Payback in the Bedroom Ch. 01bypentopaper©
"Three blind mice! Three blind mice! See how they run, see how they run!"
They had been telling stories and singing nursery rhymes for the last few minutes, and the sick feeling in his stomach was only getting worse with each new song.
"They all ran after the farmer's wife! She cut off their tails with a carving knife!"
He groaned under his breath. The kids. He had watched her for many weeks now, and she usually dropped them off at their grandparents' house on the outskirts of town every other weekend. When they were gone, she usually spent that time at the apartment alone. They were supposed to be at their grandparents' now, according to his schedule. But evidently something that he wasn't privy to, and rightly so, had changed things.
He had no claim to her, and shouldn't be anywhere near her at all. Yet, he was wedged under her bed in the master bedroom, sweating profusely under his ski mask. The apartment air conditioner was working, but nervousness was getting the best of him. He shook his head, frowning; the ski mask and him being "under the bed" was so cliché, he thought. He hated himself for being like a second-rate actor in a cheesy B movie. But it was too late for him to turn it all back now. His plan would have to be a go, even though the situation was far less than ideal.
He readied himself for what he was going to make happen. Could he be the person he was about to become? The pity that swelled in his gut for what he was going to put her through almost overcame him. He had to steel himself against those feelings. Think of her husband, he thought, grinding his teeth. This would end up hurting her husband far worse than it would hurt her, he reasoned. She would be an unintended casualty of the situation, almost like collateral damage.
That was the way it often was in war. Destroying the enemy wasn't all that difficult sometimes, he had found. He had seen small bits of action up close, but some elements of modern warfare had become so automatic that sometimes pushing a button and watching an explosion on a computer screen was all that a soldier witnessed. Though it looked like a computer game, it certainly was not.
It was the ground soldiers like him who stood in a long line, sweeping through and securing the recently bombed-out neighborhood buildings, which saw the direct after-effects of war. And it was the innocents, the ones who got caught standing too close when it all went down, who were the ones who paid the true price.
He had found that the enemy was vastly different, now that he was home. He sure as hell felt like he was still fighting a war, though. But this war was different; it was more personal, one that was hidden to outsiders. It raged only inside him. It was something he bore alone.
"Did you ever see such a sight in your life, than three blind mice? Three blind mice!"
In the nearby bedroom, the mother and her kids dissolved into fits of giggles.
"Ok, you two, that's all for tonight." Her voice was happy, joyful. It touched him in a way, but to make this evening successful, he had to hate it. He had to hate her just like he hated him.
So he took hold of the pity he felt for her and squashed it down deep into a dark corner of his heart. He focused on changing it, transforming it. He hardened it, polished it, and brought it back up to the surface. It no longer was pity anymore: it was hatred.
He narrowed his eyes until they were horizontal slits. Could he really be this person he was about to become? He pondered the question a little longer this time. Yes, he thought. He could be that person now, because at some point he had become that person. He was that person.
He was here, and his head was in the game. Pity would no longer be a problem tonight.
He heard elaborate goodnight kisses being exchanged, a little girl and a little boy saying their prayers for their mother, and then she closed their bedroom door tight.
His heart rate spiked as he heard her footfalls nearing the master bedroom. It was not unlike the anticipation on the battlefield when the enemy advances, hoping your hiding place is undetected. But the bedroom was dark and he was hidden well under the bed, concealed by the long dust ruffle.
There was a tiny gap, however, between the dust ruffle and the hardwood floor. As he pressed his cheek to the cool wood, he saw her enter the bedroom. She flicked on the bedroom lights as she came in. She was wearing loose-legged brown slacks, and he immediately noticed her naked feet and red painted toenails. She passed dangerously close to the bed and then quickly turned and entered the bathroom. The shower started, and her clothes came flying off in all directions. Through the tiny slit he was peeping through he could only see her from the knees down, and he caught sight of her smooth, bare calves before she closed the bathroom door.
