Bus Crash

She hit him in the arm with her fist. He did nothing to stop her, apparently admitting that he deserved it, and she hit him again. And again. Soon she was pounding her fists furiously against his chest, cursing, spitting and screaming at him. He let her vent out her anger and only pulled her into his arms when she ran out of all but tears.

"Shh," he shushed her, holding her, rocking gently with her in his lap. Each rocking motion made her wince in pain but she didn't fight the embrace.

She wanted to ask him why, ask him how could he, tell him how small, disgusting and dirty he'd made her feel but all words failed her, leaving her more confused and bewildered than ever. How to tell apart truth and lies when they were both just as real? He'd been real last night and yet he was just as real now.

He was murmuring to her, low and slow. A word here, a word there she could understand but of the rest of it only his tone. And his touch. And his hands, caressing, stroking, soothing. His lips, kissing her hair, her brow, her face. The anger, hurt and shame were still there but so was the rest of it, the smiles, the cosy evenings spent together, all the inner shivers of days gone by when he had looked or smiled at her.

When his kisses and caresses changed she wasn't ready, but he leaned her down on the bed anyway and lay down on top of her, kissing her neck, sucking her earlobe, slowly kissing his way down to nibble on the tiny peaks of her breasts through the nightie. At first she struggled, but he leaned closer to her ear and shushed her like a scared child, coaxing her -- again -- to accept what was to come. He would wrestle her if he had to but he preferred she would simply submit.

"You liked me once," he said and petted her cheek. "You can like me again."

He took a jar of udder balm from his pocket and spread the stuff all over her still sticky pussy, lubing her up inside and out, coating her nicks, cuts and tears, mixing the salve in with the remains of last night's goo to produce just enough wetness so that she could be used again. She was stiff beneath him, moaning and gasping anxiously when his fingers rubbed against her sores, digging her fingernails into his shoulders in a token effort to push him from her.

He was going to do it again, and she was panicking. Her body and soul were screaming bloody murder, screeching at her to do anything and everything to make it stop, to make everything stop. She was in so much pain she couldn't even move, let alone fuck. How could she live through a second such ordeal, a second helping of the filthy, cheap, worthless feeling of being used in the most vile and cruel fashion possible. Her feet kicked helplessly at empty air and she heard herself groan and whine frantically. He didn't like it. He was going to force her to suffer the same torture and degradation yet again but he wanted her to comply, to lie there and take it and not make a fuss.

"Don't do anything stupid," he murmured and smiled at her. His eyes, the same gentle and kind as always, earnestly implored her to relax and take pleasure from his raping of her. The conflict was too big for her to wrap her head around it. His familiar kindness and gentleness clashed so badly with the cruel, tenacious grip that held her in a vice. He had all the appearance of kindness but none of the empathy. Her pain, distress and fear were nothing to him.

"This is what you want," he crooned. "You're just too scared to admit it."

She glanced down and saw him poised there. His penis looked alien to her, not human at all but a big, turgid bullet of flesh ready to tear into her. "I hurt so much," she pleaded in English one last time. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and when she blinked they ran down her face. He leaned closer and kissed their salty, wet paths.

"Don't be scared. I won't push so deep this time. I promise, little mouse. Just don't tense up."

He kneed her thighs further apart and pushed in, slowly, carefully. "Good girl," he murmured as she held her moans of pain. The lube helped him to slide smoothly and gently inside her, and as he did, Aamu's cringed face slowly turned into the face he'd seen on every woman he'd ever fucked; the wide eyes, the open mouth, the blank, surprised, amazed, pleading look of being overwhelmed by physical sensations too great to bear. She didn't breathe, didn't moan, but only stared into nothingness, paralyzed. It was sweet in a way how it was possible to reduce a woman into little more than a vegetable by fucking her real good. It was as if a huge cock inside a woman short circuited her brain into an endless, gasping loop of wonderment.

