No! If I were being raped, I would fight. I lifted my left foot and brought my heel down as hard as I could on the toe of his left boot.
Completely unfazed, he spun me around so that my back was to the tree. "Steel toes, you stupid cunt," he growled.
I whimpered pathetically. There was nothing I could do. My hands were bound behind me, trapped between my back and the tree. I couldn't run. I couldn't scream. He stood between my legs, the rough material of his jeans evident through my thin pants. He ground himself against me, pinning me to the tree.
He cupped my breast in his hand and pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I cried out into the makeshift gag. I fought as hard as I could with my legs, uselessly bucking my hips.
"That's right," he laughed in a humorless chuckle. "Fight me. Fight back."
His hands pushed my jogging pants down over my hips, dragging my panties with them. I fought even harder, but I was simply no match for his strength. He lifted one leg, pulling my pants down over my shoe. He didn't bother with my other foot, and my clothes hung limply around one ankle.
He pressed two fingers roughly into my core and rubbed my clit with his thumb. "Fuck. I think you want it. You wet little slut. You want my hard cock fucking you."
I shook my head no and feigned protest, but I did want it. I wanted it bad.
He didn't make me wait. He lowered his fly and stroked his hard length, giving me just a glimpse of it before he hitched my bare leg over his hip and sunk his full length into me. I screamed into the handkerchief and dropped my head back against the tree.
"Yes!" he growled, his teeth nipping at my neck as he fucked me hard. The rough tree bark bit into my naked ass and scraped my bound hands. I was going to be scratched to hell. I fought hard, seeking purchase with the one foot that was still on the ground and pushing off from the tree as best I could. I had no hope of escaping him, but fighting him made him take me even harder, and I fucking loved it.
I fought with every ounce of anger I had in me. All of that embarrassment and anger over the stupid job came rushing out as I screamed and thrashed. After a while I couldn’t even think any more; I was just one big emotional explosion.
His cock filled me over and over again as he controlled me with steady hands on my hips. He swore over and over again in my ear calling me every dirty name he could think of.
"You hate me don't you? You hate me because I make you feel what you don't want to feel. I'm going to make you cum so hard." He spoke in short spurts between labored breaths. "You can fight it all you want, but…" He thrust into me. “You... Will… Lose."
Fear and arousal gave way to the most primal struggle I had ever encountered. He was going to force me to orgasm, and I was going to hold out as long as possible against him. I cried out in protest. He was right. I would not win.
He shifted me on his hips so that he was holding me with one arm. He rubbed my clit with his free hand. No. No. No. I fought back.
"That's right," he purred. "Listen to your body. Cum for me."
I squeezed my eyes shut. I would not. Oh God.
He knew my body so well. He maintained a hard steady pace with his hips and gave me just the right amount of friction against my clit. My nipples ached where he had pinched them, and my whole body shook with fatigue. I wouldn't hold out much longer.
"I fucking commanded you to orgasm!"
I tried to ignore his voice. I had never so badly wanted to follow an order. I breathed in shallow breaths around my gag. He did not relent. I held on to the pain in my back and arms. Don't give in. Don't give in.
His teeth grazed the side of my neck, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat from my skin. I felt every inch of his hard body working against me. His thick cock filled me over and over and over.
I would never make it.
I screamed out from behind clenched teeth and gave in. My orgasm rose over me like a tidal wave of unending bliss. A variety of colors swam before my eyes, as my whole body caved to the intense sensation.
I fell completely limp, unable to move at all as he finished with me, riding me gently through, pulling every ounce of pleasure from me. I panted for breath and let him have me. I laid my head on his shoulder unable to speak even as he removed my gag.
"Shhh," he soothed. "That's a good girl. You okay?"
I nodded dumbly. I hadn't yet caught my breath. He supported my weight while he untied my wrists and righted my clothes. I slumped to the ground against the tree with my eyes closed.
He kissed my hair gently and pressed a water bottle to my lips. "Drink," he commanded softly. I did as I was told. He held me sweetly until I had regained my senses.
"Did you like that?" he finally asked.
"Do you really have to ask?" I returned, my eyes meeting his for the first time since I had passed him in the pasture.
"Come on," he said, helping me to my feet. "I need to get back to work. I'll walk you back to your truck."
CodyI sat in my kitchen waiting for Kat. She was scheduled to come to my house tonight, and after our impromptu session in the woods yesterday, I was glad I was seeing her again so soon. I didn't think I had hurt her, but I really hadn't had the time to do proper aftercare either, and I wanted to make sure that she was all right. Sometimes the adrenaline produced by a scene like that would make it impossible to feel pain or true fear until a while later. I wanted to talk about it now that she had time to come down from the high.
She was late. It irritated and worried me. She was never late.
I watched the minutes tick by on the microwave. Where the hell was she?
I looked out the window at the empty driveway. It was pouring down rain, a very real contrast to yesterday's sunshine. I paced the kitchen.
It was twenty after eight. She was supposed to be here at eight. I glanced at the phone on the wall. I didn't like calling her because I didn't have any great desire for her father to see my name on her caller ID, but I would call if she didn't show in the next five minutes.
