by S. Ann Cole
Heeding, with no more words, he just watched me as he tore the packet open and rolled on the condom, smooth and leisurely. As though he came to some sort of conclusion, his eyes narrowed a little as he asked, “How many men have you ever been with, Blood?”
One. And it was by force. Always by force.
“I’m a damn stripper. Why don’t you take a guess?” I snapped. “And I said easy on the fucking questions. You’re ruining the mood.”
“You shouldn’t swear.”
Says the cold-blooded murderer. “Fuck me.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
Still with the wordless watching, the studying, his face was so goddamn unreadable it was maddening.
Grasping his cock, he fixed it at my core, then paused and locked our eyes, just in time to catch me sucking in a short, panicky breath.
I wanted this. I really did. But I was scared to bits and pieces, and fighting hard not to let Chad’s shrewd eyes discover this. Folding my lips, I tried to mask it off, meeting his stare square on.
He said, “You’re a tough girl, Blood, and you got a lot of talk. But I can see right through your veneer.”—He pushed in an inch, and I winced.—”I’m gonna let you own me tonight. I’ll start slow, and you’ll control how it goes from there. The increments, the momentum, it’s all your call, okay? So you don’t have to be afraid.”
“Your instincts are off. I’m not afraid,” I lied.
But he didn’t call me out on the fib, he just inched into me, little by little. And I held my breath, concentrating on the feel of him filling me.
Nothing like with Mr. D. No, that man would’ve rammed into me with a great force. Tear me open in pain more than pleasure.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried shutting out all the memories of the past, and focused on this new, addictive feeling. This so good, so different feeling.
Filling me to the capacity, Chad paused and commanded, “Open your eyes, Blood. Look and see that it’s me. It’s no one from your past. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
But I kept them closed, because I knew who he was. And he was someone from my past. And he did hurt me once. He took everything from me. And here I was letting him fuck me. How fucking sick was this?
Yet I couldn’t talk sense into my brain. This man consumed me. He made me want more…more of everything.
“Blood, open your eyes, look at me, and believe me.”
This time, I did. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, and once again, I felt the truth. He wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t hurt me.
But it didn’t matter, because I would hurt him.
After all this, I would have to kill him.
“Move,” I ordered.
“How?”
“Slow.”
He moved. Flexing his hips backwards then pushing back into me, picking up a steady rhythm. It was fucking heavenly. To have a man inside me and was actually enjoying it, was something I never believed possible.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, and my booted legs around his waist, I thrust up my hips and whispered, “A little faster. A little harder.”
Chad obeyed, clamped his mouth down on mine and fucked me as I directed, making me feel tingle and belly-swirls that I’ve never felt before. His cock was huge and potent inside me. Driving me up a mountain I’ve never climbed before.
So good. So fucking good.
As unprecedented pleasure reared up within me, I panted in short bursts of breath, “Harder, Chad. Faster. This feels…This feels…”
With a pleasing groan, Chad leaned up and unwrapped my legs from around his waist, pressing them down to my chest. “It feels what, Blood?”
“Really good.”
“Just ‘really good’?”
My hips rolled. “Please, come back inside.”
Once again, his smile brightened the room. Like my silver lining of light. He thrust back inside me, and as I asked for it, he gave it.
Harder.
And faster.
He was fucking me for me. Not for himself. I could tell by the way his dark, observing eyes watched me. I wanted him to enjoy it. Because this may be the first and last time we ever get to fuck.
Yet at the same time, I couldn’t stop to make sure he enjoyed it, because my joints were seizing, and my vision was transforming into nothing but a burst of stars, my mind obliterated of everything and all things.
Then my mouth tore open as broken screams flew through it, my whole body stiffening and juddering at the same time.
This was a different kind of orgasm than an orgasm stimulated through the clitoris. This was more intense. More crippling. More joint-numbing. And I enjoyed every fucking second of it.
I could feel my muscles clenching around Chad’s big cock.
“So tight…” he groaned, pumping into me over and over, keeping my legs pressed to my chest. “It’s almost hard to believe…”
I wouldn’t tell him that it was because a cock hadn’t been inside me since I was sixteen, or that toys were prohibited in my girl-to-girl fuckings.
He didn’t need to know the reason behind my tightness.
A feral noise erupted from him, and he threw his head back and came with a stiffening force. His tatted, ripped body plus the veins bulging in his neck made him look like a glorious beast bathed in red sunlight.
Drained and enervated, with a weight so great, he slumped down on top of me and pressed his face into my neck, his breathing sharp-edged.
Sated, and still on a euphoric high, I brought my hands up and raked them through his hair in a tender way I knew I shouldn’t. I kissed his shoulder in a passionate way I knew I shouldn’t. I let myself enjoy him in a selfish way I knew I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t.
But I couldn’t help it.
Killing him…killing him was going to be hard.
SEVEN
Through many dangers, toils and snares…
I’d allowed myself to let the moment consume me.
I’d allowed myself to relish the feel of a man—this man—on top of me way too much.
I’d allowed myself to get too comfortable, forgetting this wasn’t me.
Way too much.
