Her arms batted dully against his broad chest, her legs curled up in a defensive position. If she could just push him back, create an extra inch or two of space, she could launch one foot forward and square into his stomach. He'd go flying. Her legs were strong and muscular despite her small, soft frame.
But it was no use. He had her in a bind. His tall, leanly muscled body towered over her. His dark, chin-length hair hung free. One large hand wrapped around her waist and the other pressed painfully into her sternum. He didn't bother to fight against her blows--he barely felt them. His dark eyes were almost mirthful and a grin stretched across his face as he drank in her expression. Her wide grey eyes brimmed with panic even as her nostrils flared and her mouth set into a thin, determined line. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird's under his hand, and tiny beads of sweat erupted on her brow. With a low grunt, she managed to twist out of his grip. He scrambled for purchase and cursed when the heel of her right foot collided suddenly and solidly with his chest.
The woman clambered away. Her tawny hair fell into her face in long, wavy ribbons. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the door before rising shakily to her feet. She reached desperately for the handle of the back door. She had turned it halfway before one large arm wrapped around her midsection, squeezing her tightly and dragging her back. She had just begun to scream when a hand clamped around her mouth. The arm around her waist slid up and hooked around her throat, locking her in a half-nelson. The man wasn't squeezing, but his muscled bicep threatened to cut off her air supply regardless. She thrashed wildly.
"If you stop trying to fight me, I'll let you breathe." The coarse hair of his beard brushed the side of her face as he murmured into her ear. There was a faint roaring sound that seemed to her to be coming from inside of her own head as he spoke. Her arms dropped limply to her sides. The grip on her neck released, and then he gathered her wrists together easily. The man's other hand was still firm over her mouth.
"Good girl. If you scream," his tone was light, conversational-- "I will kill you." And then his hand dropped from her face. She drew in a ragged, shaky breath. The grip on her wrists was tight enough to bruise. He guided her back to the daybed in the corner of the large, comfortably decorated room, and sat her down. He knelt in front of her. She looked everywhere but his face. She noticed a large, faint stain on the ceiling. Water damage, maybe.
The pocket knife made a sharp, threatening sound as he unsheathed the blade. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened as he pointed the tip toward her throat.
He sliced through her powder blue turtleneck with quick, deft motions before tearing it in with one decisive pull. Her breasts spilled forth, round and ample. Fine lacey veins ran across them at the fullest parts. A terrified yelp spilled from her pink mouth. The man had an erection now. But he needed to be patient. He had promised himself patience.
With one hand he cupped her left breast. It was heavy. He squeezed it gently. Slowly, carefully, he dragged the back of the pocketknife against her tender, exposed flesh. She whimpered again and closed her eyes. Her cheeks flushed a deep, incriminating red.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't hurt me."
He chuckled in response. It was a deep, rumbling noise in the back of his throat.
"I don't particularly want to hurt you. But I'll have to, if you want to keep fighting with me. Do you want to fight with me?"
She shook her head stiffly. Her eyes were wet and shining.
His cock was so hard it almost hurt.
"Use your words."
"No."
"No, what?" His voice was deep and authoritative.
"No, I don't want to fight with you."
"Good. Stay still."
So slow, so careful, he dragged the edge of the knife along her nipple. She gasped, and then pressed her lips together. She crossed her legs tightly. She closed her eyes.
The man smiled. He dragged the back edge of the knife up, slowly, until it hit the point just below her chin. He held it there for a moment, and rubbed himself over his pants. He could allow himself that much. He dragged the knife down, down over her sternum, past her belly button, and stopped at the soft, slight hill of her lower belly. A fine, raised line began to map a pink trail where the point had grazed her.
"Open your legs."
She took another shaky breath. She squeezed her small, manicured hands into fists, and then released them. The tears that had been threatening to spill over did so now, leaving trails of mascara on her cheeks. She uncrossed her legs.
"Wider."
She blubbered a little, but complied. The man sat back, the hand holding the knife resting on one cargo-clad knee, and helped himself to the view.
Her pleated chocolate brown skirt which stopped just at the middle of her thighs had ridden up, and beneath she had on delicate, bubblegum-pink panties. They said "Saturday" across the front in a cheerful, flowery script. She stared straight ahead, chagrined. He ran the point of the pocketknife along her inner thigh. A long hiss escaped from between her clenched teeth, her hands gripping the tufted fabric of the daybed. He was practically buzzing now, his muscles taught, his scrotum heavy, his dick a steel rod, heavy, demanding attention.
