Control

"Hey darlin'," Gene said softly, "Thought you could use this."

Steam rose from the cup and the smell of strong sweet coffee brought Michele back to her surroundings. She looked up to see Gene's face looking down on her with concern.

Oh, god.

The fluorescents seared her eyes and she winced.

Why him, of all people? Just keep it together until he goes away. Whatever you do, don't cry.

"Thanks for the coffee. I'm fine." In a distracted way, Michele was pleased that her voice wasn't shaking much. The coffee was sweet and hot, it soothed her tortured throat.

"Sure you are darlin'. I knew that from the moment I saw you." Gene smiled at her to soften his sarcasm.

"What do you know about it?" Michele retorted angrily.

Go away, don't look at me like this, leave me alone!

"You don't know " Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Anything." She turned back to her coffee, desperately wanting him to go away and leave her in her misery.

Gene reached over and lifted her chin gently with two fingers, looking at her carefully. "I know things you can't even imagine." Michele shrank from his touch, from his gaze, but Gene held firm. "I know you didn't take my advice." She cast her eyes downward, shamed. He brushed her hair back, grimacing slightly at the puffy, bruising flesh of her face and lips. "I know that trouble you were looking for came and bit you in the ass, didn't it?"

Michele's lips trembled now, the strain and the fear of the night threatening to bleed out over the floor as if Vincent actually had stabbed her. Still, she gathered her last shreds of pride to herself, steeling her resolve not to break down.

"I've seen that jackass before," Gene continued, "and I know what he does." He winced as Michele jerked, her eyes opening wide to stare at him in shock.

Damn, he thought, a bad one.

Still, Gene was moved at the way she fought for control, at her attempt at dignity.

A lone harbinger of the flood to eventually come escaped from the corner of one sea blue-grey eye, and slipped down Michele's cheek. Gene caught it with his thumb and wiped it away.

"I know you need someone to take care of you." A second tear joined the first. "I'm just up the street from here. It's clean and quiet, and no-one will bother you." Mistrust flashed in Michele's eyes.

"Not even me. You don't have to work later, do you?" Michele just shook her head. "Let's get out of here then. Get some sleep. It will help, I'm sure."

Michele was exhausted, at the end of her reserves, and flagging badly. She wasn't sure why, but she trusted Gene. Something in soothing low tone of his voice. The way his smile touched his warm, emerald-green eyes. The concern she saw in them.

It really couldn't get any worse.

Her decision made, she stood up, silently, dully hoping that this one would be better than the last.

***

It had only been a few blocks, but Michele was almost crying by the time they reached Gene's house. The soles of her feet were as raw as her nerves, torn by the unforgiving pavement. She barely registered her surroundings, letting him lead her up the stairs directly to an overstuffed green couch. He slid her coat off and gently pushed her down. She leaned back, closing her eyes, drifting while Gene went off to another room. Vaguely Michele registered the smell of

wood? Cedar shavings?

A light, pleasant smell that she found reassuring. Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes to see Gene standing in front of her, carrying a medium sized stainless steel bowl and a white cloth. She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Your feet are pretty messed up, darlin'." Gene knelt, setting the bowl down on a small, cherry-red end table beside the sofa. "We need to get them cleaned up."

And the rest of you, too, depending on what that dickless wonder has done to you.

Gene mused.

Slow and easy, gotta go slow.

He rested his hands softly on her knees. "We need to get your stockings off, OK?" Michele stiffened, and he sighed. "OK then, we'll just roll these up, then." Michele loosened a little. "Give me a foot, darlin'." Gene opened his hands and Michele placed her right foot carefully in them. "That's a girl. You're OK, darlin'. Everything's OK."

Michele's stockings were shredded along the bottom of her feet. Gene carefully separated the strands, lifting them off with a delicacy belied by his large, calloused hands. All the while he talked in low, reassuring tones about what he was doing, hoping to alleviate Michele's tension. He peeled the shreds off and gathered them, pushing them away from her damaged feet and up her calves.

Gene continued to make soft, soothing noises as he carefully washed her, gently rubbing away the dirt and small stones embedded in the skin. Michele relaxed, lulled by his quiet ministrations, the softness of the cloth against her feet and the gentle splashing of water. "You've got a cut on this one " Gene teched. "I'll be right back."

I was such a bitch to him. How can he be so nice?

