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Joe laid me on the bed, gently, as if we were tender lovers, before lying down beside me. Doris had left the bedroom door shut behind her, leaving me alone with a vile creature. He eyed me appreciatively. He stroked the back of his hand across my cheek and down my neck, stopping only long enough to wrap his large hand around my throat, squeezing softly—as if I needed reminding that he was in charge, that he could pull the air right out of my body whenever he decided he’d had enough of me.
Please do.
His hand slipped under my blouse and rested flat on my belly. I fought back the urge to kick and scream, knowing it wouldn’t help. He propped himself up onto his elbow and, carefully, unbuttoned each button of my blouse. Holding still while he prolonged the inevitable was unbearable. But he intended to enjoy every second. Doris was right: my enjoyment was irrelevant. This was about him and only him. I suspected all aspects of his life were that way.
As I laid on the bed, my heart pulsing erratically, I rolled my eyes high in my head and looked out of the bedroom window. The house next door stood tall, but its black windows mocked me. No one was home. No one would see me crying, flailing on my own bed. No, I was alone amidst a neighborhood full of people.
Once the buttons to my blouse were undone, the soft pink fabric dropped to both sides of my body. I was hyperaware of every one of his movements, dreading what the next might be. For an eternity, he stared at my breasts through the virginal, pure white, sheer lace of the bra he’d chosen for me to wear. The bra wasn’t mine, though it was the right size—34 C. He’d either brought it with him—which meant he’d planned the abduction—or bought it since being here, which meant he’d planned this attack. Both thoughts sickened me.
When he slipped his hand behind my back and unclasped my bra, I let out an involuntary gasp, incapable of silencing my panic. I bit down on my bottom lip until I could feel nothing but the sharp edges of my teeth. Fear that he’d hurt me for making noise without his permission gripped my insides in a tight fist. His focus remained on my body. Without freeing me from the straps of my bra or the sleeves of my shirt, I was restrained, unable to move without his approval. Despite my lack of mobility, being partly covered comforted me, like I was somehow protected.
He pushed my bra down until it was lying just below the underside of the soft mounds of flesh, pushing my breasts up and into a better position for him to appreciate. With one hand playing with one of my nipples, his mouth suckled the other. His warm breath and tongue coaxed my nipple into a stiff peak, despite my lack of arousal. Bodies could be cruel that way. While he played with my now firm nipples, by both hand and mouth, his free hand slid down further until it skimmed along the underside of my jeans at my waist. An uncontrollable shiver ran through my body. I wished, begged again for death. His mouth formed into a smile while still catering to my breast as he continued his ministrations.
His mouth glided to my neck from the one breast he’d been eagerly tending to. He kissed the hollow of my neck before following the natural line between my breasts and down my belly, letting his tongue dip into my navel. He then slithered off the bed to stand at the bottom edge, no footboard there to block his sight. He eyed me like a predator would its prey. I resisted the urge to cover myself, keeping my eyes focused on him despite the hypothermic chill overtaking my near-naked body.
His wolfish eyes held me in place with invisible restraints. I dared not move or look away. He unbuttoned my jeans, slid the zipper down so agonizingly slow I began wriggling beneath his hands. The corner of his mouth rose. Sick bastard. He was convinced I was enjoying his touch. He traced his fingers along the sides of my jean-clad legs and again caressed the area of flesh just underneath the waistband of my pants. His thumb and index finger did most of the exploring while his remaining fingers softly skated across my pelvis, still covered by fabric. Yanking hard against my weight, he pulled free the heavy material covering my legs. In less time than the blink of an eye, they were on the floor. My white, lace panties stayed.
As if I was an intruder on his moment of worship, I watched him watch me with holy awe. I diverted my eyes, despising his sensual appraisal.
“No,” he commanded. “Don’t you dare turn away.”
I turned back, doing as he said without question.
As he lowered himself onto the floor at my feet, I propped myself up onto my elbows to see what he was planning to do next. His palms cupped my knees as he knelt before me. My legs involuntarily snapped shut faster than the shutter to a camera. He did not attempt to part them, causing a tentative rush of relief to course through me.
He grasped the heel of my right foot, raising it to eye level. My toes curled in my socks as I waited with trepidation to see how he’d remove them. With slight pressure, he stroked his thumb down the center of my foot—my leg quaked in response. He gently lowered that foot onto the bed, following the same routine on the other one.
With both legs flat on the bed, both feet just barely past the edge of the mattress, he began massaging each foot, one at a time, relaxing me so much I closed my eyes and let out a soft moan. Warm hands worked the tension out of my body, tearing rational thought from my already scrambled brain. He continued in such a tender manner that every touch felt...good.
When he stopped, I barely noticed in my state of contentment.
My eyes fluttered open when his fingers slipped under the bands to my socks, guiding them down the length of my foot in a slow, deliberate fashion. When the air touched my feet, I wiggled my toes in a moment of relief as if I was free in some unexplainable way. The knowledge that I was no longer bound, even if it had been only by socks, was wonderful.