But he was patient.
He ran a long finger over her cloth-covered vulva. She reacted as though she'd received an electric shock. Her calves twitched and she inhaled a sharp gasp. She gripped the fabric beneath her so hard her knuckles turned white. Without any warning, he slashed the sides of her pretty pink panties and yanked them from beneath her. They were slick with moisture. A hot, thick, shameful pulse thumped between her legs. A hysterical sort of noise bubbled up from her throat. He brandished the pocket knife, holding it millimeters from her throat. She quieted at once. Tenderly, he smoothed her golden hair. He cupped her trembling chin in his big hand. Her lip trembled, tears flowing freely, gliding down the rounded planes of her lovely face and landing on her lap in wet, quiet drips.
The misty grey pools of her eyes met his. Near-convincing sympathy knitted his thick brows together, but beneath them his dark eyes glimmered with sinister intent. She was gasping through her mouth. He ducked down and kissed her--if you could call it that. His hot, thick tongue invaded her mouth. Her wordless protest was muffled. His free hand tangled in her hair, binding her to him. His tongue was wet, slimy, alien in her mouth. He bore down on her, and she felt him beneath his cargo pants, his erection grinding against her belly. She cringed away, but his arms wrapped firmly around her. She pressed her thighs together and felt her wetness coat them.
He released his grip abruptly, using the hand anchored in her hair to yank her to the hardwood floor. He ripped what was left of her shirt from her body. Tiny goosebumps appeared on her flushed, delicate looking skin.
"Crawl." It was a firm, quiet command. His heart was thumping, steady but hard, precum leaking through his boxers and leaving a dark blotch on his pants. When she didn't comply immediately, he put one heavy black boot between her shoulders and shoved her forward, onto all fours. Her round ass jutted lewdly into the air. Her inner thighs gleamed wetly and her pussy lips were engorged. The open air on her most sensitive parts sent a shudder through her that started at the base of her skull and rippled downwards. She knew that he saw. Her face felt hot. Slowly, she scooted forward on her hands and knees, all too aware of how her backside swayed and jiggled when she did. He used her long hair like a leash, guiding her to the common area in the large, open cabin. He led her like this to the flat woven rug in the center of the main room.
"Stay," he ordered. "Do not move." She felt the cold blade against the nape of her neck, and she obeyed. Her knees ached, but she was terrified of the consequences. Still, a sickly hotness was building and building in her center.
A minute passed, and then another. She was considering making a break for it when she heard the rubber squeak of his heavy shoes drawing closer once more. There was a peculiar ripping noise, and then her arms were being yanked behind her.
She realized what the noise had been once the man was halfway done securing her left wrist to her ankle. Duct tape. He secured her in this position, wrists to ankles, forcing her to lie with her face pressed to the carpet, ass in the air. And then, as one final humiliation, he shoved her damp bubblegum pink panties into her mouth. They tasted of her juices.
The man admired his handy work. The girl laid prone on the rug, her eyes wild and unfocused in her flushed, tear-streaked face. She wriggled and protested wordlessly. He wanted, almost more than anything, to yank his pants down around his ankles and shove his eager cock unceremoniously into her waiting, drooling hole and ream her out until she screamed for mercy. He wouldn't stop, not until he had his fill. She could scream and cry and he wouldn't stop for a good long while. No one would hear her anyway.
An exercise in patience, that's what this was. She'd see soon enough.
He cupped his hand over her sex, and when he pulled it away it was slick.
"Jesus, you're wet. Is this what gets you off?" His tone was one of disgust. The girl wailed around the soiled panties in her mouth. She knew there was no point denying it, that the proof was right there between her legs, but still she denied. Still she wriggled uselessly against her restraints. One calloused finger trailed lightly down the length of her sopping pussy. She shuddered. The finger trailed up, then down again, and again, his pace slow and deliberate. She grunted, and it was a thick animal sound.
"Ask for it."
Her heart thrummed. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying in vain to keep her poor, stupid pussy from throbbing wetly at his touch. And so he continued, slowly, maddeningly slowly, the pace agonizing and unchanging.
