Brown Eyes, Blue Eyes Ch. 02

The hours melted by as tediously as if someone had written in old, cracked chalk on a blackboard and then smeared their hands across it to erase the markings.

The exact edges of where one ended, and the next began were startlingly fuzzy. There were no windows in the room Emma was kept in; day became night became day again -- or so it must've. She'd have sworn she'd been there for all eternity.

Of course, her judgment wasn't that sound; how many times had one of them stooped at her side to inject -- whatever it was they were injecting -- into her?

Her head was heavy with an impenetrable fog; she was constantly nauseated and 'swishy', the room spinning, sending her into an unending free-fall.

The emptiness of her stomach was a blessing and a curse; she was so hungry, she thought the vary marrow of her bones ached hollowly.

She felt like she was buried alive; where was she? Where were the people looking for her?

She wanted to get out of this damned house if it would only slow down enough so she could find the door.

The spinning never stopped, though; her head never stopped swimming; she had an entire ocean between her ears.

When Emma decided to toss a limb out, it was less in the hopes of stopping the spinning at first and more to prove that she could still move on her own. Her barefoot left the meager, little mat they'd put down for her and made contact with the cold wood of the floor; solid. Firm.

The knot of bone at her ankle made impact, and a mild pain shot up her leg.

She thought the spin stuttered, just a little. Like someone had taken a metal rod and poked in between the spokes of a moving wheel.

She tossed her other leg outward. The movement seemed to reawaken a restlessness in her.

"Hey," she muttered. Her voice cracked in her throat, a spark of sound leaping from a sudden flame.

She was not alone in this room. They always kept at least one person there with her, just to keep watch.

He wasn't 'watching' her at all, though.

His gaze hadn't slid over her in an uncountable amount of time. He hadn't spoken either.

Which he was it anyway? They never looked her way, so she couldn't see what color his eyes were.

Blue-Eyes was taller, but the man in the room with her was sitting! Everyone looked the same size sitting.

She tried the same tossing movements with her arms, and pain nipped up her right wrist -- the one from which she was still handcuffed. The clinking of metal on metal confirmed this. That's right; she was chained up to the metal leg of the table, laying at his feet like a dog.

"Hey," she said again, a little louder, hoarse but complete.

The man didn't so much as blink. The room wasn't spinning so much anymore; speaking required focus which centered her somewhat. The edges of her vision were wobbling, though, tilting like she was on a boat, like the room was trying it's damnedest to spin. Her stomach churned. She was a little nauseous.

Now she found the vitriol collecting in her throat and ripped sound from it like one started a lawnmower.

"Didn't you hear me, you son of a bitch? I'm talking to you."

The end of the sentence grew in volume, shredded and pitchy like the sound was forced through broken glass.

The man gave no indication she'd said anything at all.

"Aren't you listening to me?"

The resounding, answering silence would say, no.

"Don't you have any more stupid little questions to ask? Don't you need something to take back when you go running back to your boss?"

She tried to flail a leg out to hit the leg of his chair, but she couldn't reach it. Instead, cold concrete sent a deep ache through her shin.

The oversized, grubby, cotton t-shirt they'd stuffed her in provided very little protection from the empty chill of being half-naked and as hungry as she was. It smelled somewhat musky and had a few holes by the neck; it had probably been one of theirs.

Her nipples poked out, the hard, little buds obvious through the fabric. She wondered if her captor noticed. She kicked her leg out again, this time in the hopes that the sound would get his attention. When it didn't, her temper flared again.

She needed food. She was cold. She kicked her legs out, again and again, now just trying to make noise rather than hit her mark.

Fuck, she needed something other than to stew in her own misery in someone's filthy shirt because she thought she was going to go fucking nuts.

With all the kicking she'd done, the hem of the shirt had ridden up above her hips, where the tuft of curls between her legs was revealed.

She lolled her gaze up to the man at the table, who was reading. He didn't seem to notice.

There was no fire behind the rage she felt -- had been feeling -- it was bone dry now and terribly brittle.

The first day she'd been here, they'd left her alone, and she'd fought and screamed and all but kicked the damn door down. Now she lay curled at his feet like their unwilling, little pet.