At eight thirty I called. No answer.
It was already dark outside, mostly because of the rain, and I didn't like the idea of her stranded out there somewhere. Should I go look for her? Was she upset about yesterday? What if I had hurt her? Why didn't she safeword? I was quite sure that she could have. She hadn't seemed upset when I'd walked her back to her truck.
I was still pacing the kitchen when I heard her pull up. I threw open the door and encountered a soaking wet Kat. She was literally drenched and dripping. Her dark hair was matted to her head and her arms were wrapped protectively around her chest as she walked from her vehicle.
"What the hell happened?" I asked. "Are you okay?"
I pulled her inside and went to grab a towel from the bathroom.
"I got a fucking flat tire on the way over."
I rubbed her hair with the towel while she pulled her soaked sneakers off.
"Did you get it fixed?"
"Yeah. Just my luck I left my cell phone at home by accident so I walked to the service station in town, but it was a good half a mile from where I was. I got soaked. I didn't have a spare, but luckily they had one that would fit in stock."
"Here, take your wet clothes off. I'll put them in the dryer for you."
She stripped awkwardly, peeling off her soaked jeans.
"Could this week get any fucking worse?" she asked. She seemed completely exasperated.
What did that mean? Was she mad about yesterday too? She was clearly upset, but I thought it was understandable, as she'd just gotten a flat tire in the middle of a thunderstorm.
"What else went wrong?" I asked. "Are you upset about yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" she asked, looking up at me. "Oh that. No. No. That was the highlight of my week. No. I got fired yesterday."
"Seriously?" I had seen her work. I'd practically stalked her for weeks before asking her out. She was a good employee. What could she possibly have done that would have called for firing her?
"Yeah. Fuckin
g Mike asked me out, and I turned him down because he's a douche, so he went and convinced his daddy to fire me. Totally fucking unfair."
I'd never heard her use the word “fuck” so many times in one conversation. Well, unless you counted the times she was begging me to fuck her. She was really pissed.
I took her wet clothes and tossed them in the dryer while she ranted about her lost job. Personally I didn't think it was much of a loss. She was too good for that place anyway. She seemed embarrassed by it though, and it was clear she needed some closure on the matter. The flat tire hadn't helped either.
When I returned to the kitchen she had wrapped the towel around her shoulders, and her hair was considerably drier.
"Let's go in the living room," I said, leading her. I sat down on the couch and pulled her into my lap.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to be such a downer. It's just been a hard week."
"It's okay. Everyone goes through that. You're allowed to get upset sometimes."
"Yeah, well I usually don't. I mean I was always pretty good at controlling my temper. It just makes me so mad that this fucking small town has such stupid boys—"
I pulled her to my chest and threaded my fingers into her damp hair. "Shhh, it's okay."
"And it makes me so mad that I can't tell anyone about this. I mean, I'm not mad at you, but I feel like no one else understands, and it would have been a lot easier if Mike would just realize that I want something that he can't give me. Are we the only people in the world who feel like this? Don't you ever feel lonely?"
"Whoa, slow down, sweetheart. Let's start at the beginning, okay?"
She nodded and quieted down in my arms.
"It's okay to lose your temper. Okay? You're allowed to get angry. You're allowed to cry. It doesn't make you weak to show emotions, all right?"
"It just seems so pointless. It never solves anything."
"That's not entirely true, Kat. It may not fix the situation but it is healthy to get those emotions out. When was the last time you cried? Like really cried?"
"I don't know. What kind of a question is that?"
"Don't get defensive with me, Katlyn. Answer the question."
"I don't know. It's been a while I guess."
"Be more specific," I pressed. I really felt like there was a larger root issue here. She was bottling up her emotions, and it seemed like she'd been doing it a really long time. I was guessing that she probably couldn't answer me because she really couldn't remember. It had been that long.
"Why are you pushing this?" she asked. "I don't know. Okay? I can't think of the last time I cried."
"Think of a time that you remember crying. Any time. Doesn't have to be the last one."
"I don't know." Her tone was short and aggravated. She stood up from my lap and paced the room.
I sat calmly on the couch watching her. "Think, Kat."
"Fine! My mother's funeral. I cried at my mother's funeral."
"Did you?" The way she said it, I didn't really believe her. She couldn't remember if she had cried or not. She just knew that she was supposed to. It was a reasonable answer.
"Of course. What kind of a child doesn't cry at her own mother's funeral?"
"The kind that has learned to repress her emotions," I answered flatly.
"I do not repress my emotions!"
I raised my eyebrows at her. I thought it was very clear that she did. "Were you sad? You said that you didn't know her very well."
"Of course I was sad. She was my mother."
"Did you talk to anyone about it? See a counselor?"
"I don't want to talk about it!" She was very nearly yelling. There was a lot of old pain there that she'd never gotten out.
"Come here," I commanded. I did not raise my voice, but I wasn't gentle either. She was going to need some help getting through this.
"No." That was the first time she’d ever refused me. I almost smiled. Good girl. Get it out.
