Iou

She looked up at his head, tousled above her in the soft dawn light. She wanted to reach up a hand to tangle in that hair, but her hands were still cuffed to the headboard. He smiled at her, a gentle smile - it still surprised her that his smile was gentle.

"What are you thinking, lassie?"

"I was wondering what would have happened yesterday if I'd said 'no'."

"You should have said 'no'," he said, slightly grim. "That's why I pushed you so hard. I was trying to make you say 'no'."

"Oh," she said. Her mouth quirked down, and then up. A ripple of laughter shuddered suddenly through her, squeezing his softening cock out of her cunt, leaving her suddenly bereft and lost.

It was less than twelve hours since it had first entered her, and already it felt a vital, an imperative part of her wholeness.

----

She knocked on the door again. She tried not to chew her lip - it was a habit she was trying to grow out of... If he didn't come... It had taken so much courage to get here...

The door opened suddenly, and she blinked into the instant gloom of the passageway. It was him.

"Oh," he said. "Hello. Come in."

She went in, uncertainly. He closed the door, and looked at her. "I brought your jacket back," she said.

"Yes," he said, leading her through into a brighter kitchen. "And?"

"About the IOU..." she stumbled over her words.

"About the IOU?" he asked, prompting her.

"I came about the IOU."

"OK," he said, looking at her coolly. "Strip."

"What?"

"Strip," he said. "Lose the clothes. Get naked. Strip."

"But..." she said. He didn't help her. "I thought..." she said. She chewed at her lip, and then froze, looking at him.

"Look," he said, "who owes who what, here?"

----

And the thing was, she did. She'd sat in his car that Saturday night - three days ago - naked but for his leather jacket. His leather jacket and her own sneakers. She'd been shockingly, disgustingly drunk. She'd meant to get drunk, because it would give her courage... but Josh and Ed had helped... She'd asked him to fuck her, sitting naked in his car. She'd asked - she'd begged him to fuck her. She'd said she was fed up being the last virgin...

He'd asked her if she wanted to go back up the hill to the lads. And the truth had been that she hadn't.

She had gone to the party to get fucked. Because it wasn't a joke and it wasn't a cliche. She didn't want to be a virgin any longer. She felt that she was missing out on something all her classmates were getting. She felt immature. She felt excluded. And the party up in the woods seemed like a good opportunity. She'd even taken rubbers. And a lot of cider. Because even if you do want to get fucked, it is a bit scary.

And when it had - when it had almost - happened, it had been more than a bit scary. The thing was, she would have gone off into the woods with either of the twins. They'd definitely been on her hit list. If she was honest with herself she might even have gone off into the woods with both of the twins, one after the other. But... both at once... both at once hadn't felt OK. Not for her first time. And they were so rough with her. Josh had torn the dress off her while Ed had held her. She'd felt it rip - he could have unzipped it but he just didn't bother. And then he'd thrown it into the bushes, in the dark.

She'd protested. She'd struggled. Of course she'd struggled, but the twins were a lot bigger. A lot stronger. A lot less drunk, if she was honest. She'd struggled and she'd protested but she'd known it wasn't going to do her any good...

"Lads," a voice had come out of the trees. Not a loud voice. A male voice, a strong voice, an older voice, a reliable voice. "Lads, the reason people mostly get away with rape is because mostly there are no witnesses."

Ed had let go of her so quickly! The man from the trees had shrugged out of his jacket and held it our to her, and she'd run, whimpering, to huddle into it, to cower in the shadow behind him while he'd talked quietly but firmly to the twins. Her bra and knickers and that ruined dress were somewhere in the bushes, but she didn't even think to look for them. The stranger had said he would take her home, and she'd followed him down the hill through the wood as meekly as a ewe lamb.

----

She'd thought that was the last she'd see of those clothes. She'd thought they were gone. Of course it wasn't; of course they weren't. Josh had given them back to her last night, in front of everyone, up in the car-park at the top of the town. Steve - a mean bastard, Steve, she'd never have gone into the trees with him no matter how drunk she'd been - Steve had asked Josh if she was any good. And she'd said, 'how would he know? He didn't score.' There'd been more ribbing, and it had got to her, and somehow she'd found herself saying 'I don't fuck boys like you. I fuck men with experience.'

At the time it had helped her keep her head up in front of her friends.

But afterwards she'd felt bad. She'd felt bad because she didn't like lying. So in a way she'd come to make that retrospectively true. And, of course, there was the IOU. Her father had always taught her that she had to pay up on all her debts. That it was a matter of honour. She wasn't quite sure what her father would think of this debt...

She shrugged off the heavy leather jacket, and hung it over a chair. She started to unbutton her blouse... The floor of his kitchen was paved with flagstones. Gray flagstones, neatly levelled and jointed. Probably they were modern, but you couldn't be sure... she folded her blouse on the seat of the chair, dropped her bra on top of it, unbuttoned her jeans...

She looked up at him, under her hair, her face flushing. He'd seen her in the wood, of course, but it had been almost dark. He'd seen her by the dim glow in his car, as he'd driven through the night with her wanking beside him - her face flushed darker at the memory.

He was looking back at her. If there was any emotion in his face she couldn't see it. She pushed her zip down, wriggled the jeans down over her hips, kicked her sneakers off, pushed the jeans down her legs. She folded them carefully in front of her, putting off the moment when she had to face him, full frontal...

"Good girl," he said. "And the knickers."

She flushed still darker. She hadn't meant to not take off her knickers. She'd just somehow sort of forgotten them. In a weird moment it felt more embarrassing to have failed to take them off than it would be to take them off. She pushed them hurriedly down her legs. They pooled on the floor, and she swept them up and laid them on her folded jeans.

