If you are here merely for sexual release, I suggest one of the earlier chapters in this series (or another one of my stories). If you are here because you want to know what happens next, hurry up and keep reading.
*
Louise was walking along the side of the road. Her backpack was on her back, her other bag she had abandoned. Most of all, she wanted to hide in the fields, but the only one who knew where she was, the only one who might think of searching in the fields, was the one she didn't want to be found by.
Stop thinking about him. He won't be coming back, he let you go.
Where people were, that was where she needed to be. It was too dark. Louise had been afraid of the dark when she was small, but now she knew there were real things to fear. The darkness was her friend now. If he should come back she could run into it, hide in it.
Just as Louise realised dark was good, the moon came out lighting the fields and the road alike.
He let me go. He won't come back,
Louise tried to convince herself.
It's over now.
A car was speeding in the distance. Louise stopped and stared at the far off headlights. Not sure why she was so sure it was speeding. No cars had passed her since he had dropped her off. If one had she would have jumped out on the road, waving and screaming to stop it.
The speeding car would be the first to come.
Louise stared at the, still far off, headlights, thinking that standing in front of a speeding car, probably wasn't a good idea. Maybe it would still stop for her if she jumped and screamed at the side of the road.
The headlights came closer, but Louise didn't make a move to jump and wave.
I'll stop the next car.
For some reason she didn't want that particular car to stop.
Hide.
How fast was that car driving? American roads were so damned long and straight, distances were hard for her to estimate.
Run.
She couldn't see what kind of car it was in the moonlight, she could just see the headlights.
Louise stood absolutely still, staring at those speeding headlights. She could hear it now. Tires and engines roaring, purring loudly as if the car had been born to hunt.
Run!
Her hands were trembling within the bandages covering her lower arms, wrists and palms.
It's not him. Why would he let me go just to...
The car was really close, she still stared straight at it, now to convince herself that it wasn't his car. But, if it wasn't his car then why wasn't she jumping and waving?
At high speed the car approached, it was really close now. It would pass soon. Louise's breath was shallow and fast.
It will pass soon.
But she knew it wouldn't, deep down she knew it even before the car started slowing down.
Her hands reached for her backpack straps but couldn't get hold of them. Her breath thundered even above the noise of the car. She had to get the backpack off. If she didn't get it off, she couldn't run properly.
The car was almost at her. Her hands clawed helplessly at her shoulders, trying to get hold of those straps. The car passed her with whining breaks. It sounded like the scream of a charging feline.
Louise turned to the field and raised a foot to run. The backpack was heavier than ever. She couldn't get it off, and it was pushing her down, pushing her feet into the ground.
The soil in the field was soft and deep. Her feet stuck in it. He was right behind, she knew it. Both her feet sunk into the field, she was sinking, the mud was eating her alive.
"I will never let you go," said 'Joe' from behind her. "You are mine."
Panting, Louise sat up in bed.
It's a dream. It's a dream.
She raised a hand to her forehead.
"Du drømmer bare," she whispered. - You're just dreaming.
Her heart was pounding overtime, playing techno on her ribs. She was sweating, her whole body was drenched in it. Especially her panties.
That isn't sweat.
The corners of Louise's mouth pulled down in disgust at the realisation.
Three months had passed since 'Joe' had let her go, had caught her again, and had let her go again.
Louise laid back into her bed and stared up at her ceiling, trying her best not to hate herself for being physically aroused.
For three months, she hadn't had sex. That wasn't all that different from life before 'Joe'. She could go for months without sex. With her demands to sex, finding a partner wasn't as easy as going to the nearest pub. No, she had always been able to go some months without.
Her bruises were gone. Even her wrists were back to normal. There was no evidence left that 'Joe' had ever happened.
Really, nothing needed to be different. She had returned home and had resumed her life.
Shit happens, but then you move on.
So, she had chosen not to have sex. That was only natural and healthy. Wasn't it? A time out to refind herself before resuming. Nobody would advice a rape-victim to hurry up and jump back into intimacy, would they?
Louise's heart was still pounding too hard.
Fear and nausea.
Fear...
Louise hadn't reported the crime.
He came back.
Louise had been in one hell of a hurry to get her feet off American soil.
