Forced Ch. 02byCrucialTaught©
Readers, here is the next, likely less-contentious installment of Victor and Jennifer's saga. It's also quite long, something of a 'slow burn.' If you're just tuning in, I would recommend reading it, or you might feel lost. I have one more chapter in mind. If you would be willing to take the time to vote (and comment!), like any author, I would certainly appreciate it. Feedback is always welcome, as well. Thanks for reading my story!
Victor had to will himself to get out of bed. His back still ached from where he had been hit with the crowbar, even four days after Saul and Joe had broken into their house. His headaches persisted, although to a lesser degree, and he tired easily. But he had to get up, and get to work. Jennifer was depending on him. Even if she never spoke to him again, he was determined to support her.
His physical injuries paled in comparison to how he felt inside. He woke every day with a few precious seconds of freedom from the oppressive guilt and shame that inevitably flooded in when he was fully conscious. Every morning, his reality descended, a crushing weight that made it difficult to do anything. Jennifer had scarcely been home, staying out after school with friends, coming back when it was dark and late. It worried him. If he was honest with himself, it scared him half to death to think of her alone out there. But he couldn't say anything to her, he couldn't express his concern and desire for her to be home, safe. He had fucked her. He fucked his little sister; more like raped her, he thought, and come in her mouth. Why would she want to be in the same house as him? He could hardly expect her to respond to his worry for her with anything besides disregard and contempt. Why be worried about her well-being now, after he'd everything he'd done to her? Not only had he fucked her, but he had become aroused even after they had fulfilled Saul's sick desires. She must think he had gotten off on her being forced to be with him. He was ashamed of how turned on he had been in a situation where she was so terrified.
He wrestled every day with his self-loathing and disgust. The hatred he felt toward himself was comprehensive and unabated, crippling him in the trappings of day-to-day life. He dragged himself to work, spending most of his time in the store room with paperwork, avoiding his employees and customers. Victor would come home directly afterward in case she was there, trying to rein in his hope. She never was, and his occasional post-work beer became an everyday thing. In fact, the last couple nights, he'd had several, and had passed out from the alcohol and exhaustion before she'd even gotten home. This irresponsibility only cemented his hatred.
Victor stumbled into the shower. Jennifer was long gone, headed off to school for her final days before graduation. He stood under the spray, the hot water beating down on him, his bruises aching under the assault. He washed his hair and face, and began to gingerly wash his bruised body. Looking down at himself was unbearable, his penis an ever-present reminder of what he had done to Jennifer. All he could think when he saw it was the devastation it had wrought, the life it had ruined. He squeezed his eyes shut as his throat tightened, clenching his fist. It was over, but he was so angry, so powerless, so useless. He was unable to save her while it was happening, and he could do nothing now to make it better, to mend their relationship. Victor pounded the tile wall of the shower with his fist, grunting in frustration. He pressed his forearm against the wall and rested his forehead on it, closing his eyes, trying to stop thinking about the horror and pain of that night.
But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jennifer. Naked, warm and soft underneath him; deep blue eyes searching his as pushed into her; coming around him as he rubbed her clit. His breathing quickened in repulsion. His cock was starting to throb, becoming engorged as Victor was unable to stay the stream of images from that night. He willed himself to stop, begged his erection to go away, but it wouldn't. Jennifer, looking up at him with his cock in her mouth. On her knees, bent, waiting for him to fuck her, vulva puffy and glistening with arousal. Jennifer swallowing his cum.
Victor's hand had moved to his cock and started stroking it without his notice. With an anguished cry, he jerked his hand away. He punched the shower wall, hard, splitting a knuckle, breathing hard. What the fuck was wrong with him? Fantasizing about the time he raped his sister? How could the memories of that night, where he destroyed their relationship and hurt her, damaged her permanently, arouse him? He was so ashamed and disgusted with himself, he had considered suicide. But he couldn't leave Jennifer. He wouldn't, even if she would never allow him into her life again.