She glared at the man sitting before her; his hair was a dirty blonde, and he wasn't wearing glasses. Brown-Eyes.

When she raised her hand to touch herself, it was so tedious, it was almost like she was lifting something separate from herself, something leaden, tied to her, intent to make her sink, when she was trying to swim.

The movement was non-negotiable, though; if she couldn't seize his attention, she could at least make herself feel something other than empty.

She let her hand fall and land between her legs, moving her fingers, parting the hair there, spreading her lips.

She was dry; still, as she dragged her fingers against herself, the feeling wasn't unpleasant.

After a few moments, traces of wetness collected at the pads of her fingers.

As she moved her fingers, she could feel the weight of her arm across her torso, pressing her breasts. For once, the heaviness didn't feel quite so stifling or sluggish. She felt the soft jostle of her body with the movement. As the wetness began to grow, she realized that she was starting to feel a little less terrible with almost tearful relief.

She stroked her fingers along the now-wet seam of her cunt and delighted in how silky it felt now; what magic her touch worked in just a few minutes.

Her fingers found the slight dimple, where her body curved inward, marking her entrance. She thought of how recently it had been used, although it was difficult when she wasn't quite sure how much time had passed.

She'd had three meals since then, and she couldn't imagine that they fed her more than twice a day. That meant they'd fucked her from anywhere from a day and a half ago, to perhaps three days ago, at most, she'd guess.

Emma started to ease her finger in, a little hesitant, not necessarily because she was still newly wet and she was worried about stretching herself out, but because she'd gotten to wondering if remnants of their seed remained in her. It was as if her fingers were hiding away from her captors only to find more of them inside.

Her tight heat accepted the slow push of her index finger, and at a surprising sing in friction along her inner walls, she felt her thighs give a slight twitch.

A contented sigh left Emma that cracked in her throat midway through.

Now she was so focused on her own actions that she didn't even notice the way Brown-Eyes' gaze flicked down to the junction between her thighs.

Emma's finger was pumping in a slow rhythm now, easy, letting the sucking heat of her cunt pull her back in as a delightful warmth started to gather in her gut.

On the next outdraw, she added her middle finger and hilted them inside her to the knuckle. There was an audible wet sound.

Not only comfortable with the girth but craving more from it, Emma began to move her fingers faster, the easy rhythm she'd started with growing, picking up the pace, pumping moderately, and then eventually, pumping furiously.

The vicious rub against her inner walls fed the heat growing inside of her, and as her knuckles crashed against her folds, she could feel the jostle of her breasts against her arm.

She was fucking herself with the need to get off now; fuck Brown-Eyes, fuck this room, and fuck whatever they'd shot her up with.

She could feel herself clench around her fingers like her body was trying to hold her hand there. She was close; her breathing was ragged, her heart was racing, and her skin felt like it was washed in heat -- she felt more alive than she had in days, with her blood running hot and cold and her stomach flipping--

Suddenly, something warm and tight closed around her wrist as her thighs were thrown apart and her fingers were ripped from her swollen cleft.

"Ah!—"

Emma cried out, both out of shock and the agony of having her release snatched from her when it had just nearly been within her reach.

Brown-Eyes had moved so quickly, she barely had time to register the screech of chair legs against the wood floor. He was holding her hands back against the mat as he straddled her waist, keeping her pinned under his weight even if she was already chained up to the table. Emma thought she could feel the hard, hot bulge of his erection through his trousers against her stomach, and for a moment, she thought he was going to fuck her again.

She felt a flutter -- panic? Or maybe something else she was too proud to admit -- meanwhile, the patch between her legs still hideously wet. She clenched emptily; she'd been so close to her release, it'd be more of a crime not to fill her now.

Instead, though, Brown-Eyes reached into his pocket to pull out a small silver key. She struggled beneath him the best she could, hips bucking, legs thrashing, but with his weight and the weakness of her current state, it might as well have been the wind that he felt.

He leaned over her to put his weight down on both her arms, moving her free wrist towards the one cuffed to the table. When they were close enough that he could keep both down with one of his arms, he leaned heavily onto her and undid the cuffs, only to redo them so that they were both cuffed around the table leg.

