Catherine's Folly

The door to Catherine's rented room in the dingy tavern swings open as she's carried to her bed by two men. She should have known better than to accept drinks from strangers, but she'd been so excited after her first ever successful contract as an adventurer that she'd gotten swept up in the excitement - now she was paying for it.

As they lay her on the bed, it's all she can do not to throw up at the sudden shift in orientation. She can make out their voices as they whisper to one another, but whatever they're saying is lost amidst the throbbing drum of her own heartbeat; impossibly loud in her ears as the world seems to spin around her. She tries to tell them not to lay her down but the words come out as an incomprehensible mumble, slurred beyond recognition.

After a moment one of the men leaves - his tall, skinny body briefly outlined by the light of the hallway as it spills through the open door. The second, younger man kneels beside her bed briefly. She feels the blanket as it's pulled gently over her body, tucking it in at the sides to stop her from rolling off the bed. He hovers at the edge for a moment, looking at her like he's about to say something, only to clamp his mouth shut and stand up. Turning, he moves towards the door to leave her alone in the dark, unfamiliar room. She tries to lift a hand, to tell him to stay just a little longer because everything hurts and she doesn't know what's happening... but the blanket's been tucked in too tight and her arms are trapped at her sides so that she can only watch as he keeps walking, closing the door behind him and submerging her in darkness. The noise of the tavern on the other side of the door seems a world away, and she knows that no one will come to check on her until the morning. She would be alone here for hours.

Or so she thought. Suddenly, she hears the doorknob turning once again and her breath catches in her throat. Was it one of the men from downstairs coming to check on her again? Her throat was so dry, maybe they were bringing her water. When the door finally opens the light is blinding, and she's forced to squeeze her eyes shut, only opening them when the door closes once more. She hears footsteps and the scraping sound of wood on wood, as though a piece of furniture had been picked up. Then the noise stops before being replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching the bed - the smell of old sweat and hair-oil filling her nose as the figure crouches beside her in the dark. She rolls over onto her side, squinting through the darkness to try and see who it is but the darkness is impenetrable. "He..llo?" She croaks, her words slurred. The figure doesn't answer.

She jumps slightly as she suddenly feels a hand at her cheek - caressing her with slow, gentle motions. What was going on? This wasn't... this wasn't right. The hand continues down her cheek, moving behind her jaw. Its thick, rough fingers sliding around the back of her neck, holding her head still. The smell of alcohol gets stronger as she suddenly feels a slight gust of air against her lips - and then her eyes widen as whoever it is kisses her. The kiss is gentle, but firm - wet lips brushing her own. She mumbles a protest - this is wrong, what's happening? She tries to pull away, but the hand on her neck grows tighter, the kiss more insistent. Suddenly he's pressing tight against her, and she shivers with disgust as his fat, wet tongue slips from between his lips to press against her own.

His grip is strong, and she can't think straight between the pounding in her head and the overpowering smell of alcohol flooding her nostrils from his rancid breath. She tries to say something - to tell him to stop, to shout for help - but all that comes out is a dull, insipid moan that parts her lips just enough for his tongue to slide between them. That seems to be the cue for the man, who all but launches his body forward until he's halfway on top of her. She feels his tongue inside of her mouth, his hot spit mingling with her own as he drags it over and around her tongue. Using his body to pin her down, his hand slips from her neck and downwards - past her shoulder, over her collarbone, until finally his sweaty fingers make their way to her breast, groping them with sloppy eagerness as he squeezes the soft flesh hard enough to make her yelp with pain, grinding the fabric of her shirt cruelly against her nipple.

She tries to push him off, to move away, but her body won't move how she wants and the blanket still pins her arms to her side, letting her do little more than wriggle awkwardly with mounting claustrophobic panic like a fly caught in a web. The world spins around her; every gasping breath the man makes as he violates her forces the heady stench of alcohol into her nostrils and down her throat until she can't think, can't do anything but whimper as he finished with her breast and moves downwards... sliding his hand beneath the covers.

She feels his fingers - hot and clammy with sweat - as they creep down her belly before slipping beneath the waistband of her trousers, then past her underwear. Tears sting her eyes as she feels him inches away from her cunt - that most holy of places that should never be defiled, never be touched. When he slips the first finger inside of her it hurts. When the second stuffs itself past the incredibly tight confines of her lips it feels like she's being torn apart - her pained yelp lost in the man's muffled, panting breaths as he continues to slide his tongue around in her mouth.

Then the man sets to work with his fingers, and she becomes dimly aware of a slow, grinding pleasure deep inside of her. Through the pain between her legs the sensation of his fingers as they grope and slide against the sensitive, untouched walls of her cunt makes her toes curl reflexively as it sends spikes of potent, confusing pleasure to her drink-addled brain. She moans into his mouth in spite of herself, flushing deep with shame as she realizes what she's done - only to let out another, louder moan as he presses his thumb directly above her slit and grinds it against... something that makes her grip the sheets beneath the blanket in a white-knuckle grip. She realizes belatedly that she's grinding against his hand unconsciously, her body responding to the forced pleasure while her mind is too distracted to stop it, every thought feeling muddled and slow as she desperately tries to stop herself humping his palm like an eager whore as he toys with her, all the while his fat, slimy tongue fills her mouth with the taste of whisky and stale beer.