He exhaled then, and it dawned on him then that he had been unconsciously holding his breath. He still felt nervous, but emotions were surfacing that he didn't think he possessed anymore. Her legs. He was astounded that he was still thinking about her legs. They were pretty, looked strong, and he had a vague sense that they would be soft and smooth under his fingers.
He snorted and shook those thoughts from his head. "Frigid" and "Bitch" had been her husband's pet names for her. He worked his mouth into a sneer, remembering. But that was all about to change. Whatever of herself she had kept from her husband in the past, he was going to take for himself tonight. And what a rush it would be to use and savor her body, something her husband hadn't been allowed to do then, and probably still couldn't do. He may need your permission, he thought. But I sure do not.
He let a few more minutes slip by, hoping she hadn't forgotten something that would necessitate an immediate return to the bedroom. That would surprise him and give her the advantage; something to be avoided. He had nothing to worry about, however. He heard the distinct sound of her stepping under the shower spray, so he deftly slithered out from under the bed. He quickly crossed the room, turning the lights off as he went.
He glanced into the hallway; the apartment was quiet. There were no sounds coming from the kids' bedroom. He doubted they were asleep yet, but they weren't creating any havoc, either.
He shut and locked the bedroom door and he hid himself close by the bathroom door in shadow. As he waited for her, his nerves betrayed him again. He cursed himself softly. What the hell was he doing? He didn't do things like this. And it didn't help that his whole plan could now be so easily shot to hell because the kids weren't supposed to be here. He'd have to think on his feet, something he certainly had been trained to do, but it wouldn't make things any easier for him, and it left no second chance for a fuck-up.
A few minutes later he heard her turn off the shower. She started knocking around in the bathroom, probably brushing her teeth, combing her hair, getting ready for bed. He frowned, every cell in his body now on alert. His body tensed, ready.
Finally, it was show time.
He was lurking just outside the bathroom door, and when it opened, he could feel the blast of hot, moist, shower air come over him. He was assaulted by the smell of her coconut shampoo and it made his brain fog just for a second. He suddenly remembered he had smelled that same scent on her almost two years ago and, bizarre as it seemed, realized that he had for some reason remembered it.
She took a few steps into the bedroom, looked around, and froze. He was sure she couldn't see him where he was hiding. He assumed she had grown cautious because she'd noticed that all the lights were now off and the bedroom door was closed. It was not how she had left things.
She had a battered-looking romance novel in one hand that had a scraggly orange piece of yarn dangling from between the pages. The bookmark was probably something that had been made for her by one of her kids. She was dressed in a thin summer-weight flowery robe that ended mid-thigh, and again his eyes lingered on her gorgeous calves and bare feet.
"Kids?" she whispered, looking around cautiously.
And then, like the soldier he was -- whisper-quiet-like -- he was behind her. One hand quickly slid around her waist and the other one completely covered her mouth. It happened so fast she didn't even have time to scream. Her book made a soft "thunk" as it fell to the floor.
"Shhhhh," he whispered in her ear, the only gently-delivered warning he intended to give her.
It took a beat for her to realize what was happening, and then she did scream. But his large hand was already tight on her mouth and the sound was greatly muffled. He doubted anyone standing outside the bedroom door could even have heard it.
She squirmed and kicked and fought him, and he grunted loudly when she got in a few good blows to his shins. He would probably see bruises there the next day. He was much stronger than her however, and he held her tight to him, letting her burn up some of the adrenaline that was racing through her veins. But he soon grew tired of her struggling. He ended it by tightening his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to his body, and squeezing her so hard that she was straining to breathe.
The fight was over; he had effectively immobilized her.
"Stop fighting me," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you," he quickly added, but they both knew he didn't mean it. She squeaked in terror, her adrenaline spiking again, her legs kicking at him even harder than before.
He was surprised at her second wind. This time he dragged her the few feet it took to reach the bed, and he fell on it as well as on top of her, his chest pressing into her back. Her breath came out in a loud "oof" as they went down, but he secured his hand over her mouth anyway, just in case she decided to call out. She strained, turning her head sideways to glance back at him; he had her total attention now.
