Rain 39

Dear Reader:

Although I take great pride in bringing you a darker and more intimate portrait of sex and domination, this is not for the faint of heart. Please know that this is a much more indulgent and sacred piece of non-consent than the status quo. You've been warned.

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Marie was a fragile little thing. Maybe a hundred pounds sopping wet, a hair over five feet. No, she didn't have double D breasts. She was not movie star or a model. She hated parts of her body, as all women do. On a good day she'd admit to modest and kind features. On a bad one she'd ask for the whole thing to be scrapped. In that way she was like all little girls pretending to be women. Rife with stunning, breathtaking beauty and unaware that she so much as had it. It made her all the more desirable.

She was hardly a vestal thing. Even before the age of consent she had had partners in their 30's. Before twenty, she had dominated women with strap ons. She was a liberated woman and had played with all sorts of slaves and partners. But something was always missing. It wasn't exactly a mystery as to what it was, but finding it had proven difficult.

By twenty-two, she had already been involved with a man for three years. He was a good one, and kind to her, but acknowledged that he wasn't everything she needed. This came about slowly and with great difficulty. There was an affair, she vowed never again, and the details are inconsequential as you might think. Don't romanticize it. This is simply the prelude. This is a young and beautiful woman, voracious, unable to get her needs met and searching for something darker.

The thing that I will always look back and enjoy is that it took her four days to confess falling in love with me. It was three days past due, but I admired her ability to whisper the words "I can't say that yet." A cowards way of admitting her feelings, but she was such a scared little thing. By this point her long-term beau had allowed her a sphere of operation independent of him. At first she started simply by saying that it would be phone only and rarely. Then it escalated to the point that she called me nightly, and if she didn't, apologized. It was as swift and vicious a downward spiral as I had ever seen in a girl. I confess that the emotional attachment that I had not set out to create was flattering at worst.

At times, it was enthralling.

It was consuming to have a woman so devoted to my words and company. A woman - a girl - who said it would never be. Never became shouldn't. Soon she was promising me she would only give out one day, but not soon. She only begged me not to wait chastely. She told me she fantasized over the thought of me telling her what I'd do to some other slut in her name. She'd make up elaborate shopping lists of qualities in women she wanted me to desecrate. Tall. Blond. Girly. Everything she wasn't in a single iconoclast.

A man who was once her world was suddenly lacking. Not only was he not enough in the bedroom, but there was this new and greater connection out there in the world. Her hunger for depravity only increased. Soon she would call me with his cum inside her. The new favorite game became pretending her fingers were my cock, and his juice was mine. It was harder to imagine she wasn't willing, but with the right motivations she could do even that.

Hurt. She craved it. When she didn't get stretched open to the proper point she'd beg for it. Her little, tiny fingers had to be pushed in four at a time just to give her the thrill she wanted. Unless her long, sharp nails scratched her inside to the point that it was painful even to urinate she wasn't happy. It became quickly evident that she would need more and more and, without being in her bedroom, it was a challenge to provide it. Her beau lived at home and, condoning the actions or not, would not stand for an affair. My imagination was quickly becoming as exercised as her depravity.

When my cock arrived in the mail she was terrified and enchanted. It was a replica of course, and a shoddy one at that, but it did the job. Slightly wider than a roll of quarters and scantly over seven inches long. The first time she inserted it into herself was a moment of absolute bliss. Her groan was only slightly more erotic than the tears.

Breathlessly, on a night like any other, she asked if I would see her. I made no false claims or pretenses. In no uncertain terms I told her what would happen: I would take her. She assured me it would not happen. That she wouldn't allow herself to go into those waters again, not even for me. She pleaded that she just needed to see me. To look me in the eyes and place her hands on my face. To have, at least for awhile, me.

I assured her again that if she met me she would be claimed.

She had no car. Although it was impossible for her to see, she was very much a princess in a tower. A jailer around the clock. No means of escape. No cell phone to call the world. No ability to do anything without the man in her life knowing. Yes, it was all by her choice, but it doesn't change the fact that she made it so much easier for me and so much more difficult for her. Something I am grateful for.

The night I arrived it was drizzling, the water barely beginning to pool outside her apartment. Within a moment of putting my car into park the light in her second story window shut off. I smirked, unable to be anything other than flattered that she was waiting by the window like a good little pet. Her master had finally come home. The front door flew open and shut just as quickly. Her shadowy little form sprinted to the passenger door and she made her way in.

I would have very much liked for her to have kissed me, or moved her hand to my crotch or some other grand form of expression. I got something much more subtle. Her eyes immediately moved from mine to the floor. After a moment she raised them again to meet and then immediately back to the ground. This was no game. We had never even discussed it before. She was unable to look at me and it was a truly unique pleasure. This brave little thing who had finally worked up the courage to evoke me couldn't even bear to look. It was delicious.

Her hair was freshly dyed red and face was devoid of makeup. Besides the earrings she swore she couldn't go without no matter the punishment, she was without jewelry. My little Plain Jane, ripe and ready. Her nipples already pressing through the white top she swore she wouldn't wear. Her plaid schoolgirl skirt, not a costume but the actual artifact from her younger years, wonderfully not hiked up even a few inches.

