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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Learning To Drown © February 2011 Sommer Marsden
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Learning To Drown
By Sommer Marsden
Prologue
“Shut up, bitch,” he growled and fear curled low in my belly. His hands were cruel on my skin as he marched me up the splintered wooden steps and shoved me onto the screened-in porch. I barely registered a plaid sofa, some fishing gear, old dirty boots before he bent me forward at the waist and kicked my legs apart. “Now we’ll have some fun. You and me, baby. I can hear you breathing, you know? And I can smell your pussy.”
I shut my eyes and tried to focus on not shaking with fear. I must stay in control. But it wasn’t easy when he started ripping at my clothes. The slow drag of his hands up my inner thigh, yanking and tearing the cotton of my leggings as if they were made of cotton candy. They parted so easily under his brutal touch.
“Please,” I whispered. An entirely useless plea. His touch was crude, his voice cold. He pulled the leggings off and dropped them at my feet where they pooled, black like a puddle of ink. His fingers severed the small side string of my panties. Then the other. The small piece of white fabric dropped like a felled surrender flag.
“Oh, you don’t have to say please. I’ll fuck you no matter what you say.” He grabbed my hands up behind my back. I felt the scrape of rope as he hastily looped it around my wrists. I struggled harder, to test my bonds and he yanked the rope tighter so it burned my skin. “Keep it up and I’ll hogtie you, whore.”
I dropped my head and stared at my feet, still clad in my black flip-flops with the rhinestones. Where was I? Who was he? It was impossible to tell because his black mask covered everything but his mouth and blue eyes burning bright in the murky light. Eyes that shiny usually meant fever. Or madness.
He pushed me forward, my hips banging the arm of the old sofa. It smelled like wet leaves and dust. I stifled a sneeze and he pushed his big fingers into my cunt from behind. Heat flooded my cheeks and tears clogged my throat. A wet pulse started where his fingers met my flesh. A swell of warm arousal that made my throat ache worse. I swallowed a small whimper as his finger thrust perfunctorily before he added another. “You’re so wet. Did you know you were this wet, slut? I can fuck you any way I want. But first I think you need to take care of business.”
More moisture slid from my pussy. It warmed the insides of my thighs and I shut my eyes even as he turned me so the world went topsy-turvy for a moment. Alice through the Looking Glass. Alternate reality. Insanity. Lunacy. All of it fit in this scenario as he manhandled me and I bent to his will.
He shook me hard and I opened my eyes, meeting his glacial blue gaze. “On your knees, pretty.” Then he dropped me a wink and pushed firmly on my shoulders until my knees unhinged and I could only drop to the cold dirty wooden floor with a thud and a cry.
“Please, mister,” I whispered. My voice caught in my throat--a wet watery mess of nerves and shame. “I don’t want to.” But I licked my lips, belying what was swirling around inside my head--at my true emotions. He just smiled.
“Open wide and say, ah,” he said. His zipper a buzz saw in my ears, his skin smelled of spice and car oil. He pushed the head of his flushed cock to my bottom lip and pressed.
I sealed my lips, squeezed my eyes shut. Squeezed my knees together, too, to try and tame the traitorous thump of arousal between my legs.
“Open.” He pushed harder, slapped my face and a hot sting of pain coursed along my cheek, blazed across my scalp so that I felt each shaft of hair that grew from my head. I sobbed and when my mouth opened, he slid his cock past my lips with a thrust of his hips. I tried to breathe, shifted against the steady pulse between my legs.
He pushed deep, gagging me before I could catch my breath. My nipples spiked, my clit throbbed. I shook my head but allowed myself a brief moment to savor the thrill. My eyes wet with tears, he fucked my mouth, forcing me to suck harder. His thumb bit into my chin as he turned my face to his liking. A surreal bright light from the house filled my vision, blinding me. “I like it when your makeup runs like that.” He pulled free and I arched forward for just a second, chasing him with my mouth. Was he done?