She was naked.

Naked in the bright afternoon sunlight in his kitchen.

She looked up at him, looking for... approval? Desire? Something.

"OK, you might as well put your shoes back on," he said. "There's some champagne in the fridge, I could bring it if it would help with the nerves."

She was grateful to be able to crouch to put her shoes on. She made more of a business of it than she strictly needed to. "You wanted me sober," she said to the floor.

He hadn't exactly wanted her sober. He had refused to fuck her when she was drunk. It had shocked her a little - sobered her a little - that he knew who her parents were, knew where to drive her home. But even when he'd stopped outside the steading she'd still been pestering him to fuck her. She'd known - even then, even drunk she'd known - that she was going too far.

That was when he'd written out the IOU, in neat block capitals. That's when she had signed it, in a swirling, scrawling flourish. He had, she thought, dared her. Well, he had.

-----

Now she struggled a little against the cuffs that held her wrists to his bed, as he leant his head down to suckle at her breast. She wanted - how she wanted - to hold him...

"Why did you write it if you wanted me to say 'no'?"

*I thought it would shock you," he said. "I thought when you sobered up you'd be shocked by what you had done. I thought it would make you think."

Well, she had been, of course. Shocked. Late the following morning when she'd finally shambled down stairs, her mother had asked her about the party. Like, properly asked, pretty stern. She'd said she was still a virgin, of course she was. And it had been true so she'd been able to convince. But she'd thought about that IOU, neatly folded up into his wallet. He was probably as old as her mother. Perhaps he'd even gone out with her mother? He'd certainly known where the farm was.

She'd made a promise. You don't welch on promises. Both her father and her mother had taught her that.

-----

"Come on, then," he said, lifting a bag and moving towards the front door.

She glanced down in horror at her sneakers. She looked up again, catching him studying her. "We're going out?" It was almost a squeak.

"Of course," he said, as if it was the most normal thing. "Oh, bring my jacket if you want to."

Dazed, she lifted it off the chair and shrugged it on, feeling again the cool, silky lining against her skin. It was already for her a most comforting garment, one which made her feel safe. Talismanic. Much too big for her. Much too heavy. And smelling of him. But comforting, solid, substantial, concealing. She huddled it round her, and started to zip it up.

"Did I give you permission to fasten that?"

"No..." She flushed again, feeling like a naughty child. A naughty child who doesn't know what the rules are. She unzipped. They walked out to his car, and got in. He started the engine, moved off. Between gear changes he rested his hand on her leg, his fingers very close...

Later that evening - afterwards - they stopped at the supermarket on the way back to his house. His - her - local supermarket. He'd given her the choice of him cooking for her, or going to a restaurant, and she'd chosen for him to cook. So he'd stopped to buy ingredients. He hadn't made her go in. She could have stayed in the car. He hadn't made her leave the jacket unzipped. But, brazen, feeling - smelling - their fluids drying coolly on her thighs, she'd thrust her hands deep in the pockets and walked in boldly. And in the vegetable aisle, with no-one but the security camera to see, she'd flashed him, and he'd grinned, and kissed her again.

But that was afterwards. Afterwards there would be heady euphoria. This was before.

They were in the little car-park in the forest, where they'd been three evenings earlier. As then, he dressed, she naked - but for his jacket. Then, it had been full of cars and party-goers. Now, late afternoon on a weekday, they had it to themselves. He got out of the car, stood waiting for her. She got out, stood up, shut the door, looked up at him. The bag hung from a strap over his shoulder.

"Give me the jacket," he said.

She looked back at the road. There weren't any cars in sight, but she could hear one coming. "Please..." she said.

"Give me the jacket," he said.

Wordlessly she let it slide down her arms, and was again completely exposed. He hadn't touched her. He hadn't even smiled. She shivered, utterly unsure of herself. Did he even want her?

"Come on," he said, and started walking up the path through the trees.

She followed. What else could she do? And when he stepped aside she went past him, and led the way. When they came to the clearing where the bonfire had been, she looked back.

"You're filming me!"

"Yes," he said.

"I don't think that's OK!"

"Look, lassie," he said, "who owes who what?"

"I promised you my maidenhead," she said, desperately. "I didn't say you could film me."

"I'm just making a record of the event," he said, as if it was the most reasonable thing.

"You are not going to film us fucking!"

"Yes I am."

"You are so not!"

"Are you chickening out?"

Well, there it was. She knew she was a fool to allow herself to be dared. She didn't have to sign that bloody IOU, but it had felt like a dare. And now... she should not consent to being filmed. She should so not! Who knew what he might do with it? She could be all over the Internet... but words like 'chicken out' got to her. She didn't chicken out. It wasn't who she was. So she turned and climbed on up through the wood, passing by the place where the twins had tried to take her down. She assumed he'd meant to take her there, to complete the cycle. But she didn't want to go back there. It was her maidenhead, and they would go to her place: to the viewpoint.

----

"But why didn't you tell me 'no'," she said, squirming. Even she hadn't known those spots above her hip-bones were both erogenous and ticklish. He'd found so many erogenous places on her skin... She hadn't known. She hadn't considered her body, before, as a sex organ. No-one had used it, before, as a sex organ.

He leant up on his elbow and looked down at her, smiling. His hand traced from her groin - from her cunt - up to her left nipple. "Why didn't I tell you 'no'?"

She squirmed and closed her eyes. The nipple was a little sore - so was the cunt, to be honest. Neither of them used to this, yet. But... good sore.

"Yes," she said, on an intake of breath.

"You don't say 'no' to what you've longed for."