Michele felt the breath hitched in her throat.

I don't deserve this. I'm nothing but a -

Gene was back, and knelt down again. He took up the cloth again and washed the ball of her foot again. He then took a cotton swab and doused it with alcohol.

"Hold stil, darlin', this might sting a bit."

Michele smiled wanly.

Not as much as Vincent did.

Slowly her hand crept up to her face, prodding gently.

Gene noticed the moment and looked up, frowning.

Fucking bastard. Takes a real tough guy to beat on a woman like that.

"I'll get there in a minute, darlin' just let me finish up here." He applied the cotton to clean her cut and Michele hissed. "Shhhh, you're allright, all done now." Gene put a band-aid over the cut, lifted her foot, and kissed the bandage. "There. All better now."

Tears welled in Michele's eyes at Gene's tenderness, to someone he barely knew, to someone like her.

Worthless little slut.

Gene picked up a pair of thick white tube socks and held them so Michele could see.

"I'll just put these on to keep your feet clean." Michele nodded, not daring to speak and embarrass herself. He unrolled the socks, pulling them open with his hands and gently placed them over her feet. He brought her feet together and put them down on the floor.

"I'll be right back darlin', just stay put." Gene gathered up the bowl and litter from the first aid and left again.

Michele, so close to tears, hugged herself as if to hold in the sobs that threatened to burst from the dam of her control. She looked around the room, trying to distract herself.

The walls were wood paneled in a rich, warm oaken color, matching the wooden floor. The couch was against the wall, facing a window covered with rich looking, cobalt blue curtains. To Michele's right was a small red brick fireplace, empty now, but a stack of neatly piled wood lay waiting on the hearth. The floor to ceiling bookcase beside it was filled with titles lined up in neat precision from all kinds of authors, Michele picked out Kings and Cusslers, Faulkner and Shakespeare.

In the other corner there was an entertainment center with impressive stacks of CDs flanking either side. To her left, on the other side of the entrance way, there was a comfortable looking easy chair and footstool. Another end table held an antique hurricane lamp, a telephone. Through the entrance way she saw the hall and an open door to a room that looked like an office. Everything was tidy and clean, and there was a cozy feel to it even with the lack of decoration.

"Feeling a little better?" Gene had returned again with the basin, and set it down on the end table before sitting down beside her. "Now. Let's have a look at that pretty little face, darlin'." He lifted her chin and a scowl flitted across his face, quickly replaced by an encouraging smile. "There now, no permanent damage done."

Michele couldn't meet his gaze and closed her eyes, feeling the tears well up again.

"That's it, girl, just relax." Gene gently swept away traces of makeup, tears and semen, reaching across her occasionally to rinse his cloth. His hand slipped behind her neck to support the back of her head, "Tilt your head back, now." He brought the cloth down her chin and washed down her neck.

Michele's emotions tossed and turned Gene's breath was warm on her face and he smelled nice, like cedar and the sea. She didn't know what to feel. Gene was treating her as if she were a small child - soft and gentle, calming, soothing.

She alternated between wanting to shy away from his touch, still raw from the assault. She also wanted to sink into his arms and have him hold her, protect her. She wanted to slap him for rejecting her earlier. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to push him away, run away, not wanting him to see her for who she was, what she was worthless, a bitch, and a slut. Suddenly the tears she couldn't hold back any longer swelled and she began to sob miserably.

Gene dropped the cloth and gathered her in his arms, effortlessly pulling Michele on his lap. He held her as she cried, pressing her head against his broad chest, stroking her hair, her back, murmuring softly to her and rocking her gently.

Michele shuddered against him, letting all the pain and fear and humiliation rush out of her. At last her sobbing slowed and stopped. Michele could hear Gene's heart beat in his chest and it lulled her. Gene noted the change in her breathing.

"You think you can sleep now, baby girl?" He asked. Michele, wrung out, cried out, and utterly exhausted, nodded once more. "Allright then, I'll just get you some blankets and you can sleep yourself out here on the couch."

But, but - no!

Michele reached her arms up around Gene's neck and clung to him. She didn't want to leave the comfort of his arms, how safe she felt there.

Gene hugged her a moment, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be right back, darlin'." He gently pushed her off of his lap. Michele felt cold as she watched him go.