Dinner must have been suitable. If you put a gun to my temple and demanded to know what I had I couldn't tell you. There was far too much focus pouring out of me and into her eyes. I wanted to catch every shift, every hestitant whisper. Every word. After monopolizing the conversation for twenty minutes she finally asked if she could be allowed a moment to go the bathroom.

Her eyes went wide as I said no.

It's something you have to learn. Is your sweet little submissive going to suffer you gladly? In silence? Is she going to beg and negotiate with you over such a small thing? Please, pretty please, if you'll just...or other such nonsense? Crucial information and never better served when there is a real and pressing need. Typically I like to withhold an orgasm for the first venture, but she's the one who filled up on wine.

Tears welled up in her eyes. The situation was excruciating to her on at least one level. I take great pleasure in thinking it must have reprehensible on several. The waitress asked if she was alright a few times, scowling at me as I answered for her. Eventually, she began to shudder and shake. I knew that if I didn't allow her to go that she'd simply relieve herself there and that hardly seemed worth the effort. I told it her it was alright to go now and she only said "thank you" before skittering off.

She gave me directions to a forest not far from the small town.

Parked, the only sound was that of the thickening rain drops battering down on us. When I demanded she move onto my lap she didn't fight. Her form deftly made it's way over the parking break and onto my lap. Without words her legs spread and that tiny, flat ass (such a disappointment) pressed against me and my hard-on. Her skinny back fell into my chest and, even through both of our shirts, I could feel the notches of her spine.

I demanded she press in closer and she wordlessly complied, her hands reaching up behind her to wrap around my bald head. Never had a woman held me so close. Not after proposals of lovers lost, or long goodbyes that lasted three days, had a woman pushed her way into me so hard. Like I was life itself and she was hanging over the edge. So it came as a great surprise to me that when I leaned forward and sank my teeth into her right shoulder that she stiffened and said "no."

"No?"

"I can't. We can't." Her shaking was oh so sweet. She was hardly playing the role of a little girl then. Fear poured from every part of her body as my cock began to rage. Something about that word and the situation. Oh, who am I kidding. Something about that word is really all I need.

"I was unaware," was all I managed before I kissed the marks I made. She expelled a half dozen noises, everything from a whimper to a staunch no, as I made my way her neck to eventually engulf her earring. I couldn't have controlled my hands if I wanted to. I didn't even try. They played over her b-cup through the fabric, crushing her nipples between my index fingers and thumbs. Eventually her protests became more and more audible and she even tried to make her way off my lap before I pulled her back and punished her with my harshest bite yet to the left side of her neck.

Pain. A sudden, hot searing to the back of my head. I immediately released her skin and howled out as the fire consumed me. Before I tighten my grip on her stomach she had stomped on my foot, opened the car door and wheeled an elbow into my right eye. I could already feel the blood beginning to run down my neck as I grasped her ankle. With a single pull I knocked her down and she hit the ground with an audible thud and horrible moan. But before I could even try to pull her back in her free leg recoiled and shot back into my sternum. My strength was destroyed as I took a breath to recover. That's when the second kick came to my neck and the third to the bridge of my nose.

It's so much more difficult taking a woman who's had a few drinks. She just fights so much harder than if she had abstained.

Blood was now running down my chest. I was winded and could only keep my left eye open. Although I easily had a foot of height and double her weight, the well-timed kicks of a former ballerina are enough to disarm even an overwhelming target. I'm just glad she wasn't wearing heels. Still, I refused to let go of her leg and when the fourth kick came I was able to grab it and twist the ankle. Her howl, echoing into the dirt and rain, was enough for me. I dropped both legs and allowed her to begin her escape.

Rain water is such a wonderful cleansing tool. I tilted my head back and pinched my nose shut to see if I could stop the bleeding. All I got for my effort was blinding pain. So I bent my head forward and simply washed away the blood from the cuts. I tried, in vain, to blink my swelling eye shut and settled for the wonderful feeling of November cool water pooling in my hand and then splashed on my face. It wouldn't do much, but it was better than nothing.

I was disappointed to find she had hardly made it forty yards.

The two quickest things you can do to boost your IQ significantly are to be hungry or in pain. That animal, that reptilian part of your brain, that spikes up when your body is in danger is tried and tested by millions of years. It rarely makes a mistake. When it says walk slowly to your wounded target so you don't take up any more energy, do it. When it says duck down because you know she's going to try another elbow to your neck, it's probably right. While you're wondering the best way to get rich or why that relationship didn't really work out, all it's doing is sizing everyone you've ever met up in a fight. So when it told me to jab her in the ribs and then elbow her in the throat I did. After all, it's not like she had been a saint. Morality, at this point, would only be cumbersome.

She wheezed what I imagined were more protests. None of them were audible or coherent. My legs simply pinned her down and took the ribbon from her hair to make an ad-hoc tie. It wouldn't hold for long, of course, but it would give me enough time if she hadn't resigned. There was no point in threatening her or demanding her silence. No words would do. We were two animals fighting now and I wasn't prepared to do anything other than get what I had come for.