"I won't ask you again," I said as coldly as I could. "Safeword or sit the fuck down."
Her eyes got wide, and I could see her pulse racing. She didn't know what to do. She hesitated a moment longer and then came to me. This was going to be messy.
I guided her into the position I wanted. I took the towel from around her shoulders and laid it over the arm of the couch. She rested her head on it. She was face down spread over my lap with her ass under my right hand.
I made it hard and fast. My handprints spread out all across her backside. She gritted her teeth and kept silent for a long time. I didn't stop. I couldn't. She needed to face this.
She cried out for the first time around seventeen. She was so strong. My hand ached. I should have used a paddle.
She squeezed her eyes shut around twenty-one and a single tear ran down her cheek. She looked so broken. It took everything I had to keep going. I knew it was for the best, but it nearly killed me anyway.
I took her all the way to thirty. She turned her face fully into the armrest and sobbed hard into the towel. When I was done, I turned her and pulled her naked form to my chest. She felt so small in my arms. Her whole body shook as I rocked her gently.
She tried to talk, but I only caught about a quarter of it. She was sobbing so hard that it was impossible to decipher. The broken pieces that I caught were about her mother. She blamed herself for her mother’s leaving. She thought her own mother hated her.
I held her and let her cry. I hated to see her so broken, but it was obvious to me that she needed this. The best thing to do was let her mind catch up to the emotional outpouring that her body was experiencing. I hoped that she would be able to breathe a little easier when it was all over, but in that moment it was heartbreaking to witness. All I could do was be there for her. I would always be there for her, protecting her, even from herself—especially from herself. If she could just let go and escape the world for a little while, I would keep her safe in my arms.
It was another fifteen minutes before the tears stopped, and she could inhale normally again. She clung to my shirt like a scared child. I pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped her in it.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" I asked.
She nodded, but then refused to get up when I tried to move her. “You have to let me up, if you want tea, sweetheart.”
“Not yet,” she protested.
I kissed the top of her head and pulled the blanket tighter around her. She could take as long as she wanted. I would never get tired of holding her. I cradled her head against my chest and massaged the base of her neck until she slowly pulled herself away.
When she was ready, I left her curled in the blanket on the couch and went to make two mugs of tea. I handed her one, and she cradled it in her hands.
"You okay?"
She met my eyes briefly before nodding. "Will you just hold me a little while longer?" she asked.
"Of course," I said, setting my mug on the table. She crawled into my arms and laid her head against my chest.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Not for this, I mean, for letting me—"
"Shhh, you don't have to thank me, Kat. We can talk about it if you want, but you don't have to justify yourself to me. It's okay. You’re safe here."
She nodded against my chest and then simply murmured "Thank you," again.
I held her until she was ready to go. I retrieved her dry clothes and walked her out to her car. The rain had let up and was only a drizzle now.
"You going to be okay getting home?"
"Yeah." I brushed her hair back from her face.
"Call me when you get there. Okay?"
"’Kay. Good night, Sir."
"Good night, Katlyn."
I stayed on the porch and watched her red tail lights disappear around the bend.
KatlynI lay in bed barely able to keep my eyes open. What a week. I couldn't remember a time when I had ever felt more drained. I was exhausted.
I had come home from Cody's house and sat in the hot shower
for a while with the water cascading down over my head. It felt wonderful after all that chilly rain followed by an absurd bout of crying. I was thoroughly embarrassed. Why would he do that to me? Surely crying, blubbering women didn’t arouse him. I'd gotten snot all over his shirt. I was mortified.
I had to admit though, I felt... free. It was as if I was physically lighter. I hadn't realized until he brought it up how little I actually cried. Some of the girls at school were sort of known for it. If a boy said something mean to them, or they did something stupid, or even if they just had a bad case of PMS, they would be locked in the bathroom pouring out tears like little children with scraped knees. I had never done that. I always thought it was just my maturity. In some ways I was sure that it still was—no one needed to cry that much—but Cody had really struck a chord with me: I didn't cry at my own mother's funeral.
I didn't cry at my own mother's funeral.
I had sniffled and allowed a couple of drops to run from my eyes as I spoke the words that were required of me. I had worn black and been appropriately silent. I had prayed for her soul as instructed. I had laid my rose on her casket with the others. But I hadn't really cried, not the way I did tonight.
I really thought hard about it, as I sat in the shower, and I was pretty sure that the last time I had really cried like that had been about five years before she died. She came to town on a whim and spent a few days with me. I was ten. I thought she was the greatest thing that ever lived. She took me out for ice cream and to play mini-golf. For a few short days, I had a real mother.
I cried when she left. I didn't want her to go, but she left me anyway. I stood in the driveway and watched her little red car pull away. There was never anything that I could say or do to make her stay. My dad said it wasn't my fault—that she was just flighty like that by nature—but I never believed him. She left him because she didn't want me as a baby. She left me because she didn't want me as a child either.
My tears didn't bring her back that day, and they wouldn't have brought her back from the grave either. They didn't help, so I stopped shedding them.
Innocence Tempted Page 6