"Don't make another sound," he growled as menacingly as he could. He held his muscled body down on top of her. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help but notice the feel of her body underneath him, her soft bottom fitting nicely against his lower belly. Her thighs were so soft and warm against his. She moved beneath him, testing his strength again. She found that she truly was pinned, and she finally gave up. But all that squirming she had done had made him start to harden. She smelled so clean and fragrant from her shower he had to blink to clear his head of her.
She was murmuring against his hand, trying to speak.
"No screaming," he said.
She shook her head quickly. He freed her mouth, but kept his hand close by just in case he needed to silence her again.
She whispered, her voice shaking terribly. He could hardly understand what she was saying through all her gasps and hiccups. "My kids -- please don't hurt my kids!" she begged.
He went cold inside, his passion completely shriveling. This was the major snafu of the evening. "Of course not. I won't touch your kids," he said quietly. This promise he did mean and did intend to keep.
"You can do whatever you want with me -- I'll...I'll do whatever you want. Just...please...they're young...they need their mother," she added, crying openly now. "I need to at least be left...alive...after this," she said, her sobs making her shake underneath him.
He swallowed, his body going cold. She sure had gotten to the point. He moved a little to take some of his weight off of her. "Good God, I'm telling you, I won't hurt those little kids," he said.
They both froze when there was a soft knock on the door.
"Oh, no," she whispered, trembling. "My daughter. I...I have to answer or she'll keep knocking and she'll start crying for me, wondering where I am." The words spilled hysterically from of her mouth, slipping and falling over each other.
He nodded with an anger-laced sigh. "Yeah." He pulled her up and sat her on his lap, his arms both wrapping tightly around her waist. Her bottom settled tightly against his cock, and he was slightly surprised when it started to get hard again. If she noticed, she didn't let on.
"What is it, Baby?" she called out in as normal voice as she could. His arm flexed at her waist, but he didn't speak.
"Can I have a drink of milk?"
"She can't reach the milk jug," she whispered back at him.
He didn't answer for a few seconds, weighing the few options he felt he had.
"Mom?" the little girl asked again.
"Shit," he muttered.
"P-please," she stammered, "let me get her settled in...then...then you can do whatever you want with me. I just don't want them to know," she added, tearing up again. "They're so little..."
He sighed, closing his eyes. "Yeah," he said. He pushed her off his lap and spun her around so he could look into her eyes. "But I want you right back here when you're done. You have two minutes, or I'll come get you," he added.
"Oh, God. Okay," she said, already running into the bathroom. "I'm coming, Kacey," she frantically called out to her daughter.
He disappeared back into the bedroom shadows. He watched her as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and dabbed a cold wet washcloth to her face. Her eyes were swollen and terribly bloodshot, and her hands were shaking as she worked.
Their eyes met briefly as she quickly sidled past him and hurried out through the bedroom door, closing it gently behind her.
"Mommy, are you ok?" he heard the little girl ask her. "You look weird."
"I'm just fine!" she said, a little too brightly to be believed by anyone but a child. "You know what? I got soap in both my eyes in the shower. I don't have tear-free shampoo like you do..." her voice trailed off as she made her way down the hallway into the kitchen.
He cursed himself as loud as he dared. He felt like hell. He was an asshole. A stupid, idiotic prick. He had no intention of hurting her kids, hadn't wanted the kids involved at all. But because of that, she had his ass in a sling right now and probably didn't even know it. If she was smart, she would take the kids and run. Then this would all be over even before it got started. That would definitely be the best thing for her.
But, he reasoned with himself...then again...she didn't know whether he had an accomplice hidden somewhere, whether he was carrying a gun, or if he would chase them or even hunt them down if she did escape. She was scared enough she just might come back. He pondered this while he cracked his knuckles. How could he have let things get so out of his control? "Damnit," he whispered.
