You wake up in the same room. Water drips nearby. You cannot tell if it drips from the ceiling, from a faucet, from a pipe. You turn your head to listen, to look, but something still covers your face. You try to move, but your wrists remain bound above your head; your legs spread, your ankles tethered to something. You feel a mattress beneath you: sheets, pillow, and blanket. The room feels cool, smells damp like a basement. The walls feel close like a cell.
CLINK The sound startles you. You have wanted and dreaded interaction, hoping for answers, fearing them. A door opens and slams shut. Your breath is fast, shallow, quiet. You strain to listen. Your thighs squeeze in a vain attempt to close your legs. Your wrists pull against the rope that keeps your arms up, your torso exposed. Beneath the fabric that covers your face, your wide eyes stare, unblinking. Your heart thuds, pumps power to muscles that cannot move.
You hear the rustle of his clothes, his feet, his breath. You catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and aftershave. Something heavy hits the floor. Your eyes dart to your left. Something heavy hits the floor. You pull harder against the restraints. You whimper. You are too afraid to speak, to demand an explanation. He pulls off his clothes. He wore boots – the heavy things that hit the floor. You are dizzy with trapped adrenaline, fear, anticipation. Your skin flushes, tightens, you do not think about what you are doing; you squirm, you make strange crying sounds.
"Shhhhhhh."
You stop moving. You hold your breath.
Closer now. "Shhhhhhh."
His open hand brushes against your nipple. You shake your head. You try to sink into the bed, away from his touch, away from his intentions. His hand moves across your nipple. Tears soak into the fabric covering your face. He moves onto the bed. You face away from him. His lips kiss your exposed neck. You whip your head around to protect yourself. He moves the fabric away from your lips. He kisses your cheek, your chin. His lips hover near yours. His breath is hot, minty, smoky. His face is stubbly. The tip of his nose nudges yours. He kisses the corner of your mouth. His lips are dry, hot. You hold your breath. His fingers tease your nipples; he pinches, squeezes, rubs them between his thumb and finger. His lips press harder against yours.
You shake your head. You buck and try to pull away.
"Shhhhhhhh."
You sob; a mournful, fearful sound. His hands and face are gone. This is worse than his touching you. He may be preparing to stab, punch, or kick. The blanket is gone. You are naked. Every milky white inch of your tender skin is exposed for him to bite, burn, rip apart. His hand touches your inner thigh. Your leg jerks but you cannot move more than one inch in any direction. His face is between your legs. His mouth covers your clitoris.
"Nooooo." Your voice is a cramped whisper.
His teeth brush against your flesh. His tongue is hot as his lips but wet and rough, slides beneath your protective hood. You resist. Fear and confusion sit like monsters on your chest. The tip of his tongue is a lightning rod against your tiny nub of flesh. He massages you. Minutes pass. He sucks on you. He nibbles. Minutes pass. He massages, he sucks. You swell and pulse in his mouth. Your nostrils flare; your hips arc up toward his face. He sucks hard, he sucks gentle. His fingers move past your lips, enter your wetness. Your head presses back into the pillow. Your vagina tightens, your engorged clitoris sends quivering tendrils of pleasure into the pit of your stomach, into your pussy. He presses his fingers into you. Hard. Deep. Two fingers. Three. He sucks you. His tongue flicks your clit. Heat blooms between your legs. He spreads your pussy apart with his free hand. Your clitoris is spread tight; your hole pulls against his inserted fingers. He pauses. He lifts his mouth from your ruddy flesh. You freeze. Your head swims. Your chest rises and falls. Fear again and fear only. You cry. Shame, anger… His tongue probes you. His mouth attaches to you. You inhale: a quick, sharp sound. He works your flesh, he drives his fingers into you. He feeds on you. You pant, stretched across a bed, tied, blind, exposed, a stranger’s face between your legs, his hot, foreign mouth, his sharp teeth, his potential violence restrained to gentle tugs on your flesh, to fingers thrust into your most private place. He invades you. He owns you. He presses against you now, hard, slow. His teeth dig in. The flat surface of his tongue against you. You do not want it but you feel it rise. You moan your resistance but you sound like, you sound like, your wet pussy clenches, your clit aches, you cry out, your vagina throbs and he presses into you to feel you cum, to feel you spasm and throb and ache under his touch, because of his touch; you feel yourself clamp down on his fingers, release, clamp down again; he releases your clit, caresses it, each touch of his tongue lights your pussy on fire; you spasm and you moan your pleasure and your resistance and your denial and you sound like, you sound like a whore.
DSilverIsDGold
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