Glass 2

I'm at the window, staring out at the curtains of rain being pelted against the glass by the wind. If the glass were a mirror instead of transparent, I would see that my face was as blank as a white page; eyes as calm as lakes. One hand rests on the frame of the window beside my head; my nose nearly against the glass between the pounding rain and myself. I'm immersed; I hear only the downpour.

And certainly not him.

There is weight against my back suddenly, heavy and damp, pressure against my lips before any noise can escape them, cold metal at my throat, and a voice in my left ear.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound." And he emphasizes on this with slightly more pressure from the blade to my throat.

My mind takes off in that moment – holding my breath, catching my reeling brain, and finally coming to focus, first on the vibrations of the rain against the glass against my body. I can feel it and the cold through my blouse and I can feel the dampness of his pants against my ass through my skirt and against my bare legs. Back to reality. A sweat crops up on my skin and I nearly shiver before the sensation of metal against my throat comes back. There is fear but I cover it with anger – anger that I had not sensed, had not heard him coming. The hand comes off my mouth and the pressure of my body. Again, his voice,

"Don't move."

The metal is against the back of my neck now, moving down, cutting through the fabric of my blouse. A chill follows the blade down my spine until it's all the way through to the bottom. I feel the air against my back and my anger blooms again to cover. Still, I clamp my lips around it and remain my silent; the sound of my heart filling my ears. His hand slides under the cut material and I try to focus on the glass pressing out against the rain. The hand slips around to my stomach, sliding up between my breasts, pulling me back, and I nearly scream and lash out then – only the thought of not knowing where the hell the knife is stops me. The pulling brings me a step back, then another and his hand pushes against the front of my shirt till it pulls down my arms and finally slips off my hands to the floor. I clench my hands into fists to keep from covering my breasts. Closing my eyes again, I try to close everything out as I feel his hand on my right shoulder, turning me.

Once facing him, I look directly, and hopefully fearlessly, into his face. I find a mirror of my own emotionlessness save for what might be a slight grin. He glances down my body and I'm unaware of the hand that reaches up and around and clench my hair. It pulls hard, my teeth clench, I suck a breath in through them as my neck is arched back. The point of the knife touches the underside of my throat.

"Scared yet, bitch?"

I hold my breath.

"You can talk now – tell me; are you scared yet?"

I can hear the smirk in his voice now and it ups my resolve. My lips clamp down tight. Fuck him – he won't get a thing from me. The tip of blade leaves my chin and my head is forced forward and down. My eyes are filled with the dull metal of the knife against the sheen of sweat on my skin. It moves down over my breast, the metal warm from my skin, and all I can do is watch, my body frozen as the point inches towards my nipple.

"One more time – tell me you're scared."

And I am, despite my resolve, I know I'm trembling. But it doesn't make me answer – I refuse silently, answering with only my breath, trembling, and cool anger.

It's like watching a scene in slow motion when the point of the blade pierces my flesh so close to my nipple, but my reaction is instant. I cry out and one of my so far clenched hands comes up to grab the hand that holds the knife – I back up the two stumbling steps till my ass is against the window, and my other hand comes across my breasts to cup the wounded nipple. I can feel warm moisture between my fingers but I refuse to look down again, fearing distraction. In his face I see first shock and then anger. His hand, already loosed from my hair, comes down to first slap me hard across the face and then to push against my chest so that my back slams against the glass behind me. Adrenalin rushing, my cheek burning, I prepare to fight back this time – until the knife is against my throat again.

"Try it again, cunt – go ahead. You so much as breath without me telling you to and it'll be a lot worse than this little nick."

And god help me, the fucker found that tiny little cut in my skin again with the knife tip and opened it, only slightly more. This time I scream; the pain hot, engulfing my breast.

When it stops, I realize I'm close to tears and bite them back as I realize he's stepping back; the hand is off my chest. And I'm watching in a daze, trying to keep my knees from buckling and forcing myself not to look down at my breast as he stoops to paw through a bag on the floor. How the fuck did he get in with THAT without me knowing? He pulls out of it something silver. Handcuffs. I tense, holding my breath again, as he brings out a handful of rope along with the cuffs.

I try to listen to the rain pounding on the glass as he approaches me again, trying to will myself not to think; not to feel. There is only internal fighting when he cuffs my wrists together in front of me and there is only a glare on my face when he steps back slightly to look at me. He comes close again, too close this time, pressing against me, his hands behind my back, unzipping my skirt. I turn my head to one side, closing my eyes, knowing my face is flushed and praying he doesn't see. He pushes the skirt down my hips, his hands sliding over my ass, only slightly touching through the fabric of my panties. I shudder in response and silently cuss my skin out for tingling; trying to will it back to sleep. But I can feel the air on my skin, the dampness of his jeans and shirt, even the place where a little bit of his boot touches my ankle beneath my know crumpled skirt.

My eyes are closed and I snap myself out of the daze as I realize he's not touching me any longer. He's in front of me, tying the rope around the chain between my cuffed hands. There is a length of rope left when he is done and this he holds as he turns without a word. And I realize I'm expected to follow. This snaps me right back to reality. I stand still, breathing hard, and planting my feet firmly to the ground. As the rope pulls taunt between us, a chill runs through me, but I stay still. He turns and I swear I can feel my heart beating in every inch of my skin as he takes two steps back to me, grabs the back of my hair, and pushes me forward a couple stumbling steps. He starts to walk again, but I stay still, panting hard; fresh adrenalin doing all the talking. He pulls and my expression can only say 'fuck you' at this point. The chain between my wrists is in his hand and he yanks hard – I respond with an angry growl, new sweat breaking out all over my skin as he gets one leg behind me, knocking me, sprawling, to the floor, my ass and shoulders taking the hardest blows.