Suddenly, he breaks away from the kiss and she can feel the thick ropes of spit that connect their lips as he does - breaking one by one to fall against her lips and chin, covering them in moist saliva that clings to her skin. Then he changes position so that he's straddling her legs, his hand still stuffed between them while the other latches onto her other, as-of-yet unviolated breast, sliding underneath her shirt until he's rolling her nipple against his thumb, his harsh grip mixing with the overwhelming sensation coming from between her legs as he toys with her; every twitch of his fingers drawing forth fresh, panting moans from her spit-soaked lips. Gods, what was wrong with her? Was she actually enjoying this? Was she broken so easi-

He grips her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes, while between her legs his fingers find something inside of her that he pushed with his fingertips - and suddenly she can't think anymore for the blinding lust that strikes her. Back arching and mouth hanging open in a silent, breathless scream of mindless pleasure as a pressure seems to build up in her entire body and threatens to wipe her mind blank -- only to stop just as suddenly as it began as the man slips his fingers from inside of her. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness just enough to see his crooked grin as he silently laughs at her torment, denying her orgasm out of some needless desire for cruelty as she whimpers with frustration and fear.

Then he shifts on top of her, and she hears the sound of clothing hitting the floor. He rips the covers off of the bed and throws them to the floor and she feels cool air against her breasts and between her legs. Her thighs are soaked with liquid that makes her shiver slightly as the air hits it, but the feeling is soon replaced with heat as the man sidles up between them. She can feel his skin against hers, and something hard poking against inner thigh.

He adjusts it, and its smooth head presses against her incredibly sensitive folds, the sudden jolt of pleasure making her jump as a startled, gasping-moan escapes her lips. Belatedly, she realizes that her hands are free and the blanket is on the floor - there's nothing holding her down now, she could run for the door, pound against the wood and scream for help. Her muscles tense as she prepares to move - then he starts to slide the head of his cock up and down between her lips; teasing her. She moans again, the sound mewling and pathetic as the pleasure makes her hesitate - just long enough for the man to lean forward and collapse on top of her; his fat, clammy skin pressed against her own as he runs his hands up her sides and presses his lips against the inside of her neck; nipping the skin with his teeth at the same moment as his cock slides well and truly inside of her. The pleasure is immense - the feeling of fullness like nothing she'd ever experienced. He's almost too big for her, but the sheer amount of wetness lubes his passage into her and she cries out as he begins to thrust with jerky, imprecise movements. While his cock ploughs a path through her once virgin-cunt, his teeth nip at the soft skin of her neck and draw forth an unfamiliar pain-tinted pleasure that makes her grip his sweat-slick skin in her hands, clawing at his back more in an effort to direct the buzzing orgasmic energy filling her body than actually hurt him.

This only seems to spur the man on further, his lips forging a trail up the curve of her neck, stopping along the way to mark her soft, pale skin with his teeth and drawing fresh yelps of pleasure and pain from her lips. Finally, he lifts his head above hers. She knows he's looking down at her in the darkness, she can feel his hot, stinking breath against her lips as he stops thrusting into her for the first time in what feels like ages to draw his hips back - stopping just before his cock pops out of her before slamming back into her with a brutal thrust of his hips that drives his cock deeper inside of her than ever before, his hairy balls clapping against her ass as he buries himself to the hilt inside of her. At the same time, he presses his face downwards - pressing his fat, pungent lips against her own in another sloppy kiss as his tongue slides from between his lips to press against her own, slathering them in spit and the smell of alcohol.

It was all too much - the world was spinning beneath her eyelids as her head pounded from the drink swirling around in her system as the weight of the man's fat, flabby body weighed down on her own, trapping her arms at her sides until the feeling of claustrophobia was almost unbearable - all the while the mind numbingly intense pleasure radiating from between her legs was making it so hard to think. Then she felt it - the tempo of the man's thrusts was reaching its peak, each more powerful than the last until she felt her own pleasure mounting in spite of herself as he brutally violated her, manipulating her sensitive body as he held her down against the sweat-stained sheets in the dark until finally he hits something that sends her entire body into overdrive; legs shaking and toes curling as she squeezes her eyes shut so hard she sees stars, trying not to scream out in pleasure as orgasm builds and builds inside of her -- and then he stops, his body completely rigid as he lays motionless over her. She can hear the sound of his breath as it escapes his clenched throat in a high-pitched whine of pleasure as a sudden warmth fills the space between her legs.

Then it's over, and he all but crumples against her body, deflating like a punctured air-sack as all the breath in his lungs escapes in a great sigh that sends one last overwhelming cloud of that sticky-hot alcoholic stench wafting over her as he passes out from the strength of his orgasm and the copious amounts of drink in his system. Beneath him, its all Catherine can do not to cry as the weight of the man's fat, heavy body pins her to the bed just as effectively as the blanket did -- the buzz of her almost-orgasm slowly dying down until she's left with nothing but fear, regret, and a frustration so deep that she can't stop the tears as they roll down her cheeks, mingling with the spit that sticks to her pale skin.