Sean the Great

This story depicts a graphic portrayal of a forced sexual encounter. This is a fictional story, and could not represent the horrifying reality of rape. Feedback on any aspect of the story, subject matter, grammar, characterization, plot etc. would be greatly appreciated. Thanks also to the generous persons who helped edit this story, you know who you are!

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The happiest endings usually involve babies and family photos, Sean couldn’t think of anything worse. A happy ending was a long ride into nowhere, off a cliff preferably. Like Thelma and Louise, she thought dreamily. Flicking her eyes from the B movie that was playing on the TV above the bar, Sean stared at her shot glass that wavered before her eyes. Empty again. Through bleary eyes, she looked up to try and find the bartender.

At this late hour on a Sunday the bar was almost empty. The usual drunks lay across its smeared surfaces or perched precariously on the ancient stools. Not one of them had enough sense to put more music on the out-of-date jukebox. More than likely they didn’t have money to spare for anything other than booze, she thought scornfully and probably couldn’t get up anyway. She had money to spare though, oh boy, did she have money to spare. After her last trick, the one that Arthur the Prick didn’t know about, yeah, she had money to spare…and what’s more, she was still quite capable of standing.

Sean raised an elbow off the bar and swung around awkwardly on the stool. Clinging to the bar with one hand she slid inelegantly off the barstool and stood slouched for a moment till she could get her balance. Leaning on the bar for support she flipped back her long hair and then stood fully upright. The room seemed to shimmer in and out of focus as she peered out of large, heavily made-up green eyes. Now where had they put that jukebox? Wiping her face tiredly, she straightened her faux fur-collared coat and staggered toward the back of the bar.

David watched the leggy redhead from his place behind the bar. At least once a night she strode into the bar for a few shots of tequila before returning to business on the street. He had noticed her his first night, barely two months ago. She was the “noticing” type. Almost six-foot in her worn-in, knee-high kid leather boots. Behind her thick makeup he figured there was a very good-looking girl. Her skin was pale and creamy, but it was her hair that had him worked up. No one had ever had hair that color of red. It hung in a surprisingly lustrous curtain, without a kink. A sigh escaped him as he watched her stagger drunkenly to the jukebox. Long, thin legs were bare from the top of the boots to the bottom of a long coat that swayed around her thighs. She was all arms and legs. Regarding her with pale eyes he saw her fumble with change and put on a song, some heavy metal shit that he hated.

David bent to remove a tray of freshly washed glasses from the dishwasher and when he straightened she had flung off her red coat and was swaying to the loud music. The wrap-around top she wore was the kind that you tie yourself into, it left her midriff and her ample cleavage bare. She had the tightest, roundest ass he had ever seen. Showing it off in an indecently short miniskirt that barely covered her rump; but, he thought appreciatively, there was nothing decent about this girl.

Watching her dance was making him feel horny and sick of himself; and sick of every other guy who got a hard on just watching her. For fifty he knew he could fuck her, but David had never paid for sex and he wasn’t about to start. For the hundredth time, he wondered what had happened to her to drive her into her current life. It wasn’t like he wanted to save her or anything either. He’d never been into the whole hero thing. Hell, for all he knew, she was putting herself through law school or something. He tried to imagine her all cleaned up in a business suit and grinned at the mental image. It didn’t fit.

Courage had failed him when it came to striking up a conversation with her. He had seen the short way others had been disposed of who’d had the bad sense to hit on her. He also knew her pimp. Arthur was an evil bastard, not someone he wanted to upset. So he just contented himself pouring her shots and watching her move.

“Bartender!”

David raised his eyes as one of the regular patrons tapped the bar with an empty glass, but he finished drying and polishing the glass he was working on before moving slowly to supply a refill. Never let them see you jump to it, otherwise they expect too much and think they can boss you around. Number one rule of bartending, always leave them fearing you won’t serve them more. The regular slapped down a five, slung back the drink and seemed to nod back to sleep on the bar.

David shook his head, poor old Ernie. He’d heard this one’s story, a schoolteacher who’d been dismissed for sexually harassing female students. Ernie had confessed one night after too many drinks and with a gleam in his eye that told David he was completely unrepentant. The Bartender: you were every drunken cretin’s shoulder to cry on. The cliché was true.