I waited, my heart beating a nervous rhythm. Something similar to anticipation had taken hold, eliciting an inexplicably positive response within me.
With both of my feet raised at once this time, a soft breath swept up and down the pads of my exposed skin, causing a tingling sensation to run up my legs. The after-effects spread and lingered in my shoulders. Holding my feet close together, he drew one toe into his mouth, suckling it with care. He continued for a few seconds before moving on to the next foot. This time his tongue ran down and up the length of my big toe, leaving a kiss on the tip.
Too soon, he stopped, rising to his feet before lying down alongside me. With him close, our noses almost touching, a familiar wave of horror and revulsion burned within my veins. I choked back the bile burning a path up my throat. I was sick, both in the body and in the head. How could I have felt anything other than disgust at his actions?
It may have been a moment, a minute, or an hour that passed before he lifted his hand and, with his eyes firmly fixed on mine, tucked damp hair behind my ear. While there, he caressed that sensitive area of skin and lightly tugged at my lobe. He let his hand continue its exploration of my body. Though most of my skin was exposed, my blouse and bra straps trapped my arms. My panties were also still on, much to my bewilderment, considering my jeans and socks laid piled on the floor.
I didn’t dare turn my face away from him, but watching his lustful eyes wander the length of my body was a feat.
His hand skimmed from my lobe, along my jawline, down my neck, across my chest, and stopped before going lower. He skimmed his hand over part of my blouse that lay atop my shoulder before his thumb disappeared beneath the fabric. I lifted my shoulder off the bed while he gently slipped it down my upper arm, freeing me from the confines of cloth. He released my other arm in the same manner. Coaxing me with his hand, lifting me by the center of my back, he freed the shirt that laid beneath me. It was thrown to the end of the bed, falling into the pile of the other shed garments.
He stroked his fingers up and down the soft satin material of my bra strap. He rested his arm on my exposed breasts, the weight of his firm forearm causing them to flatten against my chest. He moved his hand, returning the cups of my bra to their proper place while guiding my breasts back into the delicate lace material. With my bra on, I waited for him to help clasp it together again—he didn’t.
It was too much to hope for that he was done with me.
His large hand, warm and calloused, glided over the thin material, causing my breasts to swell, my nipples to harden, and my body to betray me once more by responding to his foul touches.
He fondled the soft skin, one at a time, before extending his hand to feel both in unison. A guttural growl emanated from his chest, past his parted lips. His eyelids rolled closed, allowing me time to examine his face, if only for a moment.
His brown hair was cut short, almost hiding the gray hairs speckled throughout. His skin was taut with only a few apparent wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. The skin peeking out from beneath his short-sleeved shirt was a shade lighter than his forearms and face, which was golden, like cognac, not naturally but from time outdoors.
When his eyes sprung open, the sated, almost calm appearance from seconds ago was gone, replaced with an intense, wild sense of abandonment. A fire ignited, burning and crackling in the depths of his deep brown eyes, growing darker as I laid in wait for what was coming next. Once more, I was an animal on a butcher block in his slaughterhouse.
His animalistic instincts were unleashed on me. Faster than I could follow along, one of his legs landed on mine, effectively trapping me in place. He ripped one side of my bra off my shoulder. With a violent hand, he kneaded the now exposed tender flesh. I struggled for breath from the sudden and unexpected pain. He noticed but didn’t stop.
Positioning himself on top of me, his lips crashed down on mine, taking my breath hostage, his tongue unrelenting as it probed the recesses of my mouth. I wanted to scream, to cry, to anything, but instead, I laid still and prayed for the ending.
He drew back, panting. Shifting slightly, so his mouth was near my swollen, sensitive peaks, he sucked one into his mouth, biting with such force that I cried out. He switched to the other, this time moving to the underside and sucking and biting that sensitive skin too. The physical pain rivaled the pain in my heart and soul, which shattered into pieces all around me. I cried out again with pain and fear. One of his hands slammed down on my lips, silencing my screams, while his other roamed down the length of my body.
I squirmed, my mouth trying to expel the screams captured in my throat, my body resisting the threat looming above me. He halted what he was doing, which stilled my movements. He came face to face with me and asked with earnest, “Do you want me to finish this, or do you want to keep prolonging it? That is all that you’re doing right now.”
The ferocity behind his words rendered my resistance useless. If an ending were possible, then I’d do whatever he wanted. I clamped my mouth shut, lying flat and still.
“That’s what I thought.” His eyes gleamed as he gained his victory over me.
He rolled off me, stood, and pulled me by my ankles to the foot of the bed. He parted my legs so far and fast, I imagined him snapping them off to take home as souvenirs.