He returned shortly with a small pile of bedding. "I brought you a t-shirt," he said, holding it out, "I thought you might like something to sleep in. The washroom's second door down. You'll find a fresh toothbrush in the drawer." Michele took the t-shirt, smiling a little in thanks, but still not wanting to say much. She was afraid she'd start crying again.

Michele padded down the hall to the bathroom, its light shining in the hallway. Not thinking, she left the door open as she entered. It was again, neat and tidy, like everything else she had seen of Gene.

An old fashioned straight razor, comb, toothbrush and paste were lined up with military precision at one side of the white tile counter. They lay on a navy cloth beside a shaving mug. Beside that, turned up on its end was the shaving brush, and a small bottle of aftershave. There was a small bar of Irish Spring soap in a blue container. Michele opened the drawer over the vanity cupboard, and sure enough there was a small purple toothbrush, still wrapped in plastic, a comb, a brush, some hotel soaps and shampoos and -

tampons

?

Michele took out the brushes and left everything else. She unwrapped the toothbrush and did her teeth, wondering at what kind of man Gene was, keeping a drawer of toiletries for an obviously female guest. She brushed the tangles from her hair. She peeled off her dirty skirt and blouse, suddenly feeling them soiling her skin, traces of Vincent still on them. She dropped them to the floor and grabbed the soap and washcloth, wetting them, lathering and scrubbing her chest, under her arms and breasts, wiping away all hints of what had happened.

The washcloth hit the tops of her rolled up stockings.

A nice man, a kind man,

she thought, the kind of man that would care for her feelings. The kind of man she'd never had.

Too good for me.

She sat down on the toilet to take off her stockings.

***

She'd left the door open,

Gene thought,

interesting.

He could hear Michele at her toilette and after he'd finished making up the couch he stood at the doorway to better hear her. Man, it had been too long since he'd heard sounds like that. He missed those private sounds of a woman, cherished them. Now if only she were a little happier she might hum, or sing.

That would be sweet. And

- Gene smiled widely as he heard Michele sigh, then sit. He waited. Soon he was rewarded with that sweet little tinkle that was music to his ears. Call it a fetish, but to him it was the sound of trust and intimacy, and intimacies to be had.

Damn! I've got to stop thinking like that.

He moved away from the entrance way when he heard Michele flush, not wanting her to know he had been listening to her.

"There you are, all ready now." Michele stepped back into the living room, and Gene put his hand out and took hers. The shirt Gene had given her was thin, and the light showed Michele's curves clearly through it. Gene had to resist the urge to look at her lingeringly, to see where the hem of the shirt fell.

No, not now. Cool your jets, boy.

He led her over to the couch and Michele lay down, then Gene pulled the covers over and tucked her in.

"I'm right at the end of the hall, darlin', if you need anything." Gene stroked her hair, and Michele, not able to meet his eyes, looked at his beard, thinking she wanted to run her fingers through it and see if it was as soft as it looked. "Get some sleep now."

"Thank you for being so nice. I'm sorry I was so -" Gene put a finger to her lips.

"Shhhh, go to sleep. We both need some rest." Gene kissed her once more and left to go to his bedroom.

Michele lay awake, wanting to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes her mind reviewed what had happened earlier that night. Vincent's face, that horrid dog. The smell of their breath. Her feet hurt. Her scalp stung from Vincent pulling her hair. Her throat was sore. Her shoulders throbbed with the ache of strained muscles. It was very quiet and in her mind, Michele heard his cruel, demanding voice.

Slut, worthless bitch!

She heard her own voice -

Master. .

The little house creaked with unfamiliar sounds and each one made her jump, unreasonably thinking it was Vincent.

Finally, she got up and tiptoed to Gene's room, pausing at the doorway. She could hear him breathe, and wanted to be with him, in his arms. She was afraid he would be angry with her Gene had already done so much and it was so late. But right now, she was more afraid of being alone.

"Are you still awake?" Michele whispered.

Gene was, wrestling with his own emotions. Anger at that jackass, concern for Michele, and a growing desire for her that he was trying very hard to ignore. Michele was obviously mixed up, and possibly damaged.

Do I really want to become involved?

"Yes, baby girl, do you need something?"

"Please, I can't sleep. I don't want to be alone right now." Michele trembled.

Michele sounded like a little girl, frightened by a bad dream. It touched Gene that she would come to him after what she'd been through, trusting in him.

Yes, I do want her.

