A Beginning

'You know how to sew, right Chelsea?' Dean asked.

Chelsea had had a little crush on Dean for as long as she could remember. They had done martial arts together as teenagers, and now that they were studying their post-grads at different universities, the only time they saw each other was at yearly gathering with the old teammates when everyone was back in town for Christmas.

Chelsea felt her cheeks grow warm as Dean addressed her.

God, he's looking right at me with those gorgeous deep brown eyes.

'Yeah, I mean I can take pants up or sew on a button.'

Dean grinned, his perfectly straight teeth showing. 'Awesome! One of my favourite shirts had the pocket torn off on Christmas day by my little niece. Reckon you could swing by and take a look? See if its salvageable? The wife has another family shindig tomorrow, and I'd love to wear that shirt...'

Oh yeah, Dean's wife...

Dean's wife was a genius, and a stunner to boot. Because of course. But she was always super aloof and distant in regards to her husband whenever Chelsea had seen her. She thought Dean deserved to be treated a lot better, but that was none of her business, and they seemed happy enough.

Chelsea put thoughts of Dean's wife aside and smiled.

'I can definitely take a look. I've got no plans and a pocket shouldn't take too long anyway. If it's something I can do I could easily have it back to you later tonight or early tomorrow morning. The motel I'm staying at isn't far from your old house. Actually, I think it's just across the road. But no promises! I'm not exactly a tailor.' She smiled self deprecatingly.

Dean looked relieved. 'You're a lifesaver Chels!'

'No promises!' she reiterated, not wanting to let him down.

Two of the other teammates announced their departure. Chelsea checked her watch. 8pm.

We're getting old

she smiled to herself. Though they had spent a few hours at the restaurant, caught up on the news of the past year. Some of these friends had kids at home and family to catch up with. Chelsea thought a little bitterly of her own, not exactly estranged, but definitely distant family. And lack of spouse.

One day when I'm a little less shy, I guess. But for now, at least I have an excuse to spend a bit more time with Dean and dream.

She felt her cheeks warm again.

God, I hope no one can see that...

'I think I'm ready to call it an evening too.' Dean declared to no one in particular. 'Hey Chels,' he turned to her 'if you're good to go, why don't you come straight back to mine and you can sus out my shirt situation? Pretty please?' He grinned so that his dimples showed.

Could I ever say no to that?

'Sure, no problem.'

The rest of the crew said their goodbyes for another year and the two of them headed to Dean's old house. As they walked, He explained how his parents sold it to him a year or two ago, and how he rents it out for most of the year, but keeps it unoccupied so he can use it for the holiday season.

'Oh, this is me.' Chelsea indicated the cheap motel across the road from Dean's street. 'Just let me grab my little travel sewing kit.'

She darted in and swiped her kit into her handbag.

'All good!' she gave Dean the thumbs up across the little carpark.

'Of course, you take a sewing kit with you when you travel. Never change Chels.' Dean grinned and shook his head.

Oh god, he thinks I'm so lame! Ah well, hell appreciate it when I mend his shirt.

As they walked though Dean's front door, they recounted the more amusing conversations of the evening and reminisced about old times in the dojo. 'I remember the basics and most of the self-defence, but things like escorting someone off premises and subduing an intruder, I haven't had to practice at all, so I don't really recall' Chelsea was saying as Dean kicked his shoes off.

'Oh, that's easy' Dean said, chucking his keys in the bowl on the hallway table, and taking his wallet and phone out of his pants. 'I haven't had to use it of course, but I do remember it, Here, I'll show you.'

Chelsea popped her bag down and slipped off her heels. She gave a small chuckle. 'Alrighty then, and then I'll take a look at your shirt. So,' She stepped slightly closer to him and reached her hand out towards his wrist.

I wonder if his skin feels as good as he smells?

'If I'm going to escort you I grab your wrist and- '

'I think its easier if I show you.' Dean interrupted. He grabbed her wrist gently, but definitely firmly, twisted it back on itself and took her crooked elbow in his other hand. Using upwards pressure forcing her to walk on her tippy toes to avoid the awkward sensation of her arm bending in ways it shouldn't.

'Ah, I see. I was almost right' She nervously smiled

I hope he can't tell I'm blushing. His hands are so strong.

He guided her into the master bedroom down the hallway.

'And that's how you do it' Dean released her.

'Well hopefully I never do need to use it, but thanks for the refresher.' Chelsea looked around and realised the rest of the house was dark. 'Is the missus still out or something?'