Instead of removing my panties before repositioning, he ripped them off in a mad fury. Dropping to the floor, between my legs, he placed his face into my sex, breathing in my scent. My stomach churned. Then, he stood in between my legs, keeping them spread wide, alternating his hand for where his face had been. I stiffened. He continued. His hand moved in a circular motion, sliding one finger then two inside of my dry core. He moved his fingers in and out, terrorizing me with his touch. Tears clung to my lashes as he removed his fingers, which were absent of signs of arousal. His painful assault threatened my consciousness.
Taking a step back, he unbuckled his belt, sliding it free from the loops on his pants. My vision blurred, and my throat constricted as he unbuttoned his dark blue jeans and deftly slid the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace. He removed his pants and underwear. Before he could see them, I blinked away my tears, praying for death by any means other than what was at hand.
Fully naked and unashamed, his muscular body, with brown hair lightly covering his chest and legs, stood before me, along with a fully erect member. I summoned the strength not to turn away. My eyes tiptoed slowly up to meet his hooded gaze. He enjoyed being on display, loved that I was studying him as if in awe, somehow unaware that the image before me was revolting.
In silence, he closed the small space between us, my legs still spread wide, my sex on display for his eyes to see. He slipped his left hand under my waist, lifting me slightly from the bed, then with one powerful thrust, he entered me. I clamped shut around him so tightly I feared I’d ruptured something in the process. He was unfazed. If anything, it elevated his pleasure. He hoisted my legs, an expectation to wrap them around his center clear. My body did as he wanted while my mind and heart retreated somewhere far away from reality. With a few powerful thrusts, his seed released inside me, further breaking me from the inside out.
My prayers had gone unanswered, yet I found myself praying, begging that my womb would not provide a home for his demonic offspring.
He pulled out to lie next to me, spent and sated, leaving moisture pooling at the apex of my thighs, further evidence of his invasion. I wanted to cry, to curl up with a blanket and pretend he and everything he’d just done was a nightmare, but the smell of his skin permeated my senses, gluing me to the bed and that moment in time.
When his focus turned to me, I watched complete bliss morph into pure hatred and anger.
What more could I have done for you? I wanted to shout while beating my fists against his bare chest.
“You will drop your pants for me upstairs, let me undress you here and now, and yet you can’t give me one orgasm? I’m sure you know how to make a man happy, what with your past activities, if you will.”
Past activities. What was that supposed to mean? I’d never been intimate with anyone I didn’t love, not that there was any way he would know that.
“You must know that a man needs his woman satisfied to find satisfaction himself. How deep does your selfishness run? All that I just did for you and you didn’t care enough about my feelings to give me that. Don’t you think you owe me?” he asked, his eyes pure black.
Doris said he wouldn’t care about my satisfaction. Why did she lie to me? Or did she? Maybe he didn’t bother with her. It shouldn’t have mattered if I did as long as he found his release. I was wrong. I could have moaned, screamed, cried out with pleasure, but he’d have known it was a ruse—I wouldn’t have been capable of faking it.
I begged for an excuse to come to me, anything to appease him, but I was left wanting. My mind wasn’t cooperating anymore, especially after he’d defiled my body beyond repair. My desire to overcome my circumstance, to survive, was fading away like the hope I’d left upstairs in the freedom of my crawl space.
The sound came before the pain. The palm of his hand struck the side of my face, causing my eyes to tear up, leaving me weak, disoriented, numb, and faint. Tossing clothes at me, he commanded I get dressed. While leaning against the closet door, his arms crossed over his chest, he watched me do as he commanded. I wanted to shower, to wash away the traces of him that he’d left behind. I bit down on my lip. There was no way he’d accept my request. Every inch of me ached, causing the simplest tasks to result in a struggle. Clasping my bra was the most challenging. My sensitive and bruising breasts resisted the touch of lace so soon after their assault. When I finished, I stood on trembling legs in front of him, back straight and eyes forward.
He arrived in front of me in two long strides. His anger and agitation bled from his pores. All stemming from my lack of an orgasm? Did he honestly expect me to climax? It killed me to admit my body betrayed me in its satisfaction from his foot massage, but that didn’t compare to an orgasm.
Then reality dawned. It wasn’t about my satisfaction. He needed me to feel good so that he could feel good. It was my job to validate him as a man. But how was I supposed to do that with a man as vile as him? Even if I could fake it, why would he deserve that effort?
The next time he had me alone in that room, and there would, without a doubt, be a next time, he’d want me to orgasm. That was one disgusting thought stacked on top of a million more, barely remaining suppressed in my scattered mind.
His image shadowed in front of my eyes. The weight of his actions and future expectations unleashed itself onto my shoulders. Soft, blue shag carpeting cushioned my fall as I caved from the pressure. His arms around my back and under my legs, the jerking movements of being carried, and the sound of a latch unlocking stole the comfort of carpeting beneath my fatigued muscles. Cold, hard, wood planks replaced it. I drifted into a slumber so deep that somewhere in my psyche, I was positive I truly had died.