"Fucker!" she barked in his face.

She pulled and jerked beneath him, but even as he took some of his weight off her, she still couldn't go very far. Her poor cunt was still pounding with her arousal.

Brown-Eyes' gaze slipped over her form, pausing where the t-shirt still rode up at her hips.

"You look so much better this way."

His lips curled back into a leer.

She couldn't deny that she'd rather be tied up than made to take that again -- whatever they'd stuck in her. At least like this, she wouldn't feel sick.

His gaze slipped over her form once more. Emma waited for him to go back to his book; he didn't.

Brown-Eyes was watching her coolly as he undid his belt and shoved his hands into his trousers to procure his cock. She watched him slide his pants and underwear over his hips and eyed his heavy sac as he started stroking himself in front of her.

He was close enough that she caught his heavy musk; she thought he was going to stick it in her mouth again and force her to suck him off.

The thought made her skin wash hot in anticipation. She was still soaked between her legs.

Brown-Eyes seemed to be contemplating what to do next, the hand that was stroking along his length dropping to his balls to fondle them gently. His erection bobbed lightly with the movement, almost enticing her forward; if only she could've moved of her own free will.

She wouldn't have had the time to act anyway, however, because then he was slotting himself between her legs and shoving his cock inside her.

Emma groaned at the dull ache of him forcing her inner walls apart, luckily, she was very, very wet, and so he slipped in, more or less, easily enough.

She squeezed around him immediately, the center of her body tensing in response to the friction of him inside her. Suddenly, her body seemed to awaken to the nearness of her initial orgasm.

This tension didn't go unnoticed by Brown-Eyes, who felt her ass flex and settled on a hard, pinching grip on each cheek, roughly fondling.

"Mm, you fit like a glove."

Accompanied by the lewd wet sound of his cock in her, his words hit her with that much more vulgarity.

"S-Shut up."

One hand came up to wrench the hem of her shirt up above her breasts, and she groaned as she felt his face plant into the rhythmic bounce of them. The scratch of his beard against the sensitive peaks paired with the viciousness he was fucking her with below made a violent tremble overtake her thighs.

He was spearing into her inner walls, beating the friction deep inside her with bruising thrusts. God, their coupling was so loud, even without their ragged breaths and her little whimpers.

Every inch of her felt feverish now, compared to how she'd been stagnating in her lonely, disparate chill before. She could hardly even remember feeling so lively and hot-blooded; it was as if Brown-Eyes were fucking her back to life.

"God, how many loads are you going to take while you're here?" he grunted.

She gnashed her teeth to keep from answering; it wasn't for her to say anyway.

Emma could feel her strong inner walls pulsate around him, squeezing around his thick cock greedily. It didn't matter how much of her rage she swallowed down when he was fucking her. Her hatred would never override the tangible reality of the drag of him inside her.

Her arms strained against the pull of the cuffs; she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze or pull his hair until his scalp was bloody. She tried to clutch his large, barrel chest to her form as he railed into her, like someone clinging desperately to a piece of driftwood when cast at sea.

Her stomach flipped, and she could feel the heat, pooling, weighing heavily at the back of her pelvic bone, tremble.

Her muscles in her arms tensed and flexed, sore since they had nowhere to pour their energy, unable to follow through with the motions they were directed to carry out.

All the while, Brown-Eyes never relented as he fucked her.

Her skin was muggy with the sweat forced at her skin and rosy where his lips, tongue, and the wiry hair of his beard had abrased her breasts.

His cock pumped furiously into her, and Emma, who'd been hurtling straight towards her release for a while now, felt something release inside of her.

"Mm, no!—"

She tried helplessly to resist, to hold on, to do anything other than give this man the satisfaction of knowing he could stick his cock in her whenever he liked and make her come, but she couldn't.

Their coupling grew audibly louder with the wash of wetness from her finishing. Meanwhile, Brown-Eyes continued to thrust into her, still in pursuit of his own. He took her with a fury, his hold on her pinching and hard, his lips lopsided and barely turned up, pleased that even when she fucking hated him, she didn't hate being fucked by him.

