Three heavy knocks startled Kennedy awake, a mess of purple streaked black hair obscuring her vision. A quick glance at her phone informed her of the ungodly hour, grogginess quickly replaced with irritation as the banging continued.
Throwing her blankets aside, the diminutive woman reluctantly exited her bedroom, sulking to the offending front door. She cracked it open, trusting the metal latch to provide enough defense for a quick peek.
Kennedy inhaled sharply, eyes registering the unannounced visitor. She was suddenly wide awake, and very aware of her disheveled appearance. She shut the door, bringing a hand up to clumsily adjust her mussed locks, though she soon decided it was a lost cause -- he liked her messy, anyway -- and threw the door open.
"Hey."
Sleep and startlement caused the word to slip out as more of a whisper than a greeting, not that it mattered. Kennedy barely got the word out before something small hit her chest, thrown by the tan-skinned man in front of her. She barely caught it, hearing the box's unmistakable contents rattle inside.
"Backdoor in five. Clean your face up. Wear something you don't care about." His voice carried an undertone that caused her lips to suddenly dry, giving rise to a trail of goosebumps down her arms and back. Kennedy knew,
knew
, she should slam the door in his face and tell him to go fuck himself.
"I-I don-" She swallowed, steeling herself. "It's late. Like, really late. I don't think..."
The man standing before her wasn't much taller than she was. He didn't make a move, didn't speak another word, didn't loom over her. He just stared, his gaze giving away nothing, yet bearing down on her like the falling sky. It was that inevitable, smothering force that killed the sentence before it ever left her throat, or even fully formed in her mind.
His request became an edict, and Kennedy could do nothing but submit.
"Okay."
Again, the man moved before the monosyllable was fully spoken, turning the instant she capitulated. The door shut in her face, her only company the morning-after pill box he'd tossed at her.
Kennedy's body moved on its own, dropping the container onto the nearest surface and beelining to her bathroom. She and her neighbor -- a man whose name she still didn't even know -- had been playing this game for a while now.
It
was
a game, of course. He had impeccable timing, always calling on her when she was most likely to agree, but if she really didn't want to do anything, he wouldn't push the issue. She was. She was almost sure of it.
Heading back to bed. Ignoring the order. The back door slamming open. A weight more than she could hope to escape from pinning her down, hands throwing off her blankets, roughly tearing the clothes from her body and closing around her throat and pressing him forcefully into--
She shuddered, momentarily losing herself in the sudden storm of images. He wouldn't. This was all a game. They both knew it. He wouldn't actually...
Kennedy bit her lip, legs squirming as her thoughts raced. She shook her head violently, willing her attention to stay firmly in reality. She splashed her face, occupying herself with incremental steps, keeping her mind occupied with what was happening, rather than what might have been.
Or could still be.
The fight to tame her imagination was still a losing one by the time Kennedy arrived at her yard door, face flushed and breaths erratic. Her hand, unsteady, reached for the doorknob, before a thought struck her. She darted to her room, grabbing a roll of clear tape and returning to her post. She threw it onto a nearby table, swiftly opening the door, heart skipping a beat as her dim porch light illuminated the olive skinned man.
His brown eyes locked on to hers, slowly trailing down, her pale skin flushing as he plainly stared. This close, the lack of difference in their height was stark; despite that, she felt smaller and smaller the more his attention saturated her skin, piercing the thin, loose shirt and shorts she'd worn to bed and not bothered changing out of, comparing the way they hung from her frame to the body he knew lay underneath.
"Come."
Whatever his opinions, he didn't choose to voice them. In this, she could feel his judgment. Not the judgment of a peer that may form some snap opinion of her, but an actual assessment of her worth. Her value. It was a test, one she could neither study nor prepare for, as the outcome was always the same.
In that moment, Kennedy wanted nothing more than to pass, to earn his approval, a desire so strong it lit a burning flame of complicit resistance in her palpitating heart.
"No."
The man paused mid-turn, letting the word hang.
"Are you stupid? I didn't fucking ask you. Start walking."
From her head to her feet, Kennedy's body prickled and heated up, awash with a myriad of emotions. She ignored all of them, channeling embarrassment and arousal into her defiance.