“You filthy, lying, lazy piece of shit!” A voice suddenly roared from the doorway of the bar, interrupting the hazy peace like a bullhorn. David, Ernie and the other drowsy patrons were instantly alert. All eyes turned to watch the man rushing through the bar, bowling over a chair with a sharp, well-placed kick on his way.

Sean stopped dancing at the sound of the voice and froze in place, instantly sober. Pulse beating in her ears, she set her teeth, planted her feet and turned to face the onslaught. Arthur the Prick, as she called him, burst through the bar to confront her, his face a contorted mask of rage.

Arthur was a tall man, he looked tall, and he carried himself tall, his chest was a barrel of muscle and he had a fierce reputation as a street fighter. He wore a black leather jacket that he loved more than life itself. It had been stolen once and unwittingly the thief tried to sell it back to Arthur who promptly broke every finger of the guy's hand. Sean knew Arthur had killed someone once with his bare hands and she believed it. She’d seen his violence one time too many. She owed this man a lot; owed him her existence and she hated him for it.

“Hey Arty, what’s your problem?” She spoke up hesitantly as he pulled up bristling and angry in front of her, his chin jutting out, his brow a thin line of fury.

“What’s my problem you stupid bitch. What’s my problem? You fucking little whore! “ He roared, spittle flying from his lips. “You’re my problem. You’ve always been my problem. What’s my problem, she says?” He laughed, a dry little sound, and his sharp black eyes scoured the bar as if appealing to the awakened patrons to see his point of view.

Sean took a step back when Arthur turned his head to see the effect his dramatic entrance had created. Always the showman, she thought sourly. When he turned back to her he took a quick step forward and his hand shot out and grabbed her face. Squeezing her jaw painfully he pulled her face roughly forward.

“Where’s my fucking money?” He snarled close to her face so she could smell the reek of his after-shave and foul breath.

“Ow, you’re hurting me.” Sean wiggled against his grip and then, unexpectedly he shoved her hard. Hovering in surprise for a moment, Sean fell sprawling on the floor.

“I’ll say this one time only Sean. Just one time! Give me my fucking money.”

Sean looked up from where she’d fallen on the filthy floor of the bar. Glaring at Arthur she picked herself up, brushing off the grime. She stalked to where her coat was slung on a table near the jukebox and shuffled through the pockets to produce what was left of the fifty she had just made. Arthur looked at her disparagingly as she handed it to him.

“You’re lucky you didn’t drink more than your share,” he growled. When his hand shot out, Sean cringed thinking he was going to hit her. Instead, he almost tenderly brushed back a strand of her hair, stroking the red tresses lightly. “Don’t go out behind my back ever again, all right sweetie?” His tone was pleasant but she knew the violence that backed it up was real.

Seething inside, Sean just nodded at him meekly, not daring to say anything and inflame the situation further. Arthur let his fingers linger on her cheek as he stared at her through softening eyes. His fingers drifted lower along her chin, down her neck and across her collarbone. Suddenly sickened, she watched as his eyes traveled the length of her slim body. Since they’d made their deal, he hadn’t touched her. Promising him that she would pull extra nights and bring in more money she’d convinced him to lay off her for awhile. She loathed sex with Arthur.

Five long years ago, as a shy, innocent sixteen-year old runaway, he had made it clear that without sex there’d be no help and she’d been desperate. He had not been gentle. Sex with Arthur was always violent and always took her awhile to recover from his attacks. The last episode had put her out of commission for a week. One of the other girls had almost convinced Arthur to take her to the hospital; she had been so messed up. She had recovered as she always did. Since then she was making sure no one would mess with her again. She chose her tricks carefully and she was now fully equipped to defend herself.

Arthur gave her one last, long look that spoke volumes, and smirked at her. Sean knew if she fucked up like this again he would renege on their deal and she couldn’t afford to let that happen.

“Back to work, okay honey?” He said in that sugarcoated tone.

“Okay,” she replied dutifully, not meeting his eyes.

Arthur’s cold, bullying gaze roamed the bar again as if challenging someone to confront him. The patrons all avoided his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in their drinks. When he didn’t receive any response, he turned and left quickly, without looking back.