He trailed the wet head of his cock down the wet mess of my mascara and chuckled. “Something for flavor,” he said, forcing back inside my mouth. Holding my chin again like I was a horse under inspection. I sucked in a breath through my nose and it was full of the scent of him. My ears full of the sound of him. My skin burning with the rough grasp of his skin on mine.
He yanked my hair, gathering two big handfuls and tugging until fire burned across my scalp. My chest shook with unleashed sobs. I had to stay calm, had to. What would he do to me if I freaked out? I didn’t want to know.
When he got bored making me gag, he hauled me to my feet. When he kissed me, his lips coming at me through the hole in the dark knit that allowed for a mouth, I wanted to scream. But his hand held fast to the front of my throat, an unspoken threat, and his tongue shoved against my tongue replacing his cock. The kiss was no less brutal than his dick had been. Big fingers trapped my pulse under the skin, marking off each beat of my heart.
I was spinning again, the world off balance at his will. An oversized rag doll solely for his pleasure. His hands shoved me and he tugged the rope around my wrists so they bent awkwardly, painful enough to make me scream. My hips slammed to the old sofa, my pussy slick with fear and something more. I kicked out and he took his boot, pressing my foot back down. It landed in the small pile of dark fabric that used to be my leggings.
“Watch it, missy. I will hurt you.” To prove his words, he pinched brutally hard at the very top of my thigh. The place where the skin is most fragile, like tissue paper rubbed nearly translucent. His fingernails bit right below my bottom not even a finger’s length from my wet opening. I shivered under him, then his presence was gone. A vacuum created in the air by the removal of his bulk. I tried to see but couldn‘t twist enough. The air was cold against my skin. My heartbeat filled my head.
“Whatever you want. Whatever you want.” I could hear my voice thrusting the words out at him. Scratchy and raw, I sobbed them out like a mantra. A broken record. A department store recording stuck in a loop. “I promise. Whatever you want.” And I meant it.
“I want pussy,” he said and laughed. The laugh scared me more than his rage. So foreign, so detached. He kneed my legs wider apart, shoved me forward. I tottered over the arm of the couch, spread to him. His little broken toy.
Tracing the curve of my bottom with a ragged fingernail, he hummed. There was another rush of warm fluid between my thighs. The tip of his cock ran the seam of my wet slit, I pressed back.
I would do anything.
Fi
ngers gripped me, cock slamming home so that my face grated the harsh plaid sofa cushion. “You’re such a little whore, you know that? Look how wet you are. You were just asking for it.” His fingers probed my ass, sparking that dull bite of pain that can never be escaped with anal. “I bet you’d come if I fucked you up the ass.”
The first hot coil of orgasm grew in my cunt. A gathering pleasant tightening that filled my belly, my pelvis. I shook my head no, no, but he pushed his finger a bit deeper. Slow. No lubrication. Slow so I felt every insistent little pinch of pain. “I bet you would.”
“No.”
His cock slammed higher. The wet sounds of his fucking me seemed so loud. His length brushed every bundle of nerves. I held my breath as the orgasm swelled bigger and brighter inside of me. His cock slid through the shameful moisture of my outrageous arousal. “Yes,” I said before I could stop myself. My fingers gripped at themselves. Bound behind my back as they were, helpless but restless Playing tug of war with each other as I tried to hold it off. Do not come. Do not come.
“Yes.” He fucked me harder.
“No.” It was wrong.
“You’re going to come,” he hissed, pounding into me. He pinched me and I sobbed. He pushed his finger deeper in my ass. When my cunt went tighter around his thrusting cock he laughed. When he laughed the orgasm crept closer. A dark liquid monster that I tried not to welcome. And failed.
He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked so that my neck twisted and my vision dimmed. “Come for me, whore.”
“No!” But there it was--sneaking in, filling me like warm black water. I bit my lip, drawing blood.
