Fast Friends: Reunion

by Turner, Stacy

  “Don't tell anyone I cried,” Tara said, feeling the warm tears running down her cheeks.

  “I won't,” Sarah said, pulling her daughter into her arms. “Our secret.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tara rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. Once she pulled herself together her mother had called the police. Half of Lana's guests had ended up in the lobby, looky-looing. Tara had wanted to disappear. She had ended up having to go to the emergency room because of the dizziness and by the time she got looked at it was well past mid-night. She felt guilty about her parents and Mark having to stand around waiting for her, but at least her brothers weren't around. The most humiliating part was having pictures of her bruises taken. The bruises on her breast, face and arm weren't too bad, but there was broken skin on her hip. Still, she had made out ok. She didn't have a concussion. The nurse had said the dizziness and disorientation were more likely due to shock than injury.

  All she needed now was the ok to go home. She was sitting in the exam room chair when the detective came in.

  “Can I go now?” she asked. The detective was a petite Mexican-American women who looked almost as exhausted as Tara felt.

  “Almost,” the woman said, “I have a couple of questions.”

  “Sure,” Tara said, folding her hands.

  “The exam turned up some older bruises,” the detective said. “Did Mr. Hughes have anything to do with those.”

  “Older bruises?” Tara asked. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  The detective sighed. “On your legs, buttocks and back. And some more recent ones on your wrists.”

  “Oh,” Tara said, “that's nothing. Just...” She was too embarrassed to explain how she'd gotten them. She hadn't fully come to terms with her deviant sex life. She definitely wasn't ready to explain it to a stranger. “It had nothing to do with the attack.”

  The detective gave her a pitying look. “I'm really sorry, Ms. Phillips,” she said, “but if you press charges those bruises are going to come up in court.”

  “But they have nothing to do with this,” Tara insisted.

  “Maybe not,” the woman said, “but your attacker's lawyer is going to either claim that the same person who gave you those bruises gave you the new ones, or that you wanted Mr. Hughes to do what he did.”

  “That's preposterous,” Tara said. “That man vandalized my car and stalked me. He makes my skin crawl.”

  “I believe you,” the detective said. “I just want you to think about how you might get dragged through the mud if you go to court. I'm not telling you not to press charges, just to think about it, maybe talk to a lawyer before you do.”

  She pulled out her business card and handed it to Tara, a sympathetic smile on her face. “I know it's not fair, but people can be judgmental. Just make sure you're willing to face their negative reactions before you move forward, ok?”

  Tara nodded and took the small rectangle of card stock.

  “Sure,” Tara said, rising to her feet. “I'll think about it.”

  “Call me,” the woman said, pulling back the curtain of the ER exam room. “I'll be there every step of the way if you decide to move forward.”

  “Thanks,” Tara said.

  She could see her family huddled together on the uncomfortable visitor chairs, her mother apparently passed out on the dad's shoulder. Mark was standing nearby, his arms folded. He looked terrible, red-eyed and edgy. He was the first to spot her.

  He came to meet her and pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly against him. He was warm and he smelled amazing. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed tight. She didn't want to ever let him go.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I'll live,” Tara said.

  “I want to kill the bastard,” Mark said, stroking her hair. His hand hovered over the slightly swollen left side of her face, then pulled back, fisting.

  “Don't,” Tara said cupping his face. “I want to avoid conjugal visits. I like the idea of the conjugation, just not the prison.”

  “This isn't a joke,” Mark snapped. She was a bit shocked at his reaction.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm exhausted. Take me home?”

  “Fine,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  It took a few minutes to tell her parents she was okay and say goodnight. It made her sick to see how pale her mother was. She must have been so worried. Tara didn't know how to tell them she might not be able to press charges.

  As soon as they got in the car, though, she told Mark what the detective had said.

  “One of my friends from the gym is a lawyer,” Mark said, “we should talk to him. I don't see how a few old bruises can prevent you from getting this guy. Your mom saw him hitting you.”