Vlajko enjoyed her helpless state for a while and then started gently coaxing her out of her daze. Slowly, as he kept talking to her, her eyes focused again and she started breathing. She was in pain, he could see that, but she didn't fight, and he didn't go out of his way to hurt her. She hung on to his voice and he made love to her. Little by little her mouth started moving with tiny moans and the paralysis melted away. He kept his promise and carefully avoided pushing in too deep but it did not alleviate her tortured emotions.

She felt like she was being shattered, but not in the same way as the previous night. This time it was different; slow, heartbreaking, emotional. She almost wished he would make her scream in agony and shock this time too, it would have made it easier to hate him, easier to put a label on it. But now, with no decided effort from his part to give her pain, she was left with the amazing feeling of something incredibly thick sliding wetly in and out inside of her. There were no words, no nothing, just the sensations that took her breath, mind and words away.

But it didn't last. Being forced to suffer through another rape when the raw, harrowing trauma of the previous night was still so fresh in her mind was so overwhelming that her mind couldn't cope anymore and simply froze. She felt it all happen but in agonizing slow motion. His flesh moving in, filling, bloating and spreading hers. The tears inside her being spread and chafed. His body rocking on top of her. His breath on her breasts. The muscles and tendons shifting under his skin when he prepared to pull back. The metallic scent of blood wafting from below. His turgid flesh pulling out with a smack. The edge of his glans raking against her tightly squeezing inner walls. Sounds blurred into a mixture of echoes: his hoarse breathing and inarticulate grunts and mumbles, her own rasping gasps and broken moans. Every thrust was a new shock, a new violation, a new panic; a new rape. A panic that left her paralyzed when all she wanted to do was fight, struggle, tear free and run.

"Shh, little mouse. My sweet little mouse," he crooned.

That smile. Why did he have to smile that smile? That gentle, tender, loving smile that had made her feel so good, so safe, so special when everything was still ok. Why did he have to smile so now when everything she ever knew about the world was coming tumbling down. She wanted to tell herself that the smile was a lie, a façade, but when his voice and his touch and the look in his eyes all said the same she felt like she was the one that was mad and not him. And that little endearment he kept repeating, mišić, mišić, mišiću. Little mouse. Tiny helpless little mouse. And the fullness, the agonizing fullness of him filling her up again and again, made her moan and gasp and cry out and sigh from the sheer ecstasy of it. And the pain that was there despite him lubing her up only made it better, more like the thoughts that kept her wet at night back home in her lonely bed. She screamed then, she was so ashamed, so desperate. The cock pulled out and returned, pulled out and returned. She screamed again and again, such hoarse, broken little cries, and he kept petting, fucking and soothing her, never stopping, never tiring until she had lost all track of time.

"Mišiću, listen to yourself," he murmured, and she heard the affection and pride in his voice. "Your screams are coming at the wrong times. You're not crying out because my thrusts hurt."

He was right, she knew that, but that was exactly what she was afraid of, that it had for even half a second stopped feeling awful. Why did he have to shatter and humiliate her all over again? Why did he have to continue the assault for so long that she no longer knew what to think and what to feel? Why did he have to continue for so long that her body -- despite all her efforts to the opposite -- started to tingle, warm up, react and respond, and her back arch to meet his thrusts and beg for them.

Maybe not now, maybe not next time, but she would cum for him. She knew. She wouldn't be able to stop it. Not when it felt like this. And the thought that there would be a next time, and the next, and the next, took all the fight out of her.

With the long years of abstinence, Vlajko raped his little guest three to four times each day. Maybe -- though just maybe -- he would have thought twice about it if she had screamed and shouted and fought tooth and nail each time but her exhausted sounds of pain were submissive little moans, as if she'd already resigned herself to it that it was going to happen no matter what. And it was that resignation that he, each time, took as his invitation. She knew and he knew that it was going to happen each time he felt the least inclined to it. She knew and did nothing but moan meekly and whine in fear when he made her bleed anew. It was true that he'd hit her that first time when she fought him, but if she didn't want it to happen she still should have fought harder, a lot harder.