“ You know you want to,” he said in a serial killer sing-song. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up. He froze¾his breath all I could hear¾before plunging in rough and high so the tips of my toes left the dirty wooden porch. “Fuck yes, you do. You want to. Don‘t lie.”
And I did want to. I came, let go and fell under. Salty tears wetting my cheeks, fingers bent double over one another behind my back. Twisting and turning under him at the mercy of my orgasm. There was not enough air in my lungs. There was not enough air in the world. All of me lost to the roar in my ears and the jagged unkempt beat of my heart. My pussy spasming with the very perfect, very intense pleasure.
My captor came, curses flying from his lips before he dropped his hands and his head.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ember. Are you trying to kill me?” Damien tore off the knit cap, eyes still shiny, face slick with sweat. He grinned. “Like that?”
I could only nod, my head only partly turned to see him. My nose and one eye still pressed to the cushion. My heart rate pulled back a bit so I could breathe. My mind a pleasant white fuzz of cotton gauze and nerve endings still firing from my climax. “Like that.”
“I did good?” He cut the bonds and help me stand, opened his mouth to speak.
Before he could, I kissed him. “Shut up Damien or you’ll ruin the whole damn thing.”
Chapter 1
What the hell was I doing?
Another cold shiver wracked me and the hard side of the tool box bit into my back. The rude metal of the handcuffs worried the skin on my wrists. There was a blanket under me, sure. More than one, actually, but fuck it was what, nineteen degrees? And here I was in my flimsy skivvies, handcuffed, ankles bound in rope, resting none too comfortably in a big ass tool box in the back of a pickup truck.
“For sex,” I hissed, though no one would hear but me. “For sex and for the sake of my relationship,” I snorted.
At first my abduction fantasy had worked wonders. It had been manna from heaven, breathing life into a dull and boring (yet still new) sex life. Damien had manhandled me and tied me up. Cussed at me (you dirty fucking whore), humiliated me by making me crawl to him, tossed me in the back of his truck under the tarp (per my explicit instructions). He’d driven around in the then cool fall air until I had been bumped and bruised enough to have adrenaline coursing through my thumping veins. Then he had taken me home to his screened-in back porch and bent me over the old plaid sofa he kept out there. Or marched me into the basement stairwell as I struggled against the bonds that held my wrists and ankles together. With a Bowie knife he’d cut the rope around at my ankles, put my tethered hands around his neck and fuck me. My back rubbed raw on the stone basement wall or my knees scratched from the rough wooden porch floor. Damien fucked me until my breathing was more like sobbing. He’d smack my face, pinch my skin, call me a slut and then fuck me some more until I was boneless and my head buzzed.
It had been amazing. Such a good surrender. Almost what I wanted. Almost. But then…it had waned. Every time after, the whole scenario was a little less. Not quite as bright or magical or surreal as that first time. I didn’t come as hard. My heart didn’t beat as fast. My surrender was less crisp and a little petulant. So I ask again, what the hell am I doing?
The big black truck rumbled under me, the vibrations of the engine rocking up my spine and shaking my teeth in my head. I was so cold, my jaw clenched painfully. Nipples spiked against the flimsy green bra that barely covered me. Any moisture that may be between my legs was surely frozen.
Then Damien’s voice drifted through the lid of the tool box. “Ember? You there?”
Was I here? Where the fuck else would I be? “What is it?” I wanted to sound terrified and submissive. Nervous, unsure and weak. Instead my voice was cold and annoyed.
“I forgot the whip. You wanted me to…well, it’s in the house. I’ll be right back. Okay?” Then the crack and pop of the driveway gravel under his boots.
He would be right back?
I stretched, trying to push back the fear. It swelled in my chest like some thick black liquid. No good. Panic still pressed against my lungs. My hands, cuffed so I looked to be praying, hit the lid of the box with a thud. My knees banged metal in front of me. I was twisted in a loose kind of fetal position. It was only supposed to be a short ride. And he was not supposed to leave me! That was not part of the abduction scenario.