  “I don't think so,” Tara said. “I remember the elevator opening after he hit me. She saw him with his arm raised.”

  “Same thing,” Mark said.

  “She suggested I see a lawyer too,” Tara said, “the detective, I mean. I think she was just trying to give me a heads up so I wouldn't get blindsided later on.”

  “I'm sorry,” Mark said, resting his hand on her leg.

  “For what?” Tara asked.

  “The bruises.”

  “Don't be stupid,” Tara said. “I love what you do to me. Whenever I see the marks I remember how I got them, so don't apologize for that. The problem is other people's narrow-mindedness, not what we do together.”

  “Did the detective say whether they had found him?” Mark asked.

  “Not yet,” Tara said, threading her fingers through his. The motion of the car was making her sleepy. “He's still out there. Somewhere.”

  Mark spent the night at Tara's and the next day they stayed in, not doing much of anything. Tara's hip was sore and though there was still a bruise, her face felt ok. By mid-afternoon she feeling pretty antsy. She was overflowing with nervous energy, and would have gone for a run if she was feeling better. Mark was getting on her nerves as well. She didn't mind him being nice, but he was walking on egg-shells and constantly asking her if she needed something. What she needed was to feel normal instead of cooped up.

  “Do you want to go out to dinner?” Tara asked around 4:00 pm, tired of sitting around.

  “Why don't we order in,” Mark suggested.

  “Because I want to go to dinner,” Tara said. “Let's fucking go to dinner, okay.”

  “Whoa,” Mark said. “Okay. If it means that much to you.”

  “I'm sorry,” Tara said. “I'm just going stir-crazy.”

  “You've never spent a whole day vegging at home before?”

  “Not because I was scared of some bogey man,” Tara said. “I want to get out of here and feel normal.”

  “Any news from the police?” Mark asked, flipping the channel. Football gave way to more football. Tara felt like her eyeballs were going to melt out of her head if she had to look at one more overweight man scratching his ass.

  “You've been right next to me all day,” Tara pointed out. “No, I did not receive a psychic transmission from the police.”

  “Okay,” Mark said, turning off the TV and turning towards her on the couch. “Are you hungry or just pissy?”

  “Screw you,” Tara said.

  Mark stood up. “Okay, that's it,” he said. “Get in the bedroom.”

  “What?”

  “Get. In. The bedroom.”

  On shaky legs Tara stood up and did as he ordered.

  “Undress,” he said, pulling his sweater and shirt over his head. His expression was stern. This was not what Tara had intended. She took her clothes off and stood in front of him naked, waiting for his next command. Inside her something unclenched. She actually felt better now than she had all day, like something had been lifted.

  “Get me the riding crop,” Mark said.

  Tara had forgotten to get rid of it when she tossed out the other stuff he had left at her place and it was stowed away in the closet. Her hands barel
y trembled when she handed it to him.

  “You know the position,” Mark said. Tara brought her arms up behind her head and spread her legs should width apart. She was trying to read his expression. Was he angry? Aroused? He stepped close and ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip. His fingers traced the fresh bruises on her body and his jaw clenched. He trailed the the tip of the riding crop up the outside of her leg. His touches were light, but heat started stirring in Tara. The light caress of the crop made her want to squirm, but she had to hold still. Mark's fingers and the crop wandered aimlessly, teasing the skin of her back, her abdomen, the inside of her thigh, her nipples – everywhere and anywhere on her body. It was maddening. She ached everywhere for a firmer touch.

  Still where she could see him, Mark put the crop down and stripped out of his clothes. He looked too good, sleek muscle and smooth skin, face like an angel. Tara knew what was next and braced herself. Her hadn't used the crop on her since that first time and she remembered what he had told her about really whipping her the next time. Would that happen now? Was it smart to do this with everything that had happened with Jack? Probably not, and yet Tara wanted it to happen. There were butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Mark caning her.