It wasn't about sex. It was about claiming what was mine. Shoving myself into her and pushing until I grunted simply wouldn't do. So I pulled the skirt up to her waist and spread her pussy lips. I wanted to see what I had focused on so long and hard. I wanted a few errant drops to make their way through the trees and land on her as she choked on her own saliva. I wanted her to know that I had her to the point that I could just wait. That I had all the control and power I needed.

I was glad to find she wasn't wet enough. My two fingers pushed into her dry, lukewarm cunt with a harsh uneasiness. Something I hadn't felt in years. Something so rewarding.

All the times I read these stories where a man takes a "victim" I smirk. She was gushing and her body betrayed her and she wanted to say no but she was oh so powerless. Please. A woman who really isn't willing isn't cursing her body for lubrication. She's praying for it. She's glad for when it finally comes so that the attacker won't get offended and slice her face off piece by piece. So it hurts less. So it's over sooner. A hundred reasons to pray for something she's too afraid to do. Of course, that's only half of it.

If you're just there to get your rocks off it doesn't much matter if she's concentrating on you or not. But if you're doing it to a woman who needs it? Wants it? Well, if her eyes start glazing over from the pain you have to go a fair amount more in depth. You can't let her get away and think of the queen. You have to twist and push your fingers inside her, maybe hit her cervix or spank her clit. Slap a nipple, or even her face, to keep her in the here and now. It's the only way she's going to remember every detail.

Two fingers became three and by now she had recovered enough to do more than just cough. I know there were words, but I hardly gave them a notice. My focus was on not allowing her to pull her pelvis away from me as I rammed the three fingers in and out of her rapidly lubricating cunt. Her mouth twisted from left to right and she screamed for help, aid, cessation. Anything but what was happening to her now.

By the time I put my fourth finger in her she was nothing more than a wailing, screaming creature. She called out my name, she called me Daddy, she begged me to stop. She promised me the world. "Not like this," she pleaded over and over again. I only shushed her as my fingers pistoned away. I only lament trimming my nails that night. It would have been much more rewarding to make her bleed like she had done to me.

When she eased up I knew it was no longer painful, but frankly, fisting her was not an option. There are some things physics simply cannot abide and, while she would be able to pass a child, my hand inside her would only wreck. She'd bleed and more than likely be hospitalized. I may be a monster, but I'm not inconsiderate or impolite. I'm not about to destroy a young girls life because she made the mistake of choosing me.

So instead I flipped her over and pushed her face into the dirt when she protested. Hiking the skirt up a second time I rose and looked for a mud puddle to dip my hand into. The texture was wonderful and the contrast between it's giving moisture and her dry tightness was too much. I kicked her legs back open, viced them open, and pushed a single mud coated finger into her anus.

Never before had a heard a woman sob and scream so loudly.

By the time I had two fingers up her she had dissolved. Gone was the heady and violent creature that fought me. Now there was only a doll that would do my bidding. My favorite thing in a woman. Three holes and nothing more. She barely whimpered by the time my third finger was up her ass. I imagine the pain and suffering of it all had finally pushed her well beyond the breaking point.

Her pussy was so open to me by the time I pushed up against her entrance that I hardly had to strain. A rare and welcomed pleasure. Inside her, she strained to grasp and hold onto me as I cooed into her right ear. She grasped me tightly and it only took two hundred odd thrusts to finally get to the crescendo. I pulled out and came over her ass, and, as it mixed with the blood, sweat, mud and rain, it made a perfect alchemy. I spread the paste over her body, turning her over to cover her breasts in it. When she made a futile attempt at kicking my face I swatted the leg away and then slapped her across the mouth.

I mounted her again, missionary; my favorite position. My cock could hardly contain itself and didn't falter after a simple orgasm. I needed more. Leaning in, our bodies pressed against one another, and she surprised me one final time. Her lips met mine and engaged in the most hungry kiss I've had to date. All of our juices and moisture met in that kiss -- except her cum -- and I immediately needed more than she could ever give me.

Now her hips rose to meet mine and her thrusts where stronger. Although it must have been excruciating for her, she grasped my cock deftly. With only the most minute of screams, hardly one of the deepest that night, she orgasmed over my cock. Her eyes then opened and looked into my good one and held my gaze until she came a second time before I shot my reward into her.

The drive home was silent. The animal in me was sated and I could only imagine the prison sentence I could look forward to facing. She knew my name and face and number. It wouldn't take long for a rape kit to prove what I had done to her and, looking at me and her, nobody would think twice. A few photographs of me, the fact that she was such a small thing in a long term relationship? I knew there would only be ruin. But when you're as damned as I am you sometimes look forward to the judgment you've been avoiding all your life.

She got out of the car and I pressed on the gas before she had even closed the door. I decided that I needed at least one good last night of inebriation before the cops arrived. Maybe she'd even give me enough time to truly rue it.

But by the time the second gin and tonic went down my throat there was already a blank e-mail in my box from her. The subject line said everything.

"When can I see you again?"