Sean started breathing again, slowly at first to be sure she still was. Clutching her coat, she walked unsteadily back to her stool at the bar. Shaking uncontrollably she knew she couldn’t go back out there. Not until she’d had another drink. Arthur had taken all her money though. Glancing up she caught the bartender staring at her. She hadn’t noticed he was cute, at least in a jock kind of way. He had an old-fashioned crew cut and was peering at her with a curious expression. Pity? Her lip curled angrily.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She spat at him.

David regarded her coolly, feeling the back of his neck prickle now that she was staring at him full face. While he had been worried when Arthur had burst into the bar and pushed her around, like most of the others he wasn’t stupid enough to confront the brute. So he’d watched and gritted his teeth, especially when he’d seen the way the pimp had touched her and looked at her.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked finally, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Nope,” she lied and started to leave.

“On the house,” he said quickly. She stopped, turned and fixed him with those startling green eyes.

“Well, I’m not the type of girl to pass up an offer like that am I now?” She replied smartly.

“What’s your name?” He asked as he poured her a larger than usual shot of tequila. Rolling the glass around between her two hands, she fixed him with a cautious stare then shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

“Sean. S-E-A-N.” She spelled it out and added with a small shrug. “My parents wanted a boy.”

Taking a ragged breath she swallowed the alcohol, feeling it burn and settle her insides. It made her feel immediately better and she smiled at the bartender almost warmly.

“Thanks,” she said and stalked out of the bar, oblivious to the men staring at her as she left.

David turned his back on the patrons and closed his eyes. His mouth was dry and his hands trembled. She’d smiled at him, and when she smiled he could see that she, Sean, he rolled her name around in his mind “Sean,” was truly beautiful.

* * *

It was almost dawn. Sean thought she could just make out a pink sliver of light between the two boarded-up apartment blocks across the street from her place. Arthur’s place she corrected, reminding herself so she would never get too complacent. Each of his girls had a room in the old tenement and it was where they brought their tricks. Arthur could keep an eye on things. She was surprised he hadn’t installed surveillance devices, but he would never spend so much on anything but himself, she thought.

Rolling over onto her back, she stretched her long body out, reveling in the clean white sheets. The last guy had left a couple of hours ago and she always changed the sheets at the end of the night and took a shower, lingering long under the cleansing hot water. They may pay her to endure their sweaty, sour smelling bodies and the juices they left with her, but she wouldn’t sleep with their filth.

Sitting up, she took out a cigarette. Even after all this time she still had trouble going to sleep at dawn; it just didn’t seem right. How, she missed the days, the mornings. Growing up in the suburbs, she remembered a big old Magnolia tree in her front yard filled with birds. At dawn they would awaken and send out a chorus of greetings, to each other or to the sun; she didn’t know which, but it usually woke her with a smile. No birds here though she thought glumly, staring out the window into the darkness while she smoked the rest of her cigarette.

Eventually the exertions of her night overwhelmed her and she began to feel the tug of sleep. She stubbed out the cigarette and curled down between the sheets. Her long hair pillowing beneath her cheek, as always, comforted her. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.

What seemed like moments later, she awoke suddenly to a blur of movement in her room. Sensing it before seeing anything, she bolted upright in bed, coming quickly awake. All her senses, honed from years on the streets, were immediately alert. It was still dark in the room so it couldn’t have been too much later than when she’d fallen asleep, she reasoned. It felt like hours and her head was groggy. She rubbed her eyes and rose to a crouching position on her bed. She was sure she had seen someone dodge into the adjoining bathroom.

“Who’s there?” She hissed, thinking it could be Arthur. He used to creep into her room in the mornings, but hadn’t since their deal. What was he up to? There was only silence in reply. Every sense warned Sean someone was in there.

“I’ve got a gun, and I’ll fucking come in there and use it if you don’t come out,” she called more loudly and slowly stepped off the bed. Opening her dresser drawer she reached in and felt around underneath her underwear for the gun she kept for protection.

There was a sudden rush of air from behind her and before she was able to locate the gun she turned to face the attack. Someone hurtled rapidly at her from the bathroom. In the second to spare before he was on her, there was only a blur of black clothing and a hooded face. Hit hard with the full weight of the assailant’s body, she was pushed roughly against the dresser. Sean remained dazed for only a second before she shrieked and began to fight, biting, scratching and kicking. The assailant seemed unfazed by her resistance and grabbed her forearms firmly, dodging the blows from her legs. Throwing her forcefully face down on the bed he quickly moved on top of her, wrapping a gloved hand around her mouth and pinning her with his large body. Unable to move then, Sean felt a chill of fear creep through her limbs when something clicked and cold metal was pressed to her temple.