His cock was still hard. He just wanted it to go away. He didn't want to come, the act no longer even pleasurable for him, but didn't want to deal with having a hard-on crop up throughout the day. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think of his ex-girlfriend, Nicole. She was a hot blonde and had loved to fuck, loved to ride him and have him play with her tits. He thought of her on top of him, cock buried deep in her pussy, hips grinding back and forth against him. He masturbated furiously, willing himself to orgasm. He thought of how wet and tight Nicole had been, and how she'd loved it when he'd stuck a finger in her ass as she came. He remember how it felt to come inside of her, to be so deep in her he could feel his dick hitting the deepest part of her, fingers manipulating her clit until Jennifer orgasmed underneath him, her tight pussy clenching around him, drawing his seed into her.
Immediately, Victor started to come as this unwanted imagery forced its way into his mind's eye. Grimacing, he shot his load onto the shower floor, trying not to think of fucking his sister, and failing. He remembered the feel of her tongue on the underside of his cock as his cum spurted into her mouth, remembered the sweet taste of her as he tongued her sex. The last of his orgasm draining from him, Victor watched as the water washed his cum away from him, down the drain. He felt numb. He had reached a place so low he couldn't comprehend the depth of his self-hatred. As if in a trance, he turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall, reaching for a towel.
* * *
Jennifer went through her days barely present, skating through the last couple weeks of school on her good grades. She couldn't sleep, so leaving the house early wasn't a problem. She couldn't look Victor in the eye. Indeed, their interaction had been extremely limited in the days since the attack. When she did see him, he looked terrible, dark circles hollowing his eyes. Once lively and mischievous, his soft brown eyes now had a faraway, deadened quality, emphasized by the sallow tint his skin had taken on recently. She felt like she was looking into the eyes of a corpse of someone she herself had killed, that it was staring back at her, unseeing. She couldn't bear it. In her desperate fear, she had forced Victor to be with her, despite his obvious aversion and reluctance, and it had clearly ruined him. It had been almost a week since that night, and she felt more alone than ever.
So she avoided going home. She went out with friends. Went out with new friends. Partied. It was nice to be around so many people having a good time. It served as a distraction, and she could forget, at least temporarily, the devastation awaiting her at home. Drinking and smoking a little pot helped, as well.
Jennifer took a hit and passed the joint to the guy sitting next to her. Robert, or something. He took it from her, looking at her with a lopsided smile. He was cute. He seemed nice. "So where do you go to school? Mercer?" he asked.
"Yeah, just for a couple more weeks. Then I graduate. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to Bel-Red Community College. Studying hospitality management." He passed the joint along and leaned back against the couch cushions.
"Cool. What are you going to do in hospitality?" Jennifer was feigning interest; management of any type had always seemed boring to her. Even if that's what Victor did. She felt her stomach drop at the thought of him.
"I want to move to Barbados. Manage a hotel down there. Live on the beach! Fuck yeah, that would be awesome," he grinned at her. "You can come visit me."
Jennifer smiled indulgently, but she was still thinking of Victor. She shook her head slightly, as if to jar him loose. "That sounds great," she said, moving a little closer to him and relaxing into the couch. She touched his knee, playing with the bunched up fabric of his jeans there. "You know, you're really cute."
Robert smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail across her jawline. "Thanks. You're really fucking hot."
Jennifer giggled and leaned into him, moving her hand to his chest. She looked up at him expectantly. She wanted him to kiss her, to keep her from thinking about Victor, to occupy her mind with the present.
Robert slid his arm around her back and pulled her closer, their faces inches apart. He gave her that lopsided smile and pressed his mouth to hers. As he kissed her, his hand tightened at her waist, and she threw one knee over his lap, straddling him.
The room was dark, and heavy with smoke. Jennifer's friend Ashley had brought her here, promising a good time with college guys. Ashley had gone off with one, leaving Jennifer with Robert, who she had just met, and a handful of people she didn't know. She was feeling pretty good, had a good buzz going and was feeling the smoothness of the weed roll over her. But Victor was still spoiling her mood, waiting for her the second her focus faltered, cutting through her thoughts mercilessly. It had to stop.