It was all controlled and scripted and safe. And boring.
The side door to the porch banged. I could picture it¾painted a shiny green, the screen old and shredded in places. Now Damien would be unlocking the kitchen door. He’d be inside. Any minute now he’d find the whip and come back out and I would be free of the anxiety that filled me.
Then I heard it. First, a dream-like monstrous growling of another engine. Over that--barely-- the crackle crunch of other feet on the drive. My heart faltered, mouth went dry. Who the fuck was that?
“Hello?”
Something creaked and groaned and there was the sound of metal on metal. Great hisses of what sounded like pressurized air. A swell of noise swallowed my voice, but I yelled again anyway. “Hello! Who is it?” I banged the walls as hard as I could given my twisted position. Heh. That was funny. Twisted. Dear God, I certainly was. Whoisthat? Whoisthat? Whoisthat? My brain chattered as hard as my teeth.
The truck went semi-vertical on me, like a dog standing on its hind end. I slid, my back smacking the diamond-patterned metal of the box. What the fuck? This was not Damien. Damien was not driving this truck. Was I being towed? I yelled in earnest but every word was swallowed by deafening sound of big machinery. Then came little bucking motion as the truck started to move.
I was going to pee my pants. I was sure of it. Not that I had any pants but my panties were in danger and the possibility of a heart attack seemed very real. What a headline this could be: Nearly naked bound woman found frozen in pickup tool box! It was a sex game says the boyfriend!
The truck rolled impossibly fast down the drive and we were off. I pictured it in my head. The end of the drive. The mailbox. The old farmhouse receding like a bad dream as someone piloted me into an actual nightmare. I clawed at the metal but all it did was make my fingers ache worse. Very faintly, over my wildly beating heart, I heard the slam of the screen door and Damien’s voice. “Hey! That’s my truck, mister!”
That
’s my truck, mister?
And that is when I decided I was done. No more Damien. No more trying with games and toys and scenarios and work, work, work. He was too much work. It shouldn’t be this hard. And it sure as shit should have been, “Hey! You’ve got my girlfriend, mister!”
Asshole.
* * * *
The blindfold covered my nose a bit and it was hard to breathe. The imagined lack of air swelled the panic in me until it was big and bright and toothy.
“Down the steps. Move slow or I’ll just give you a nice little shove and speed you up a bit.” His voice cold, nasty. And I could believe him because he sounded sincere.
My body thrummed with an urgency. Fear mixed with excitement. The headiest of all scents on my skin, the cool sweat of terror. I hated the dark cold stone basement stairwell with its spider webs and creepy crawly things. I hated the dirty earthen floor and the cold breeze that always seemed to seep in between the stones and mortar. I hated the malicious feel of the empty looming space. I loathed the cellar and Damien knew it. But he was angry at me, so this is how we would play.
“You have to be in charge of everything, don’t you, Ember?” His petty arguments and jibes were bleeding into our game, but his annoyance was real and that made my heartbeat quicken. He was truly angry with me. And though it wasn’t the best idea to provoke him, I did. I stopped and threw my head back like any good prisoner would. Felt my skull connect with his sharp Roman nose. Heard his gasp of surprise.
Nipples pointed, pussy moist with excitement, I waited. And it came. He thrust me forward with big strong forearms so I had to stumble and shuffle to keep from falling.
“Do not tempt me, Ember,” he growled.
I blinked under the blindfold. My heart rate so high I could feel my pulse in my ears, my forehead, my cunt. “Let me go.”
Part of me really wanted him to. Part of me was scared I had fucked up. I heard his feet clad in work boots come toward me. Thudding fast like he was angry. Because he was. “Stupid fucking, cow. You’re down here because you want to be.” When he yanked my arms up to cuff me, he yanked too hard. Pain sang in my armpits and my body let loose more warm want. This is what it would really be like. Roughness and disdain. Insults and yanking.
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