"Come here, Darling." He pulled back the covers, and Michele climbed in beside him, lying on her side with her back to him. Gene drew the covers over them and pulled Michele into his arms. With a small sigh, Michele snuggled into him and they slept.

***

Michele's eyes opened. Through the bedroom door she saw a glow coming from the room at the end of the hall, to the left of the front door. She rose, curious, feeling the need to find out what it was. She walked slowly to it, cautiously, silently. She pushed the door open and the slight breeze from it's movement made Gene's t-shirt flutter against the curve of her bottom, tickling her and making her start in surprise.

The room was set up like an office, dominated by a large oak desk. A black leather chair was pushed off to one side, and on the desk was a large red leather book, a photo album. Michele loved pictures and eagerly went over to look, hoping to find pictures of Gene as a young man, as a boy.

As she padded over to the desk, she ignored the sense of foreboding that emanated from the album until she touched the cover. It felt warm and soft, like skin, and it made her uneasy. Still, she wanted to see what was in there and she pushed the book forward to the edge of the desk, leaning over it as she opened the cover.

Michele gasped in shock and surprise. A full-color 8 X 10, a closeup of Michele's face, eyes squeezed shut and gagging against an anonymous torso, her mouth stuffed full in fellatio.

She recoiled in fear and tried to slam the book shut, but instead turned the next page. Another full-sized picture Michele caught in relief the light of a doorway, caught in the motion of leaving, and her date from last week reaching after her from the bed. She recognized his face.

She tuned the page reluctantly, but inexorably, as if controlled by remote control. Michele on her back, fists clenched in sheets and head turned to the camera. She had a sneer, almost a snarl on her face, being fucked by another of her conquests, his face slack in idiotic bliss.

Another page, another position, another man, one after another after another. In each picture her face was to the camera, varying expressions of sheer boredom, anger, revulsion, and hatred on her face. She couldn't stop turning the pages as her horror grew.

A blonde woman on her knees, naked except for her tattered stockings, her face mashed into the groin of a faceless man standing over her, a knife in one had and her hair fisted in the other. The colors in the photo were vivid, in high contrast, raging reds and brilliant yellows and every gaudy flesh tone in between on a black background, seemingly painted in garish, angry strokes. Every muscle in her back was in defined in relief, strained, and her face was hidden, but Michele knew it was she, and Vincent.

The small hairs rose on the back of her neck, sensing someone just behind her. A scream rose in her throat like bile and spilled out sharply as she felt her hair being gathered up. The ocean forest smell of Gene's aftershave filled Michele's senses and she shivered, a thrill of fear racing through her, still turning the pages of the photo album.

No!

She knew he could see them; she shook as icy prickles of shame scampered over her skin like crazed spiders. She squeezed her eyes shut, her throat clogging, wishing beyond anything that she could just disappear.

Michele felt him push the shirt up her back, heat radiated from his palm, pressed in the middle of her back, leaning her farther over. The hand gripping her hair pulled her head up and her back arched to accommodate the pull.

"Open your eyes, girl." Gene commanded.

"No, no, I can't!" she cried miserably. Hot tears spilled from under her lids, scalding her cheeks. They ran down her neck, splashing on her breasts and the heat from them seared her skin.

Thick body hair like fur scratched the tender skin of Michele's thighs as she felt Gene's body press close behind her. He was rigid, the muscles of his abs and thighs pressed into her skin and molded her body to his.

"Little whore." Gene sneered, smacking her full, quivering cheek, "Don't you want to see how many men you've fucked?" The sharp pressure of his hard palm ignited a fiery throbbing on the skin of her ass. Her anguished cry dissolved into a moan as the pain melted into her, transforming to a powerful pulsing deep inside of her.

"Open your eyes, slut!" Michele felt her lungs empty, stung at his words. She inhaled sharply as she felt him, his cock, smooth, hard and erect, its pulsing head poised at her hips. She flushed as it touched her, flames of pleasure flaring throughout her body.

"I will be obeyed!" he snarled, and thrust into her powerfully, sinking to his full depth in one stroke. Every sensation magnified, Michele felt each beat of his heart in the throb of the prominent veins snaking over Gene's cock. The friction of his cock against her sensitive labia made them burn. She opened her eyes, and whimpered in confusion, overwhelmed - now there was a new picture, it showed her and Gene.