He was going to finish inside of her; why wouldn't he?

She was so certain, remembering how he'd emptied himself in her before and disgusted at herself for how ready she was for him to do it again.

She felt his cock twitch inside of her and pinched her eyes shut as his length continued to ravage her sensitive walls.

Brown-Eyes surprised her, though, tearing his cock from her in the next instant.

Emma cried out again, feeling violated now by the absence of him as she had been by the intrusion of him inside her.

His erection bounced slightly, gleaming, covered in her slick. Emma watched as Brown-Eyes drew closer, leaving the junction between her legs to shift upward along her body, straddling her ribcage now.

He leaned forward, his cock nearing her face. Emma could catch her own musky scent mingled with his.

"Now, I let you finish, so you're going to be a good little girl and clean me off after I have, okay?"

The question was either habit or a slip of courtesy -- she didn't actually have a choice. As it was, Brown-Eyes didn't even wait for her to acknowledge him, with his swollen tip was bumping against her lips.

"Open."

Her lips parted, and then Brown-Eyes was fitting his cock inside her mouth and canting his hips.

Emma barely had time to adjust; she gagged, and then as he drew out again to the tip, she forced her throat to relax, anticipating the next thrust as he fucked her face.

Her tongue slid against the underside of him, where the heavy muskiness of their scents unfurled and became sharper, an earthy, sweaty taste.

"Ah, fuck," he grunted. "No matter what hole I use, you take me so well."

He twitched in her mouth, and she felt a twinge in her toe. Between her legs was still recklessly wet, if not stroked by his cock any longer than by his vulgar language.

"Even if you keep up the quiet game, maybe this little...trip of ours hasn't been such a waste--"

He grunted, cutting himself off when he found his release.

A burst of salty warmth exploded in her mouth, and Emma found herself gagging again. Brown-Eyes immediately shifted into action, slowing his pace, pumping his softening cock slowly, deeply into her mouth as she milked him.

His hand came up to pinch around her jaw, forcing her lips shut around his length.

"Good girl, swallow every drop."

Emma couldn't answer properly, but her jaw was starting to ache from the inside out from the tension of sucking him off paired with his rugged grip. On top of the salty spend pooling and dribbling down her throat, she felt uncomfortable again. There was so much of him.

A low moan left her.

"Mm, good girl," he chided again. "Just make sure to lick me clean. You're almost done."

Brown-Eyes was true to his word; there were a few more strokes, which dwindled off into the wet mesh of his soft cock against her lips as she lapped and sucked obediently.

When the last traces of his seed had disappeared from him, leaving his cock gleaming wetly from her spit, he drew back and stuffed himself tidily back into his trousers.

Emma lay back, still sprawled and stretched out from how her wrists were bound. Brown-Eyes never left, nor did he retake his seat at the table. Instead, he leaned down closer to her, and for a moment, Emma was taken by the foolish hope that he might release her.

He did not; Brown-Eyes leaned in again, this time almost nose to nose with her.

He surprised her by crushing his mouth against hers, and Emma gasped, trying to jerk her head back, however, being unable to with how she was against the mat.

Brown-Eyes was unrelenting, his lips forcing hers apart so he could jam his tongue into her mouth.

Emma pinched her eyes shut, yielding to how his tongue flattened hers and ran over the grooves of her teeth. When the shock of the wet smother of his mouth had worn off, Emma found herself deeply surprised; he had already come, and yet here he was, kissing her.

His lips moved, slowly, deeply, domineering in strength rather than pace.

Emma surrendered to him -- it was all she could do.

After a few moments, the kiss ended. Brown-Eyes pulled back, his expression no softer than what it usually was, his eyes watching her with a precision that matched the sharpness of his tongue.

"You taste like me."

She could only watch him as he raised his hand to her face and brushed a thumb along her bottom lip. What was usually a soft, tender touch between lovers was marred by his fingers' unfeeling drag. Her skin seemed to reject the touch, her face revolting against the direction of what he might've thought was a caress. Emma felt a violent tremor shoot up her spine, but she hadn't the faintest idea of where it came from.