“Stop moving,” his voice whispered at her. Instantly she stilled, hoping that there might be time later to argue, as long as his intentions weren’t to blow her brains out on the spot. The way he pressed down against her body, she guessed his plan might be otherwise.

“Good.” His voice was low. She could feel his growing erection against the cheeks of her bottom.

“I want you to cooperate,” he said evenly, emphasizing the last word. “And you’ll be just fine.” He was talking quietly very close to her face and she could feel his breath on her skin. “Nod, if you promise not to scream and I’ll remove my hand.” She nodded feeling weary and sick, and an icy calmness clutched her insides.

The attacker removed his hand and fumbled between them to produce a cord to try and tie her wrists. He found it impossible to grab both her wrists with one hand and tie the rope while holding the gun to her head. Sean heard him swear under his breath in frustration and her fear began to subside; he didn’t know what he was doing. Helplessly she giggled. No sooner had the sound escape her lips then a searing pain ripped through the back of her head. It was like someone had punched a hole in her skull. Pain erupted behind her eyes and blurred her vision and then she blacked out.

* * *

Sean came to with a muffled groan of pain and a heaving nausea in her guts. It was the world’s worst migraine she thought, and tried to force back the feeling that she was going to vomit. Vomiting with a taped mouth, she thought, would not be a good idea. The room was dim because the thick curtains were drawn against the daylight that had crept into the world behind it.

The attacker had removed her T-shirt and panties; she was completely naked. Lying on her back, her arms were bent awkwardly underneath her and tied at the wrists. Gazing down she saw her legs were pulled and tied apart. Each ankle was bound with a long cord that disappeared over the foot of the bed, no doubt tied to its legs. Effectively immobilized she felt a growing chill and turned her head to look for her attacker. Pain radiated down the back of her head and tensed her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to block it out.

When she opened them again he was there, crouching on the floor by the bed. A black woolen ski mask covered his entire head except for his eyes and his mouth. He had taken off his black rain jacket to reveal a long sleeve black T-shirt and black jeans. She fixed him with an icy look and he stared back at her with light gray eyes.

“I’m sorry I had to hit you,” he said quietly apologetic, as if he genuinely hadn’t meant to hurt her. “There was no other way.” His tone suggested he was embarrassed.

Frowning, Sean wriggled uncomfortably and hoped his conciliatory tone meant that he might take pity on her. Her silent plea did not seem to get through to him though. He lifted her head in his hands, gently sweeping her long hair through his fingers and fanned it out on the pillow around her. Leaning over her, he sniffed it appreciatively.

“So beautiful…” he murmured.

Slipping down her body then, his eyes paused at her breasts and then at the mound of trimmed red hair between her legs. Raising his gloved hand he slid a finger gently over her chest and around the swell of her breast, the center of her abdomen, then lightly over the tuft of hair on her pubis.

Sean shivered feeling angered by his touch and closed her eyes hoping that he would get on with it, get it over with and go. Hoping he wasn’t a psycho planning more than sex. His breath was suddenly on her face and before she knew it she felt him kiss each of her closed eyelids with gentle butterfly kisses. Surprised at the gentleness of the touch, her eyes flew open. No one had kissed her like that, not since she was a child. She stared at him and he regarded her with a soft look.

“It doesn’t have to be horrible,” he whispered soothingly. What did he mean? Was he joking? Sean was incredulous.

Like a man famished, he was suddenly all over her. Light kisses covered her face, her cheeks, and her nose. He nibbled an earlobe, breathing into her hair, sniffing her in deeply as if he couldn’t get enough of her smell. Kissing her chin, her jaw, her neck and her throat, he then leaned over her and lightly kissed a light pink nipple. Saliva was cool on the puckered flesh of her aureole; then his hot breath warmed it. Sucking the nipple between his lips, he rolled it gently with his tongue. Cupping her other breast he moved across to repeat the same process. The excitable flesh of the nipples contracted and stiffened under the ministrations of his tongue and breath.