She pulled back from their kiss and giggled, grinding her hips against him a little. Leaning forward, pressing her breasts against his chest, putting her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "Can we go somewhere more private?"
She felt Robert's hands drift to her ass and gently squeeze. "Oh god, yes, please."
Jennifer laughed and climbed off of him, standing up. He stood and took her hand, leading her out of the apartment's living room, opening doors. A closet. A bathroom. An office. Finally, an empty bedroom. She didn't know whose it was, didn't even know whose apartment they were in. Robert led her in, shutting the door behind her as she moved to the bed.
"Is this better?" Robert said, walking to her and putting his hands on her hips.
"Yes, much." Jennifer smiled and put her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to meet his lips. Robert kissed her and gently pushed her back onto the bed. Jennifer tried to concentrate on the feel of his lips on hers, his stubble rough on her chin, tried to expel Victor from her mind. She pressed her hand against his lower back, pulling his pelvis against hers.
She heard Robert groan, and felt him pull back. He looked down at her, reaching for the buttons on her cardigan. He pushed the sweater off of her shoulders, then helped her take it off, throwing it aside. Jennifer reached for Robert's t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. His body was lean, athletic, like a runner. Not like Victor's burly, muscular upper body. The comparison was automatic and her stomach dropped. She pushed the thought away and pulled Robert down to her, kissing him forcefully. She felt his hands at the hem of her sheer camisole, slipping underneath, moving to her breasts.
Jennifer didn't feel particularly aroused, but she let out a moan anyway to encourage things along, to distract her further. As Robert palpated her breasts, she pushed his shoulders back and took off her top, then pulled him to her once more. His mouth was wet, kind of cold – from the beer, she guessed. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he was kissing her hard, so hard her lips pushed painfully against her teeth. His hands were rough on her breasts, harried and careless. They kissed for a few minutes, and Jennifer felt her throat tightening; she couldn't keep Victor from her thoughts, how strong and safe he felt around her, how gentle his touch was. How aroused she had been.
Time to hurry things along again. She used her hands to scoot back, away from Robert, and sat up. "Take my bra off."
Robert didn't hesitate, reaching behind her and unhooking the lacy white undergarment. She shrugged her shoulders out of the straps, Robert setting it off to the side as he moved over her. He kissed her on the mouth, then along her jaw, and down her neck. Goose bumps spread over her skin at the new exposure, his saliva cooling on the places he had kissed. She felt his hand on her breast and his mouth move to take in her hardened nipple, tongue swirling over her aureola. Jennifer moaned as Robert moved to her other breast. A dull throb was beginning between her legs. Finally. She reached between them, under Robert's chest, for the fly of her jeans, unbuttoning them and tugging the zipper down. She grabbed Robert's hand from her breast and pushed it down to her crotch.
He let out a groan at the hot, moist feel of her under his fingers, even through her underwear. Still laving her breasts, he started rubbing her pussy, pushing the gusset of her panties between her lips and feeling for her clit. He pushed the crotch of her underwear to one side and pressed his fingers against her cunt, gently circling his palm against her vulva.
Jennifer arched her back and gasped as one of his fingers slid into her. "Oh, god," she said breathlessly. "Yeah, that feels so good." Robert looked up at her as he pushed his finger in and out; she was moaning and writhing under his hand.
Robert sat back on his knees, moving both hands to her jeans and starting to tug them down. Jennifer raised her hips and put her knees together as he slid them off. She watched Robert then unbutton his own jeans, push them down and kick them off, leaving him in his boxers. She could see his dick straining against the fabric, a wet spot forming at the head. He looked down at her, one hand rubbing his cock, breathing heavily.
Jennifer hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and started to take them off. Robert helped free her feet of them, and she laid back, spreading her legs wide. Again, Robert surveyed Jennifer prostrate before him, pulling his dick out and stroking it. He rested one hand atop her pussy, thumb pressing between her lips, searching for her clit.
"Jesus, you're sexy. Man, it's been a while since I've seen hair on a pussy," Robert said. "I like it."