  Mark picked up the crop and came over to her. He swept her hair over her shoulder so that her back was uncovered. He looked down at her chest and hesitated, then palmed her breast, flicking the nipple with his thumb. Tara fought the urge to arch her body into his hand.

  “You're still being punished, Tara,” Mark said, “but I need to taste you. So sweet.”

  Before the last word was completely out his lips were wrapped around the tip of her breast. He sucked gently, flicking the nipple lightly with his tongue. He moaned, releasing her from his mouth.

  “Just a taste,” he said, almost to himself. Tara thought that for something that wasn't meant to be punishing, the little tease he'd just performed had felt an awful lot like being punished.

  Mark turned her to face the bed and got behind her. He trailed the tip of the crop up the inside of one leg and down the other, barely grazing her mound. Her skin tingled from the contact. The tip of the crop grazed lightly over her buttocks. Her cheeks clenched involuntarily. Mark palmed her buttock, squeezing the supple flesh. He slid his fingers between her cheeks and found her puckered opening. Tara held still, but he hadn't told her to be quiet and she couldn't stifle a sigh. Drawing moisture from her slit, Mark sunk his index finger into her rear. Tara moaned, her legs starting to shake. The finger felt good, but she wanted more.

  “Do you want me to fuck your ass?” Mark whispered in her ear, cupping her pussy with is other hand. The crop fell to the carpet at her feet.

  “Yes,” Tara said, struggling not to move. His fingers were gentle as they probed her aroused flesh. She wanted harder, faster, but she needed to let him be in control, even if it frustrated her.

  “But you're so tight,” he said, moving his finger in her ass. “It could hurt.”

  “I don't care,” Tara said.

  “So brave,” Mark said, pushing two fingers into her front and back. He nipped her ear. “And I really want to give you what you want. But you know I have to punish you.”

  “Why?” Tara asked, leaning back just enough for her shoulder to touch his chest. It was a step too far. He pulled his hands away from her body and picked up the crop.

  “You mean 'Yes, Alpha',” Mark said, tapping her hip with the tip of the crop.

  “Yes, Alpha,” Tara said, swallowing.

  Mark started with light taps on her buttocks that came in rapid succession. It didn't hurt, but she knew it was just the teaser for what was to come. Mark dragged the crop along her leg, then flicked it lightly across the back of her knees. The sensation was surprising, but again, not painful.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes, Alpha,” Tara said, taking a deep breath. His voice was soft, gentle, but she didn't mistake that for a sign of what was to come.

  The first hard blow when it came was not as bad as she had expected. The wand connected across the fleshiest part of her buttocks. It felt like a line of fire, but it quickly faded. The next strike came quickly, across one side of her ass and then the next and the next. Each one was like the first, but they came in such rapid success there was no time for the pain of one to fade before the next came. The lines where he struck her itched and burned, begging to be rubbed, but she had to keep her hands where they were, clasped behind her head. The crop struck the backs of her thighs, causing her to jump in pain. The stalk laid a line across her back, like fire. He struck her the tender flesh again and again, harder than before. Sweat broke out.

  “Please stop,” Tara gasped, jerking as the crop came across her back again.

  “Use your safe word,” Mark said, bringing the crop up gently between her spread thighs.

  “No,” she said, defiantly.

  “Then take your punishment,” Mark said, rapping the crop firmly against her wet flesh. She was embarrassingly aroused by the whipping. As much as she hated it, she loved it more.

  He brought the crop up hard between her legs and Tara screamed in agony. She had never felt anything so painful in her whole life. Before her scream had faded he had buried himself inside her, two deep thrusts shaking the foundations of her mind. Then it was the crop again, laid across her buttocks so hard she thought she must be bleeding. He did it again and again and tears streamed down Tara's face even as she leaked moisture down the insides of her thighs.

  “Please,” Tara begged.

  “Please what?” Mark asked.

  “Please fuck me, Alpha,” she said, sobbing.