And thus, when Chad pushed up off me, took off the condom, and pulled up his pants, the warmth left me in a sudden rush, and the terrible, cold, voidness returned, cackling like a wicked old witch, whispering to my psyche, “You fool”.
That was it. The moment of pleasure, the moment of warmth, the moment of safety, had all been temporary. It was never meant to last, and wasn’t a feeling I’d ever get to keep. Because I wasn’t allowed to have it.
I wasn’t normal.
I wasn’t free.
I was owned and commandeered.
So, even though the last hour or so with Chad—my target—was the utmost highlight of my detestable life, I couldn’t hold onto it and let it screw with my mind. Screw with my purpose, or with my freedom.
Yeah, his cock had felt huge and filling inside me. His tongue had felt deliciously divine in my mouth. His body had felt amazingly searing over mine. But…
I still had to kill him.
For revenge.
For freedom.
After disposing of the used condom, Chad buckled his LRG leather belt, all the while staring down at me. Even in the dark, red glow, I knew, now, in this moment, he was no longer the man who’d touched me in the most tender, altruistic way.
No, he was the vacuous, hard-hearted bastard who’d wipe out the Byrds.
He was no longer the man who promised me he’d never hurt me.
The way he was looking down at me now—vulnerably naked and post-coitally spreadeagled—was nothing short of a warning. An I-dare-you. Like setting up landmines around my bloodless heart, letting me know if I so much as inhale too deeply, it would explode into tiny bits and pieces.
And I feared.
I feared him.
“Get yourself cleaned up and get back to work,” he
said once he was fully dressed again. Legs in a wide stance, he slipped his hands in his pockets; a sign of peace, no hard feelings. “You got wet wipes in your purse to clean up? Or should I have Nadia bring some for you?”
“Fuck you,” I spat out, still spread open wide on the sofa banquette, unable to move for some unknown reason—or maybe I was just unwilling.
Dark gaze sliding over my body and back, he deadpanned, “You just did.”
“Enjoy the afterglow, boss, because this…”—I tore my legs open wider and rubbed my fingers down my soaking wet folds— “is never happening again.”
A few seconds passed, then he shrugged. “I have my picks.”
Unexplainable anger gas-pedaled through my veins, pumping through my arteries, and without thinking, I lurched up off the sofa banquette, catching him off guard as I slammed an uppercut under his chin.
He grunted in surprise as his teeth clacked together from the unexpected impact, and his hands flew up to grab the sides of his head in an effort to temper the pain, his eyes squeezed tight, face crunched up.
That particular hit would leave him dizzy and out of it for a few quick minutes. As many times as I’ve inflicted it on others, I’ve also received it during training, so, having experienced that pain a dozen times over, I knew what he was feeling at the moment: like someone was electrocuting his brain as he literally lost sight for a moment, seeing nothing but blackness. Not even stars.
Knowing this, I hurriedly donned my stripper costume, snatched up my purse, and stepped up to him. Eyes still tightly shut, hands still holding the sides of his head, waiting for the waves of jarring pain to pass. In this state, whatever I said to him now would be nothing but distant echoes to him. I didn’t care. I still seethed, “I’m not a girl, ass-shit. You’d do well to remember that.”
Like a cat with its whiskers on fire, searching for a bowl of cool milk to dip its face in, I skipped it out of there before Chad’s equilibrium returned. No way on earth was I going to be anywhere near him when he came to. Because, fuck his promise. With that stunt I just pulled, he’d probably kill me before I got the chance to kill him.
Eleven years ago…
Somewhere in Russia
Click. Thud. Clang.
The girl stiffened, trying not to shiver or cry at the familiar sound of the metal door opening. The ‘click, thud, clang’ never meant for anything good.
Bright light streaming into the darkness of the ten-by-twelve room she’d been imprisoned in for the past twelve months never once represented hope or rescue.
It represented pain and degradation.
She hated the light.
But hated it as much as she wanted, the light came pouring in anyway, because choice was a luxury. And here, now, with no choice and no voice, she had to take what was given.
It wasn’t just The Big Man in Black who knocked her around and brought her bread and water twice a day who came in this time. Another man, who was a little bigger, and a little taller came in with him. Carrying a large, black travel bag.
Fear nibbling at her organs as she eyed the suspicious black bag, the girl abruptly sat up and shifted to the edge of her tough, narrow bed. It hurt her back sometimes, but at least she had a bed now. Twelve months ago, there’d been nothing at all in the room, so she’d slept on the floor in the darkness for five months, no blankets or pillows. Nothing soft or cushy, nothing comforting. Nothing to protect her from anything.
Nothing but the darkness.
The Big Man in Black had gotten a little kinder after a while, and told her that if she started being obedient and stopped rebelling, if she accepted her situation and the fact that help wasn’t coming, then she would receive small rewards for her good behavior.
But the girl had been stubborn. Each time she woke up from a painful knockout, she would scream and shout, pound on the steel doors, curse the guard and spit in his face, fought, until he knocked her out again.