Jennifer stopped at hearing her anatomy referred to in such a detached way, as though it were no longer a part of her, just a device to use and discard. He didn't care if she found it alienating; he wasn't even thinking about it. And she did. She looked at this stranger in front of her, turning what had been, historically, a safe, intimate act for her into a meaningless, carnal encounter. Everything was so strange about this situation, and she was suddenly painfully aware of how alone she felt, how desperately alone and sad she was. How differently she felt than when she was with Victor - all through her life, to be sure, but especially how he made her feel during the attack. The tight knot in her throat grew larger, and she let out a choked sob. That safety was gone. She wouldn't feel like that again.
Robert looked at her, confused. "Hey, are you okay?"
Jennifer pulled away from him and sat up, grabbing her underwear and pulling it up her legs quickly as she got off the bed. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to keep from bursting into tears. "I have to go."
"Okay, sure, of course. You look really upset, is there something I can do? Are you okay to get home by yourself?"
She turned to him. The sweet, concerned expression on his face was touching, but made her feel even worse for leaving him confused and, most likely, freaked out. He probably wasn't a bad guy, just a horny college kid eager to get his rocks off.
"No, it's fine, I'm sorry." She pulled on her pants and camisole, grabbing her bra and cardigan and turning to go. "It's nothing you did, I'm messed up, I'm sorry. I have to go."
Jennifer grabbed her purse and fled the apartment, pulling on her cardigan as she made her way to her car. All effects of the weed and beer were gone now, vanquished by the escalating emotional turmoil. She started to cry as she reached her car, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat. For several minutes, Jennifer rested her head on her hands on the steering wheel and sobbed. She felt empty. She felt hollow. Her sole source of stability and security in her life was gone, and she couldn't blame him for never wanting to return. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to regain her composure, at least enough to drive home.
The worst of it had passed. Jennifer took a deep breath and sat back against the seat, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing for a minute. She felt somewhat better now, or, if not better, exactly, capable of operating a motor vehicle. She turned the key in the ignition and began the drive home. She wanted nothing more than to see Victor, but she dreaded returning to their forever altered relationship, seeing how he couldn't meet her eyes. Watching him spiraling down. Their house didn't feel like home to her anymore.
* * *
Victor woke with a start at the slam of the back door in the kitchen. He looked around blearily; he had passed out in the recliner in the living room. He still felt kind of drunk. Not a surprise, considering he hadn't had any dinner and elected to break out the bourbon after work. But Jennifer was home. As with every time she arrived home, he didn't know what to do and was paralyzed. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and crush her to his chest at her safe return. But he didn't want to force himself on her, to subject her to him after what he had done to her. He had news for her from the police, though, about the break in. They had called the police the following morning, both too traumatized the night of the attack to think of it. Neither of them mentioned that the intruders had forced them to touch each other.
Victor hauled himself out of the recliner, unsteady on his feet, the room spinning a little. He stumbled into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway.
Jennifer looked up at Victor's approach. He looked terrible. His eyes were red and puffy, his dark blonde hair was messy, and it looked dirty. She could smell the booze on him. She swallowed hard as her stomach turned at the sight of him. He looked worse every time she saw him. She really had killed him, with what she'd forced him to do; it was only a matter of time until it was literal. When she opened her mouth to say something, nothing would come out. Her throat clenched in longing and pain.
"I heard from the police," Victor said. Jennifer looked like she had been crying. "They found a match for the fingerprints they pulled from the Nano." He watched her reach out and drop her purse on a side table, noticing that she was holding her bra in her hand. What the fuck had happened?
Jennifer stared at him blankly for a second. "Oh," she said, "that's really great." She saw his unfocused gaze fall briefly from her face down to her chest. She realized that without her bra, her sheer camisole was transparent enough that he could probably see the dark outline of her nipples. Oh god, did he think she did it on purpose? Trying to expose herself to him? She pulled her cardigan across her chest and looked at the ground.
Victor looked away, embarrassed that she had caught him looking at her chest. "Yeah, so, anyway...you know, these guys had priors, they're looking for them now. I just thought you might want to know." He turned to go.