An Agreement

It had been a hard limit for a long time. She had known how much he wanted to do this, and how the mere suggestion of it would awaken something within him that terrified her. She had not admitted it for a long time, but that part of him, despite the fear it instilled in her, was a fascination as well. For months, she had teased him, withheld or refused only to see the darkening of his eyes and the twitch in his shoulder followed by a forced relaxation as he kept himself in check. Finally, he confronted her, he knew the game she was playing, and they had come to an agreement.

She had no exam coming up, no essay to hand in, and yet she had stayed in the library until the wee small hours, nervously glancing out over the expanse of darkness where he might be waiting. The quieter floors were closing, her yawning companions were dwindling and her resolve was wavering when she received his text. It was blank, as he had promised. Her heart leapt into her throat as she quickly silenced her phone, which had woken a dozing neighbour and which, in her anxiety to receive word from him, perhaps calling it off, letting her off the hook, she had left on full volume.

She hurriedly gathered her things, dropping a folder whose contents sprawled across the floor and scrambling for her tangled earphones. The wind howled outside, shaking the plate glass pane slightly, and a sleety mist flew horizontally. She wasn't dressed for this weather, a patterned pencil skirt, some beat up Converse, a denim jacket, a t-shirt and some ankle socks were her only protection. It had been warm that morning. Nevertheless, she bundled her belongings into her satchel and hurried out of the echoey atrium. Just as she reached the electronic gates to leave, she was startled by the security guard.

"You alright to get home?"

"I, uh, I don't live far"

"Be careful", he replied, this was unprecedented. The guards at the doors of the library were malicious, constantly refusing you entry if you forgot or lost your card, carrying out airport style searches on anyone who set off a sensor and might have taken a book without checking it out. Never before had one spoken to her as she left yawning and drowsy into the night. She hadn't thought it possible to be more nervous than she had been, but this unexpected interaction had set her mind racing. Was he playing with her? Had he asked one of the guards to speak to her just to freak her out?

Fumbling, and bent against the blustery wind, she deviated from her normal, well-lit path to her damp, cold flat, and instead turned onto one of the many paths careening off in different directions across the dark expanse of grass. In the daytime, this park was flooded with students studying in good weather, sports teams, dogs and children, but at night it was terribly lit, disorientating and notorious for crime. She took one of the less maintained, narrower paths. It was unlit, she couldn't see far, and the evenly-spaced arcing trees made it feel like she was not advancing any further. The rustling of the wind in the trees made it impossible to tell if anyone was on the same path, or another, and in the wind and sleet, any turn she made to check rewarded her with a mouthful of her own hair, her eyes squinted against the sleet in the darkness.

The further she went, the less sure she was that she wanted to do this, there could be anyone out here, she was cold, she was soaked through from the rain, would he even have the guts? Was he even here? Was he just playing with her? How stupid she had been to trust anyone to put her in this position! What if she was grabbed, not by him, but by a stranger with that same dark part, one with no outlet or control. But she was just more than halfway across the park, it made no sense to turn back now. She would safe word. She could still say no she could still back out.

It was as if he had evaporated from the rain -- his hand around her wrist, tugging her backwards, she slipped a little and he let her fall to her side, her leg scraped against the rough tarmac and she whimpered as grains of sand and stone and dirt lodged themselves into her. His hand was over face from behind, there was something inside it, a rag, it reeked, and as it was forced into her gnashing and resisting mouth, she felt the rough wool of one of his long sports socks that he never washed.

"Shut the fuck up."

His growl in her ear took her by surprise, he had disciplined her before, he had punished her before, but she had never heard this raw, earthy tone before. The accent he moderated so well amongst their peer group was out in full force, and as he pushed her head to verge of the pavement, smushing her face into the vile softness of the mud, he kept his hand on her wrist for a moment.

Two taps means stop.

She didn't tap though, her t-shirt had been pushed down by the mud as she landed, and now that mud which she tried so desperately to keep out of her nostrils and stuffed mouth, sullied her clothes. A small twig found its way into her bra and pricked obstinately into the pimpled edge of her areola. This sudden invasion made her aware of her breasts, her nipples were hard, it was cold, that was sure, but as she noticed their hard nubs, a jolt shot up from her sex, through her centre, jerking her innards and consciousness as she realised that she was not going to tap, that she was going to do this, or rather, let him do this to her.

Her skirt was around her waist, when had that happened? Her panties, already well worn, were ripped unceremoniously into rags. He pulled them with two fingers, the friction against her cunt made her squeal, before he slapped her in the cunt, hard. She jerked forward, into the mud, it filled her nostrils and she couldn't open her eyes for fear of getting it in them, gasping for fresh air through the gag, the mud and her own drool and snot.

Her cunt was roughly invaded by his two fingers, they were calloused and found that spot inside her quickly, she knew this feeling well, perhaps he wouldn't be so hard on her, he firmly stroked that rough swelling deep inside her, encouraging it to grow with lust as she moaned into the mud. At the sound of her moan, he paused, and then began to buck his fingers roughly inside her, still on that spot, but with such force that she thought she felt herself lifted slightly. Her delicate inner walls protested, and her opening itched from his continued fucking -- he had never done it like this before, she found his knee with her hand, but when she did not tap, he pushed his knee on her hand, putting some of his weight on it and she couldn't help but sueal as the pain and spluttering and pressure and fear made her release a burst of her fluids into the mud below.

Finally he withdrew his fingers. Thinking it was over, she began to ease herself towards her elbows, but the blow of his knee against her thigh forced her back down, his fingers roughly fumbled around her sex, before introduced the head of his cock, she knew it so well, she could see it, swollen and dripping as he pushed it against her anus.

Wait, her anus, they had not discussed this, and he allowed her hand to rest on his thigh once more as he waited for a few moments. Paralyzed, she allowed these moments to pass, and without warning, without lube, he thrust the whole length of himself within her with a grunt. She bit her lip, the salt leaking from her eyes mingling with the mud. It didn't last long, she knew it wouldn't, he had waited so long, but with each forceful thrust she was ground further into that pool of mud and fluids which had found their way into every nook and cranny of her body. He pulled himself out of her, and she felt hot spurts of him landing on her buttocks, the slight pressure of their drops on her back and finally in her hair. A minute passed like this, she, still lying face down in the mud and him, zipping himself up, and surveying her. She sensed him moved away and stand, and before he left, he spat on her exposed arse as she whimpered into the mud.