Finally The Big Man in Black stopped bringing her bread and water. For days she’d went on without food, energy drained, which rendered her so weak and lifeless she couldn’t cry out loud, and she couldn’t pound the doors. Everything was silence and darkness, as she was being starved to death. Her life drifted further and further from her body each day. Slowly.
On the fifth day, The Big Man in Black came and found her so pressed into the ground, it was like she was a part of it, her body halfway to death, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He’d cradled her upper half in his arms and forced hot soup down her throat.
That was the only time she’d ever gotten anything other than bread and water.
When she was revived, she’d promised to behave, if only to get more soup. Or something more than bread and water.
Soup was just a one-time treat, however, to bring her back to life. But The Big Man in Black did keep his word about giving her rewards for good behavior.
First it was the narrow bed, no sheets or pillows. More good behavior got her a fitted sheet and one pillow. Then she got a lamp. Then a blanket. Then a mini radio.
Braving it, she dared to ask for books, even being specific about wanting fantasy and dystopia. Those were her favorite books to read, her escape from the real world. Oftentimes she wish she was just a character from a book, and not a real person. Real life sucked. Like, really sucked.
Her brother’s best friend, the monster who killed her family, loved fantasy novels, too. He was the one who made her love them, because he usually read stories to her which her father forbade. It’d been their little secret.
“We are fantastical, Tweety Byrd,” the family slayer used to say to make her smile. “Rules are not for us. Escape with me. Let’s color our minds and forget what’s real.”
He used to talk like that to her because he said it made the green of her eyes glow. He was like her own personal Peter Pan. Grown, but always so young.
Fantasy reads were a special bond they shared. But they’d had to hide and read, because he’d said if anyone saw them, they would think it strange and stop him from coming there. That he was eight years older than her and shouldn’t be hanging out with someone her age.
But in their world, age did not exist. They were just two beings, two souls, two hearts that bonded.
The Big Man in Black never brought her fantasy books, though. He brought books about crime, and war and killing. Books about guns, books about fighting, books which her father would vehemently disapprove of. Nothing was fantasy, nothing would help her escape.
They would only make an eleven-year-old abnormally knowledgeable in the art of killing.
The two men walked up to her bed and towered over her. The girl knew by now to keep her head down, listen, and never to look them in the eye.
As the second man dropped the black travel bag at her feet, The Big Man in Black spoke in their Russian tongue. “Girl, now that you understand the rewards of obedience and the penalties of disobedience, it is time you begin training.”
“Training?” she dared to utter.
“Hush now, girl!” he barked, but his admonishment sounded half-hearted. He didn’t sound like his usual gruff self, but seemed almost uncomfortable.
“This man here will be your trainer. You may call him Mr. D. He will train you to fight, to survive, to kill.”
The girl’s head elevated now. She knew she shouldn’t, but she had to be sure she’d heard right. “To kill? Why?”
The Big Man in Black leaned down to look into her eyes, and there was something odd there, something she couldn’t comprehend. “Do you like that little lamp over there, girl?”
She nodded. Dear God, please don’t let him take it back.
“Then hush!”
She snapped her mouth shut and ducked her head.
Straightening, The Big Man in Black reached into his leather jacket pocket, withdrew a small, black device and thrust it to her. “This is an alarm. You are to be up by five each morning. You are to dress in the garments provided in that bag, and you are to stand
in wait at the door for Mr. D. If Mr. D arrives in the mornings and has to wait even a second for you, then you will suffer the penalties. Starting today, you will be better fed with a healthy meal, three times a day. In training, you will cooperate, you will take instructions without hesitation, and you will speak only when you are given the permission to do so. If you perform and behave well, you will be rewarded a considerable amount of freedom at the end of each month. So if you want to be removed from this room, train well, learn quickly, and never fail.” He paused and cleared his throat, and the girl watched his big feet shift his weight from one foot to the other. “At the end of each week, Mr. D will take his payment from you in whatever manner he deems fit.”
The latter of his sentence was spoken so thinly, as though it pained him to say them.
Unable to help it, the girl looked up at him.
Eyes downcast, that uncomfortable vibe was rolling off him again. And it made the girl nervous. Because if this man who had, a number of times, knocked her out cold without remorse, was uneasy about that last decree, then maybe she should be, too.
Swallowing hard, the girl swung her eyes to Mr. D, who was looking down at her in a way no grown man should be looking at an eleven-year-old girl. He had a big, bulbous nose, pock-marked cheeks, and a fat, black wart between his eyebrows. He scared the living daylights out of her.
“I don’t understand, sir. H-how will I pay you for training me?” she asked, risking the loss of her lamp. “I-I-I have nothing.”
A slimy grin crawled onto Mr. D’s face, his eyes glimmering. A thick hand moved from his side and toward her, his callused fingers landing on her bony shoulder.
The girl held her breath.
Using one finger, Mr. D slid the thin strap of her too-big nightgown down her shoulder. Then he switched to her other shoulder and did the same. The loose gown fell down her emaciated body and bunched up at her waist. And she fought to keep her hands at her sides instead of raising them to cover the egg-sized swells on her chest.
Mr. D reached out and pinched one of her nipples to the point of pain, then whispered in a creepy, rusty voice, “Oh, I think you do.”