'Carly is staying with her family a few suburbs away tonight. Her sister just had a baby so they're all busy fawning over the new bub and helping prepare for the massive influx of cousins and distant relatives tomorrow.'

So, we're here alone.

Chelsea felt her face turn hot again.

There's no way he can't see it this time. Gotta change the subject!

'So where is this shirt? Ill see if I can't do a quick hand job on it.' Dean's eyes sparkled with mischief, and he cracked his signature half grin, one dimple showing. Chelsea's face dropped.

you fucking knob

she thought. 'I mean, like, hand-stitch it, not like... I didn't mean... obviously...'

Dean's grin just got wider. Chelsea looked at her feet, trying to hide her very obviously red face.

'First,' Dean started 'I'll show you the second bit, and then we can get to the hand job hey?' he laughed.

Oh good, change the subject. Fuck, you fucking awkward fuck Chels...

she berated herself, beginning to look up.

She felt a weight on her back and realised she was face down on the bed.

'Wha-'

oh, that was really quick

'Too fast?' Dean asked, his breath hot on her neck.

'Oh, the whole "subduing an intruder" thing...' Chelsea managed to compose a sentence. Dean's whole body was pressing hers into the bed. He held her arms behind her back with one hand, the other pushing her head against the bed with just enough force to subdue her movement. 'I didn't quite catch how you did that.'

Oooooohhhhhh fuck he's right on top of me. Too much.

She felt the heat between her legs.

Too much... he totally knows... He can't not know, it has to be completely obvious.

'Maybe I should take a look at that shirt pocket and- '

'There is no shirt,' Dean stated matter of fact-ly.

Chelsea froze. Her brain not quite as quick as it should have been. Still face down on the mattress, Dean's weight still pinning her down.

No shirt

she thought.

But that's why I'm here...

The thought echoed for a few moments.

Why would he ask me to fix his shirt if there's no shirt to fix...? He's still on top of me.

'Umm...' Chelsea's thoughts almost came together. Then she felt the bulge. Her feet were still on the floor, spread apart by Dean's legs so she couldn't find any real purchase. Her legs pressed against the side of the bed, her rear protruding off the edge and her torso and upper body face down on the mattress underneath Dean's. And between her legs, between her cheeks, she felt a definite, hard, bulge.

Holy fuck. Was that always there? Maybe that's just what guys feel like when they're pressed against you like this.

She felt the heat in her rising again.

You're delusional girl. But why did he ask me over if there's no shirt... He's been pinning me down like this for a while now, what's the go? Is this... flirting? You fucking awkward fuck Chels...

'Chel-sea' Dean's singsong voice right above her ear interrupted her scattered thoughts. Her heart stopped. And then wouldn't stop, beating faster. She felt her pulse in her wrist, where Dean's hands held hers immobile. She felt it in her neck, just beneath Dean's mouth, his breath hot and moist on her skin. She felt like her racing heartbeat must be completely visible through her skin.

'I... I don-' She stammered.

I don't understand. No way he's into me. No fucking way. And Carly. What is happening?

'You seem confused Chels.' He breathed into her ear

Chelsea tried to turn over and get up. She barely had any wiggle room beneath Dean. He wasn't a big guy, but he had a strong physique and she felt the weight of his muscles on top of her. As she moved she was reminded of the hardness pressed into her backside. She felt a prickling, tingling sensation creep over her scalp and her arms. The beginnings of perspiration. She knew adrenaline was kicking in. A distinctive moistness arose between her legs.

Keep it fucking together, he's clearly just playing around. Just old teammates having a laugh...

She giggled nervously, her confusion and uncertainty evident in the tremor in her voice: 'You gunna let me up? I didn't even follow how you "subdued me."'

Dean's response was blunt and flat. He was calm and in no way uncertain. 'You don't seem to understand. I lured you here under false pretences. And I now have you completely at my mercy.' Chelsea heard the smirk in his voice. 'I'm not joking.' He added, just in case Chelsea was hanging on to any illusion that Dean was messing with her.

Shit. Is this happening?

Dean tightened his grip on her wrists. Chelsea uttered an involuntary 'unh' in response. Then she felt him grind his bulging mass into her backside. She gasped.

He didn't hear that. God, I am not enjoying this,

Chelsea thought. But another part of her pleaded

more.

'No...' she tried to protest. 'Dean,'

"Here's what's going to happen. I am going to do whatever the fuck I want with you. With your body. I am going to make you do things. I think you're going to enjoy it. I can feel your heat.' He pressed hard against her. She felt sure that the wetness in her panties must surely start to show through the thin fabric of her dress soon. She resisted the bodily instinct to push back against him.