A few minutes passed as the girl drank her milk. The boy heard the commotion and joined them and, of course, needed a drink too. Then he heard the goodnight's being said for a second time, the kids' bedroom door closing, and then she was back in the master suite.
He could not deny that he was astounded that she had returned.
"You're late," he said sourly, moving out from the shadows. He disguised his surprise at her return well, but he sure still felt it. He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyeing her.
She looked down at her hands to avoid his eyes. "Sorry," she whispered, nodding. She hated looking at him. The ski mask he wore terrified her. He was a tall man, probably over six feet, she reasoned. He was wearing all black: black turtleneck shirt, black jeans and shoes. Even the ski mask he had on was black. He had a large frame, and he was fit and very strong. She had no hope of getting away.
Even though she was nearly paralyzed by her fear, she had something that needed to be said. She gathered all her courage and looked up, forcing herself to meet his gaze without flinching. "I expect you to keep your promise," she said softly. She then waited for his answer as she nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot.
His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat at her words. God, she was bold. He ruefully admitted to himself that he was impressed. He gave her a curt nod hoping she could see it in the darkened room.
She quickly looked away from him and stared down at her toes, her arms wrapped around her chest tightly. "Okay, then," she nodded and whispered. "I'm holding you to your word."
He was silent for nearly a full minute. Then he chuckled softly and shook his head. She was making deals with him - a crazy rapist - that she expected him to honor? It was all he could do not to snort out loud. He'd never met anyone like her.
"Come here," he said quietly.
Her head snapped up, her eyes suspicious. He crooked and wriggled a finger at her, motioning for her to come his way.
She sniffed a couple times, her face twisting into a sob that never surfaced, but she did as he asked. She stopped when she was a few steps in front of him.
"A little closer," he said.
She took those steps, and she was close enough now that he could smell her again, could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. He took a few seconds to enjoy her closeness. He could almost feel the fear radiating from her body.
He suddenly stood up, and she flinched backwards, away from him. His body was inches from hers; his eyes boring down at her from the mask. She was sure he could hear her own heartbeat as it screamed in her chest. He hovered in front of her, and then he slowly began walking around her like a predator, eyeing her up and down.
"Wow," he said. "I had no idea...that you looked so beautiful right before you went to bed."
There was odd honestly in his tone, and her desire to flee grew even greater.
He let his eyes travel all over her. Her wet curly blonde hair hung down to the middle of her back. Her ass curved out nicely. Her bone structure was rather delicate, her waist probably a little bigger than it had been in high school, but she was still very pretty. Her eyes were green and conveyed her terror well. Her full lips and her dimpled chin trembled as he looked at her. She kept her arms tightly wrapped around herself.
After slowly circling her, he sat back down on the bed, but he was still staring at her. She took an unconscious half-step backwards as he continued to ogle. Beautiful tanned legs, probably freshly shaved. Those red toenails, and breasts that looked so soft that it took immense strength for him to resist touching one, or simply claiming a nipple with his mouth even while it was still hidden under her robe's thin material.
"You're all tied up like a little present," he murmured, reaching out and pulling on the end of one of the ties that held her robe together.
She instinctively slapped at his hands. She was so spunky, he thought, amused. But, unfortunately, he had to make her understand, though he didn't really enjoy making her fear him, that where she might have the choice of saying "no" to her husband, she was going to participate tonight.
His hands shot out, grabbing her wrists. He spun them both around and violently pushed her onto her back on the bed. It was so unexpected she didn't even think to scamper away. He moved then like a big cat, slowly crawling on top of her, watching the fear that grew in her ever widening gaze. When he was eye level with her, he took hold of her wrists again and let his body's weight sink down on top of her.
She felt his chest press into hers, flattening her breasts against her ribs. She was terrified, but he must have been wearing cologne because she smelled its dark, muted scent the closer he got to her. She swallowed loudly, her tongue making a clicking sound against the roof of her dry mouth.
She felt every breath he took as his chest rose and fell while pressed tightly against hers. His body heat warmed her and caused a flush to form on her skin.
"You do not want to fight me," he growled softly.