  “Not yet,” he said, trailing the crop along her body. Tara could have wept in frustration. He was such as bastard.

  Mark moved in front of her and trailed the crop across her abdomen. Tara shivered. She kept her head down. She was sure if she looked at his face she would come apart completely. Mark lifted the crop and brought it down on her nipple. It felt like fire, but paradoxically pleasurable at the same time. She held her breath and waited to see what he would do next. Mark teased her sensitive peak with the tip of the crop. Her nipples were hard and reddened from the abuse. He hit her breast with the tip of the crop again, hard enough to make her cry out. Drops of sweat slid down her flanks. The crop slid between her legs, the smooth leather shaft moving in slow circles over her flesh. Mark angled the crop back and slid the flat tip between the lips of her pussy. Tara trembled with arousal. Sweat burned her back and buttocks where he had struck her. He raised the crop again and brought it to her lips.

  “Taste yourself, bitch,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  Tara stuck her tongue out and swiped it over the leather. She tasted sweat and her own juices, salty and slick. His eyes were glued to her tongue. The crop hovered between them, bobbing in front of her face before coming down on her nipple again. The sting was worse than before because of the moisture and Tara couldn't hold back a sob. She started to lose her balance and Mark caught her, dropping the crop to the floor. He tossed her roughly on the bed, face down. The soft fabric of the comforter abraded her already throbbing skin. Before she could react to the sensation he was on top of her, his rigid shaft filling her aching flesh. The pleasure of his assault was indescribable. She had waited so long for him to take her and it was better than she had expected, his possession of her complete. Pain and pleasure mingled as his hips contacted the sore flesh of her buttocks. He grasped her arms and pinned them across her back, elbow to wrist as he moved inside her again and again. His moans told her he was as lost in passion as she was. He leaned in, close to her ear and whispered, “Come for me.”

  Tara focused on the point where their bodies connected, imagining his cock stretching her slick opening and her climax came in shudders and sobs. He stopped, still inside her and hugged her tight. She trembled in the aftermath of her orgasm, panting. He was panting too, but he hadn't come. He was still hard, still filling her. He eased back and tur
ned on her onto her back. His expression was intense, face flushed.

  “Don't move,” he said, getting up from the bed. Tara watched as he went to the bedside table and extracted a bottle of lube. She wasn't as eager for anal sex as she had been before he took her, but she wasn't going to say no, either. She knew he would give her pleasure.

  Mark pushed her legs back so that she was spread open for him. He cupped her sex and smiled.

  “Beautiful,” he said, meeting her eyes. Tara flushed. She knew how she must look, bruised, welted, her sex swollen and red. The whipping had aroused her beyond her wildest expectations. There was no denying it anymore. She was his. His slut. His pain slut. She wanted him to use her however he pleased. It was a jarring thought, because she would never have accepted being controlled in any other part of her life, and couldn't imagine giving so much of herself to anyone else, but she wouldn't trade what they had between them. It was more intense than anything she had ever experienced. She felt completely alive when they were together like this.

  Mark prepared her for his cock, and she let herself surrender to the sensation of his fingers probing her tightness. Her ass clasped tightly around the two fingers, but relaxed enough that it didn't hurt. He teased her nipples with his tongue, from one to the other, as his fingers thrust into her. Tara bit her lip and moaned. She was there again, ready for him, needing him inside her. How he knew, she didn't know, but he claimed her lips in a gentle probing kiss, her thick erection replacing his fingers. He entered her gradually, letting her sphincter adjust to his penetration. He moved slowly at first, giving her a few inches, then a few more until more than half of his length was seated inside her. His tongue traced her lips, now swollen from his kisses.

  “How does it feel, Tara?” he asked, stroking her hair back from her damp face.

  “Wonderful,” she said, and she meant it. She arched her hips up, encouraging him to go deeper.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, thrusting gently.

  “I want you to fuck me,” she said, twining her arms around his neck.