I did not agree to this. Not like this.

The feeling of vulnerability was paralysing.

This isn't Dean. This isn't real.

Dean continued "But you do have an option. If you say, "caramel milkshake" I will stop. You'll be free to walk out of here. You can fill out a police report for sexual abuse, rape, whatever.'

Like a safe word?

'Ca-' Dean allowed Chelsea to get a single syllable out before clamping his hand over her lips. Chelsea's eyes widened, realising the extent of control Dean had over her.

'There will be consequences though.' Dean took his hand of her mouth and reached into his back pocket. He threw a small pile of home-printed photos in front of her face. Chelsea struggled to focus on the images, her face so close to them. When her eyes adjusted she recognised herself. Naked. Eyes closed. Kneeling on the motel bed, and very visibly enjoying one hand pleasuring her pussy, the other hand with one finger obviously buried in her asshole. Chelsea's stomach leapt into her throat. The photo was slightly pixelated, obviously zoomed in, the photo being captured from an angle that was just right to see over the top of the bookshelf that obscured the majority of the view from the window, and from some distance

Like with a zoom lens from a two-story house just across the street...

but there was no mistaking the identity of the woman or what she as doing.

And I was fucking thinking about Dean too.

The sweat beaded on her forehead, threatening to trickle down the side of her face.

Dean continued: 'If you don't want to cooperate, I know a certain conservative Christian microbiology professor who would probably not appreciate being sent compromising photos of one of his employees. Especially if that employee would be about due for a promotion...' Dean took his hand away from her mouth and wiped away the bead of sweat from Chelsea's temple with a gentle finger. 'I sure don't want to have a negative effect on your career.' Dean let the end of his sentence linger, the threat palpable.

He's blackmailing me? My boss... Would he do that?

Chelsea realised she didn't know anything about Dean.

He spied on me. He saw me... He took pictures!

Chelsea felt indignation overtake shock. And yet part of her mind turned in another direction.

He's into me, too. He wants me.

Dean began talking again. 'So, you do have a choice.'

'I hardly see how' Chelsea retorted.

'You know what you have to say to make it stop. If you don't say it, then what were doing is perfectly consensual'. Dean practically purred into her ear.

'You're fucking blackmailing me!'

'More like a bit of extra motivation.' Dean undid the tie from around his neck with his free hand.

'this is...this is... rape...' Chelsea's voice trailed off, barely audible, her accusation lacking conviction. Dean just scoffed, the smirk on his face audible to Chelsea though she couldn't see it. He released his grip on her arms as he wound his tie around her forearms. The silky material felt cool and sleek against Chelsea's wrists. As he finished tying off the knots that bound her arms behind her back, Dean planted a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. 'We'll see.'

With her movements restricted, Dean lifted his weight off her body. He took a step back from the bed. Chelsea just lay there, feeling incredibly defeated. She knew a myriad of ways to defend herself, but they were all useless when she had willingly allowed herself to be overpowered. A few moments passed before she was consciously aware of no longer being pinned down underneath another body. She moved her neck to look at Dean.

'Beautiful' he observed, regarding his view of Chelsea bent over the bed, legs spread, arse up, arms bound behind her back.

He's still stupidly gorgeous. How infuriating.

Dean undid the top buttons of his shirt. Chelsea wasn't sure why she wasn't moving. His fingers made their way down his shirt buttons, but his eyes never moved, and his sly grin never fell from his face, even as he pulled his shirt back and slid his arms out of the sleeves. Chelsea could see his muscles move as he moved, his body taut and poised as if to strike his prey at any moment. And still his gaze was as intense as ever.

'On your knees' He spoke softly. Chelsea shifted her eyes from his body back to his face. 'Now. Slide off the bed and get on your knees.' He reiterated.

There was hesitation in Chelsea's movements. She started to move and then halted, considering what she was doing.

Do I just do what he says? What if I don't? Would he hurt me? I can say the safe word. But the pictures...

She shuffled a little bit, pulling her feet together, but slowly. Buying time. Thinking. As she moved she could feel the slickness between her legs. Her heartbeat had slowed a bit, becoming accustomed to her situation. Now it sped up again.

Holy shit. I don't want this. Why is my body so turned on? Would it do this for anyone else? Shit. Can he tell?

Her stomach slid past the edge of the bed. She bent her knees and folded into a kneeling position facing the bed. She didn't dare turn her face for fear Dean would see her thoughts written there.