Before I can regroup, his boot is on my throat with just enough pressure to keep my head on the floor. I catch my breath as best I can; barely keeping tears at bay this time.

And he's only grinning.

"You look good down there but we really didn't need to do all that – you could have just asked... nicely."

Every inch of my flesh is burning hot as I can feel him staring at my body. I watch him, my face hopefully showing nothing but contempt; forcefully keeping the words I'd like to say behind my bitten lips. His boot comes up off my neck and he's suddenly crouched down beside me, slipping the knife from his belt, and resting it against the top of my cunt, just barely pressing against the fabric of my panties. I close my eyes. I refuse to shudder as the blade slips between the fabric and my skin and I, again, try not to feel. But I do feel – chills, tingling, burning. The panties are cut and pulled away but I do not move until he pulls me up from the floor and is walking again. This time I follow; nearly broken or at least broken at the moment.

I remain in this daze, stripped literally and stripped of my resolve as well. I strain only against crying now; only against giving him emotion – he can take anything else but what's inside me. My final resolve is to show nothing but cold, hard spite.

He's pushing me down on the bed and breath is the only thing I'm fighting for as he ties my hands to the headboard. I nearly cry for the third time as he secures my ankles to the bottom corners of the bed; my body stretched and spread eagle on the bed. I can't find it in me to fight anymore and frustration hands off to defeat. My eyes stay shut until I feel him on the bed between my legs. I hear him unzip his pants and, seconds later, I feel his body on top of mine. His dick is against the top of my thigh, too fucking close to my pussy – this wakes me up. I open my eyes and look him right in the face.

"Feel that?"

He moves his hips just slightly, but enough to make me bite on my bottom lip against whimpering. I still give him nothing.

"If you can't, you will. I'm gonna break you of this 'ice princess' stance you've got going, one way or another. Now, you can go down nicely, or you can fight me – either way, I'm still gonna enjoy the hell out of it."

I'm staring right into his smirking eyes as he moves his hips slightly so his dick ends up between the lips of my pussy, and the last of my adrenalin and resolve kicks in. I spit in his face and very softly say, "fuck you."

I'm holding my breath and trembling; I'd been praying I'd feel somehow stronger but it's funny how late one realizes there's very little strength to be had when one is tied down securely. He laughed. Only laughed as one hand wiped his face clean.

"Good choice – I'll enjoy it all the more, bitch."

He started pushing the head of his dick into me and I let lose a cross between a growl and a scream.

"Go ahead and fight me – the tighter those muscles are, the better it's going to feel when I fuck the shit outta you."

He's breathing harder now and my head is tossing back and forth on the bed, my body fighting him, trying to push his dick out.

"Might not hurt as much if you relaxed though."

And as if on cue, my muscles relax even as he says the words. His dick pushes into me, hard, filling my cunt, and he groans as my eyes roll back. My brain cuts in with questions – how the hell did it slide in like that? Was I wet after all that? Why the hell am I throbbing?

I try, one last time, to shut my cunt up and put it back to sleep but she's wide awake – and she woke up fucking hungry. I let go of some of my tension and let my cunt swallow his dick as my skin breaks into a fresh sheen of perspiration. He's fucking me slowly, like a lover might and I'm still fighting enough not to arch my back or lift my hips but a whimper comes out of my throat, unwillingly. I feel the blood rush to to the surface of my skin even before he acknowledges hearing anything. His only response is to look me in the eyes and thrust in once, hard. My eyes roll back once more and this time I put my brain to sleep. The thrusts get harder, faster and I can feel them up through my body. There's heat between my thighs, the juice from my pussy is running out of me every time his dick pushes in; every single pore is throbbing now. I can hear him growling and moaning over my panting and it feels like every ounce of tension gathered through the previous events has become sexual tension. My body gets close to release and the tension is there again – not to push him out but to wrap around him and pull him in. I arch my back under him, meeting every thrust now, my only thought is of cumming and cumming hard to be free of all this tension. Straining against my bonds, I hear him cum and feel it, hot inside my body; he's fucking me hard and fast through it, nearly pushing me over the edge with him. And he pulls out immediately. He's still gasping from his orgasm as he leans up off of my body.

I was so fucking close I could scream. My cunt throbbing on the sudden emptiness, I squirm on the bed; how I look is now the last thing on my mind. I whimper loudly and catch myself saying the word 'please' over and over. I can no longer blush for it, even with the look of satisfaction on his smug face, as my skin is suffuse with pink already from sexual excitement.

"No, no – you're not taking anything today, girl – I am"

He leans over me and I feel two fingers slide into my cunt. My back arches immediately as hovers over me, his free hand braced on the bed, and licks my wounded nipple. There is no longer pain – only intense sensation that drives straight down to my cunt. He's fucking me slowly with two fingers, making my hips rock on the bed; his mouth sucking, pulling, biting at my nipple. I'm growling, whimpering, and begging all at once; my pussy's on fire around his fingers when he pulls them out and starts pushing all four of them in. And I'm tight and open at the same time, meeting every thrust with my hips as he works his hand into me. He leans back again, working his hand in me harder and I'm so far gone I barely notice that he's curled it into a fist against my womb. He's fisting me with the strength of his whole arm behind that hand and I can feel my muscles tensing for the inevitable orgasm, my hips frozen in the air. I can hardly hear his words over my own begging and moaning.

"Let it go."

And with him pounding into me, I break. The orgasm nearly splits my body, growling, screaming, and crying, in half. My body shudders, clamping down around his fist and it feels like it stretches out for hours; my face ends up as wet as the insides of my thighs. Still shaking, I don't even notice the ropes and cuffs coming off. I don't even know I'm still crying until he is beside me, holding me through the trembling and tears, in the midst of miles of broken glass.