"No, asshole. I'm not some cheap fucktoy you can pick up and cum in at four in the goddamn morning. I'm not following you. Get the fuck off of my property before I call the cops."
The words came surprisingly easily to her. She didn't know whether it was because it felt like playing a character, or because some part of her really meant it. Not that it mattered. Critical thinking went out the window as soon as her neighbor spun, closing the distance between them. Kennedy's heart skipped a beat, and she took an involuntary step backwards. It wasn't enough.
Strong fingers curled into her streaked hair, eliciting a sharp hiss that managed to cut off a quiet groan, but only just. Normally, this small show of force would blow away any opposition the young woman rallied up, but the desire to please was more intense than usual tonight. Planting her feet, she resisted, her eyes turning hard as they once more met with her owne-- her neighbors'.
"Fucking let go of me, creep!" She spat, pushing as much embarrassment and pain into her voice as she could muster. The exclamation came out louder than the man expected, and he hesitated, eyes glazing over with the telltale signs of focused listening.
Kennedy pressed on, keeping her voice low enough to not carry onto the street, but still more than loud enough to spook him. "I'll scream. Let go of me or I'll fucking scream."
There it is.
Sparks coursed through her as the man's hand slipped from her hair and wrapped around her neck, abruptly cutting her air supply short, and pushed her hard into the nearest wall. Her body stung where it collided with the cold surface, the force of his attack nearly causing her willpower to crumble right then and there. The note of prickling pleasure would have forced a moan from her, were she able to make any noise other than strangled breathing.
Kennedy pushed uselessly against the wall, hands scratching at her assailant's arms, feet fighting to keep her standing. His darker hand, starkly contrasting against the cream skin of her neck, yanked her forward and slammed her again. Her face was growing too hot, blood roaring in her ears, lungs burning from lack of oxygen. None of it matched the intensity of the heat between her legs, growing with each passing second.
Just as the first cold tendrils of worry began setting in, the man let go. Kennedy collapsed to her knees, sucking down lungfuls of air, coughing and sputtering on the ground. Before she could work up enough energy to speak, the crushing hand returned. An unyielding arm looped through both of hers behind her back, roughly dragging her upright.
He pushed her from behind, grip like a vice around her windpipe, leading her to a nearby table. Air, sweet air, rushed back into Kennedy's lungs, eliciting shuddering gasps that nearly obfuscated the distinct sound of ripping tape.
A new wave of excitement shot up the woman's spine, as adhesive plastic momentarily covered her vision before being firmly placed over her mouth. She breathed deeply through her nostrils, trying to get a handle on her aching lungs and sore neck. The tape roll wrapped around the back of her head and over her mouth a second time, sealing the orifice completely shut.
The man's fingers returned to her hair, pulling her forcefully out the back door and onto the porch. Kennedy considered going limp, making the relatively short trip from her back patio to the small archway that connected their yards a much more challenging drag, but decided against it for the sake of cleanliness. She elected to fight instead, pulling and clawing as she stumbled behind her captor, the acute sensation of her taut locks and her ineffectuality adding to her growing arousal. Try as she might -- and she really was trying -- her efforts barely seemed to slow his charge down.
In no time at all, the pair had crossed into his yard, marching up the steps of his near-identical patio. The man swung Kennedy around himself, shoving her inside the already open door, causing her to trip. Kennedy scrambled to her feet, bolting into the open hall. She swiftly located the stairwell, being intimately familiar with the home already, and rushed to make distance.
The woman made it all of three steps before her head snapped back, fingers looping into her dark hair and yanking back. Kennedy fell, briefly colliding into the man's chest before he threw her onto the floor, pressing his foot down on her upper torso..
It wasn't a lot of force, but it was enough to keep her from standing back up. Even so, Kennedy struggled, earnestly pushing against him, managing to wiggle a couple of inches before the lack of an open mouth made itself apparent. She lay on the floor, breathing heavily through her nose, attempting to radiate more hatred than lust. Her neighbor leaned down, increasing the pressure on her chest, and considered her as she recovered.