She felt his hand snake around her pony tail, firmly wrapping it around his fist. He suddenly pulled downwards, forcing Chelsea's face upwards, exposing her throat. She gasped. It was surprise, but even to Chelsea's ears it sounded sensual. She felt Dean lean close to her. Smelled his subtle cologne mixed with an unmistakably manly musk.

Ungh, that's hot.

the thought arose unbidden.

Shit, get it together. No, this is not okay.

She started to form words to tell him to stop, but Dean spoke first, his lips so close that they tickled her ear lobe:

'Do not. Hesitate. Again.' He emphasised every word. His meaning very clear. He traced a finger from the hand that wasn't holding her head back from her jawline, slowly drawing a line down her throat, passing the dip where her neck met her torso. He continued down her chest. Pulling the line of her dress forward as if taking a peek down her cleavage. He released the fabric it settled against her skin once more. Chelsea thought her heart must be getting close to flatlining it was beating so fast. With Dean's attention focussed on her chest, she was very aware of it rising and falling rapidly with her breathing, almost panting.

Get. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together. Woman. Who cares if your boss sees those pictures? He can't do shit because of anti-discrimination laws. I've done nothing wrong! No, shit, do not think about Dean near your boobs. No. no. nope. Not thinking about that. Why don't you say the word?

Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut. Trying to deny the predicament she was in. and then he let his grip on her hair go. She was aware of Dean taking up position directly behind her. His hands moved over her shoulders. Slowly. Gently.

That doesn't feel... Rapey...

Chelsea felt the touch of her old friend, the guy she had a crush on for years.

He's good. God he's good. Why couldn't this happen differently? Why did he have to marry that

woman?

Why couldn't he have asked me...

Chelsea wished. His hands moved to the straps of her bra. Finding their way to the centre of her back where he pulled the clasp away to unhook it.

But I don't want it like this. Its wrong. This is wrong.

'Ss..stop...' Chelsea surprised even herself with her protest, weak though it was. Dean's hands didn't stop though. They slid around to her front, slipping the straps pf her bra off from underneath her dress. His hands slithered between her skin and the fabric, freeing her breasts from their support. His fingertips skated over her nipples. They were hard. His fingertips felt slightly rough to Chelsea, and she supressed a whimper that tried to sneak out of her. And then his hands were moving back up, guiding her bra straps down over her shoulders. 'No,' he responded, 'I don't think I will stop'. He sounded smug.

*sniiiick* the sound of scissors closing on the strap of her bra, severing the thin strip of material so that he could remove the lingerie completely, without untying her arms or even removing her dress.

He could really hurt me if he wanted to...

Chelsea considered that she was completely at Dean's mercy, the things he could cut with those scissors not limited to fabric... She heard the dull thump of her bra being tossed to the corner of the room where it landed on top of Dean's own discarded shirt.

No.

'Nnn... uhhh' Chelsea drew in a sharp breath, a response to the surprise of Dean once again pulling her hair back. She quickly shut her mouth to prevent any more involuntary noises escaping.

'Shhhh' Dean placed a firm finger against her lips. 'Shh' he repeated less forcefully. He released her hair again but she couldn't bring her head back down for Dean's finger planted on her mouth. She remained facing upwards, neck bared. His finger moved slightly, shifting the pressure. Down just enough that her top lip allowed his fingertip to feel a hint of the wetness in her mouth. He moved it to the side a little, then back to the centre, relaxing her mouth further. A second finger pressed against her lips and pushed down a bit, guidingly. Cheldeas bottom lip followed, her mouth opening slightly. His face was in front of hers now and she looked in his eyes. They were focused on her mouth, his own mouth silghtly ajar, completely focussed on what he was doing. One finger continued to hold her bottom lip down while the other finger slowly wriggled its way between her lips, inside her mouth. It pried her teeth apart with not too great an effort. First the fingernail, up to the first knuckle. Chelsea felt the slight roughness of Dean's fingerprint on the tip of her tongue. He worked it in a little further. He moved it about inside of her mouth. It was up to the second knuckle now. inside was squishy and wet. Chelsea detected a faintly salty taste, and realised she had never felt more violated than she did in this moment, with a man's finger inside of her against her wishes. She saw Dean's tongue move inside his own mouth. Ever so slightly licking his lips. He swallowed and withdrew his finger. Their eyes met again. Chelsea felt powerless to look away as he put his finger into his own mouth and sucked her saliva off it, then smacked his lips as if savouring her taste.