He let me go and then he came back.
Louise hadn't even tried to reimburse part of her ticket home, she had just bought a new one. Every step of the way home she had glanced over her shoulder, because, he had let her go, she had been safe, and then he had come back for her.
And nausea...
When a woman was raped, something would change inside her, and she would no longer desire sex. She would be frigid until finding a man who, with love and caring, could reinstate her sex drive. Or, alternately, the woman would seek strength inside herself, she would refind herself, her feminine values, and would resume her life fully --including sex.
At least that was the understanding Louise had gained from society and fiction. That was the story, right?
Woman got raped, woman lost her desire for sex. That's how it was supposed to happen.
So why hadn't that happened? Tears formed in Louise's eyes. Why the fuck hadn't that happened?
Louise hadn't contacted the authorities, neither American nor Danish, and Louise hadn't sought help. She had just returned home and had resumed her life. Nobody knew what had happened on her vacation, nobody but her and 'Joe Payne'.
What if he comes back again?
Louise glanced at the baseball bat on her night-stand.
He won't come back.
If anybody asked her about the baseball bats in her apartment, Louise would lie and say they were souvenirs from her vacation.
The bats were American, they looked American at least, but Louise hadn't brought them home with her. She had bought them in a local sports-store.
She hated the bats, because, in a way, the bats really were souvenirs. She hadn't brought them with her from USA, but she didn't feel safe without them. And that fear was something she had brought home with her.
Louise sat up again, she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. She hated the slippery feeling between her private folds.
As if it were a wet dream.
At least the feel of horny had left.
Sex drive. Since reconciling fully with her fetish, her sexual desires, Louise had been happy about her sex drive.
Sex was pleasure, whether alone or with partners. Partners could be a while in between, but Louise wasn't accustomed to going far in between sexual release. Before her vacation she had usually had one orgasm a day, sometimes more.
Louise had been a great fan of daily self-service.
With the back of one hand, Louise wiped her eyes. Then abandoned her bed for the shower to rid herself of the slimy feeling.
Slimy.
The edges of Louise's mouth pulled further down. She hadn't thought of her own juices as slimy since her teens. Not until returning from America at least.
Three months had passed since she came home. Louise hadn't had a single orgasm since 'Joe'. She just couldn't do it. She couldn't touch herself, couldn't stand touching herself. Because, when she tried, every time she tried, her mind tried to go where it had always gone when she touched herself.
She didn't want to go there, not anymore, never again.
Ronald did his best to remain calm and gathered, while the bald man with the thick glasses spread pictures out on the table before him.
Who would have thought that Rose had a stalker?
For the life of him Ronald couldn't figure out why anyone would have wanted to stalk Rose. By all means, Rose was attractive. All jewelry-whores were. It was a requirement for the trade.
But that was all there was to her. Rose was as commonplace as liposuction. Nothing about her warranted obsession.
How could somebody, anybody, get it into his mind that Rose was sufficiently fascinating to stalk?
"So you see, Mr. Jackson. Miss Blooming does believe that she has a case."
Ronald raised his eyes from the pictures to the lawyer. This wasn't a matter of a lawsuit and they both knew it. This was blackmail, plain and simple.
"What does she demand?" asked Ronald.
"The same as if you were married," said the lawyer, his lips widening in the greediest smile Ronald had ever seen.
Ronald leaned back, still locking eyes with the lawyer.
"I'll give her a million," said Ronald. "Cash."
The lawyer's smile widened, his teeth glistening with saliva. Ronald loved money too, but couldn't imagine ever drooling over money. Though disgusted, he didn't even wrinkle his nose. Ronald was keeping his calm.
"My client wants half of everything you've got, Mr. Jackson. No negotiations."
Ronald's eyes went back to the pictures. They were printouts from videos.
"You can't expect a woman to forget something like that for a mere million, Mr. Jackson," said the lawyer, nodding at the pictures.
"Half of what I've got is a lot," said Ronald. "I'll need some time to think about it."
"Of course, Mr. Jackson," said the lawyer.
Ronald noticed that every time the disgusting little man pronounced an o, his mouth attained an uncanny resemblance to an anal ring.
