t want to see his face, wanted to deny him. But his thoughts were different. He pressed his thumbs on her eyelids and lifted them. Her eyes came open wide. His eyes peered into them, gleeful, taunting, powerful, cruel. His motions were going faster and faster. She could feel the strength of his thrusts. Her body was shuddering at each impact. Her pussy was screaming with need. “Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!” she thought. She moaned, groaned, cried out, “Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhh!” as her pussy began a series of fierce contortions. “Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhh!” she screamed again.
And then he groaned too. His eyes rolled back. His face became tense. His body contracted. He was thrusting wildly into her. “Arrrrrrrrrrgh!” he cried. Arrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrgh!”
She came again, her hands writhing, her legs wound around his thighs. He was emptying himself inside her. Her mind winced with unhappiness as her pussy celebrated its achievement. “Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried again.
His thrusts slowed. His body relaxed. His face turned placid. He was breathing heavy, but the rest of him was at rest. He continued to slip himself back and forth. Her pussy glowed and she shuddered each time an echo of her orgasms made her pussy clench.
Carly’s mind slipped away somewhere. She couldn’t tell where it was, but it was foggy and distant. The still hardened cock was still within her, running back and forth desultorily. He was leaning on his elbows, his weight off of her. His eyes were closed. Her legs lost their tension and she let her knees slide down. It was over. It had happened. A tinge first, then a smidgeon, then, suddenly, a wave of remorse washed through her. He had made her scream out in pleasure. He had used her like a whore and she had opened her legs like one. She began to cry again. She turned her head and closed her eyes. But at least it was over. It was over.
But was it over? He was still hard. He was still inside her. He was still moving, now with a little more energy. “Don’t, please,” she thought miserably. “Don’t.” The cock kept plunging back and forth, delivering a steady, thrilling, unignorable sensation to the walls of her crevasse that kept building and building and building. Her pussy was warming again. Her thighs trembled. She wanted with
all her mind and heart and will to take hold of the relentless plow and stop it, hold it still, stop it from moving, snuff out the delirious sensations her cleft was sending her. But she had no power over it. Her hands were vestigial. She imagined holding it between her hands, clenching it tightly, gripping it as hard as her feminine muscles would allow, but even in her mind she could not stop it. Only he had the power. Only he could stop it. And he would not.
His thrusts were coming harder now. Her pussy was eager once again. She bit her lip, wanting to beg him to stop, to plead with him to stop. But she was terrified of him. He said he would hurt her and she believed him. If only she had at least her hands to defend herself. There was no escape. It kept going, going, going and going!
Suddenly he stopped. He slipped his cock from within her and knelt back. “Turn over and get on your knees,” he told her, his passion like the rough edge of a broken glass.
“Oh, god, no,” she whined inside.
“Get up!” he thundered.
He reared his hand back and gave her a vicious slap across her breasts. She screeched. He did it again. “Get up!” he yelled.
Sobbing madly, Carly rolled to her belly and got to her knees. She sensed his hand rearing back again and then felt a vicious fire across her buttock. And then another and then another. She screamed and sobbed.
“When I tell you to get on your knees, you’ll get on your knees!” he spat out at her harshly. He struck her brutally two more times. She hung her head and sobbed. She felt him position himself behind her. His hands reached in and spread her thighs. He angled her buttocks upwards. She felt his cock probing at her slit. It found it, and then was in.