Chapter 6

Trembling hands, itching forearms, cold shivers, sweating toes -- all the signs of yet another sleepless night but too much had happened for her to quietly slip away to sleep. And his snoring and shuffling didn't help. Nor the stifling heat of him spooning against her back and his arm clutching her tightly against him.

She wanted to wash her sweating feet and slipped away from under his arm. Silently she tiptoed to the tap on the porch and held her feet under the ice cold rush of water.

She turned around to return to the house, and screamed. There was a shape standing in the shadows just inside the door. She realized instantly it was Vlajko but it was already too late and her scream soared in the still night, echoing from the mountains. Vlajko rushed to cover her mouth and scowled, thinking what the folks down at the village might think upon hearing a scream like that.

"Sorry!" she gestured with her eyes but then they both felt it, the moment, the gagged mouth, the heat, the need, the attraction. Despite herself she felt herself get wet. But what she felt and wanted didn't matter. She needed to go home, and Vlajko couldn't be allowed to know that his hands, these rough, strong, even frightening hands, were all she'd ever fantasized about. If he knew he'd never let her go.

He started kissing her. Hungrily. Aggressively. His roughness spooked her and made it difficult to breathe. She should have known better but she made the mistake of trying to push him off her to draw in a breath. She shouldn't have, for he bit her neck hard and as she screamed from the pain he grabbed her, dragged her off to the bedroom and threw her on the bed.

When he grabbed her thigs and spread them, the moist little smack her pussy made irrevocably revealed to him how turned on she was despite trying so hard to hide it. The face that could be so gentle now grinned at her like the very devil. Vlajko forced his fingers roughly into her slit; readying himself to follow with his cock. Yet when he rubbed his hand up and down her slimy little cunt she gasped, jerked and whinnied as if he'd pronged her with electric wire. Aamu tried to push his hand off but it only heightened his interest to explore and he started tickling his fingers up and down between her slit, searching for a reaction.

He hadn't had much practice playing with women's parts, but when she started moaning, begging and squirming, her reactions told him where to touch. He rubbed his thumb over the small nub rooted between her nether lips, her ample wetness helping his fingers glide weightlessly over and around her sensitive little pearl. Her hips were humping the air uncontrollably and he shoved three fingers of his other hand inside her and kept adding pressure until his fingers grazed her back wall. He watched her face with keen interest as expressions of shame, delirium and pain melted into each other so fast he could barely make them out. Blood rushed in his brain, he burned to see it, to see his little, innocent mišiću lose control and cry out her pleasure. She never admitted to feeling it, but Vlajko knew it was there; her hunger. It was time he pried it out of her, whether she wanted it or not. He would show her she belonged to him. He would show her she wanted him.

"There, there, little mouse. You know you want it. Just relax." His face was so close, his lips touching her ear, his thrall so hard to resist. "The moment you cum for me you're mine. All mine. My little mouse, always. Don't fight it. Let go. Let it happen. Let it happen and I'll fuck you 'til you lose your mind. "

"Stop," she begged him, her voice breaking into a desperate squeal. She'd understood his meaning and did not want to make it so. She tried to keep her eyes open long enough to look at him and make him see how torn she was. "I don't want to cum. Please. Let me go home." But his fingers were too insisting, his murmuring too persuasive and soon she felt like earth was giving way under her and she was tumbling down a steep cliff, inescapably losing control over her own body, spinning, spinning, spinning faster, flying, rising, higher and higher. She saw a gate, high on a mountain top, and stars. Stars behind a high, white, shining gate. And the gate, opening, opening, the stars closer, closer, soaring, rushing, bright, burning, wild. She started freezing and jerking uncontrollably and her lips mouthed, "Help, help," but no sound came out. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his forearm, and, panting hard, she fought to breath out one word at a time.

"I don't. Want to. Don't. Want to. Don't. Don't. Make. It. Feel. So. G-g-g-g-goooood!"

Her ragged wail rose octaves higher when she orgasmed, cramping forward, gushing out a warm wave of cunt juice on his waiting fingers. Her shrill and broken cry lasted until she had no air left in her lungs and then she started wheezing and gulping air as if she'd just emerged from a long dive from the bottom of the sea.

He sat back with a satisfied smirk and allowed her to claw his hand away from her oversensitized clit. She gripped his arm, hanging on for dear life, squeezing him as her body spasmed and shook and forced long sensuous groans out of her while slowly, slowly settling back into normalcy. He watched her laugh and sob at the same time, overwhelmed by emotions and sensations. He tried to ask if she was ok but Aamu couldn't speak, she just looked at him with a dreamy smile and put her hand against his cheek, pulling him closer. He lay down, pulling the duvet over them both, spooning, pressing her against him, shushing her gently until she calmed down. And then he rolled over with her prone beneath him. He pushed her listless legs apart and pushed his cock slowly but firmly into her exhausted body from behind.

Aamu tried to moan a wordless protest of 'not now please, I'm so very tired' but Vlajko ignored her and used her limp and inert body without qualms. She was his to use and his to love and he was going to keep her with him forever. She might not have fully realized it yet but she was never going home. This was her home now.

Groggy and dazed, Aamu felt his hands, lips and whispers everywhere. His voice, caring, warm and reassuring, wormed its way into her heart and made her feel like he was holding her, protecting her. He was a sea in which she was floating, a cloud of grey mist overpowering her will. That was when she noticed she was breathing and grunting almost as hard as he was. She sounded like a whore -- a dirty, lusty whore.

It was insane how Vlajko could at the same time make her feel more violated than ever in her life and also safe and loved beyond any previous experience. Wanted. What more had she ever wished for than to be wanted? In he went, bulging the sheath of her cunt so wide she ached. And out again. In. Out. In. It was ecstasy.

Outside her wet dreams no one had given her pain during sex and now she got to live it it was everything she had imagined. And better. The fullness felt more intense with pain. The fighting and fear excited her, and trying to wriggle from his cock or push him out made her cunt all the more receptive, all the more sensitive for him. She let out a howl on every thrust. As long as he was inside her, moving, stretching her open to fill her to the brim, she couldn't have shut up even had she wanted to. She was in heaven. She was living her fantasy. She glanced at her arms, her wrists bruised purple by the vicious grip he'd used time and again over the past days to hold her down while he raped her. She knew Timo would never have gone as far. He would never have been able to use her so brutally or make her as aroused.

"Kneel," he grunted. Aamu looked back at him, puzzled. He withdrew from her and tugged at her hips. "Up, up," he said lifting her hips from the mattress until she was on her knees. He made her spread her legs until he could see her little bud of an anus peeking from her crack. He ran a finger over it and Aamu shuddered.

He shushed her gently and slowly pushed his slimy cock back into her cunt. He wasn't interested in breaking the pliant little girl blind luck had thrown in his way. Instead of ripping up her back hole for good with his cock, he was going to ease her open slowly. It would still hurt her sufficiently for her to never forget the experience.

His cock inside her, he sucked on his thumb to wet it and started pushing it into her ass. She froze at once with shock and shame.

"Hush now," he crooned. "It can't be your first time -- a needy little thing like you."

But it was. She had always been too ashamed to ask any of her boyfriends to fuck her ass. It felt so dirty.

Now too a great deal of convincing was needed before she relaxed some and even more before she accepted the degradation and showed the first signs of enjoyment. He stretched her incredibly tight little hole, dragging and wiggling his finger this way and that, pushing his fat thumb into her all the way to the hilt. He pushed in another finger and, staying still inside her cunt, started fucking her ass with his fingers. He used no lube and her face cringed up and she kept jerking and whining from the pain. He knew her ass burned badly with the dry chafing but her body was writhing in a way that indicated definite arousal. His mouth curled into a sly smile -- the little girl liked the pain.

He spread his fingers wide inside her, testing her response and as he had expected she moaned lustily. She was opening up but still a long way away from being able to take his girth and yet the impossible contrast turned him on like crazy. But he wasn't mad. He knew she needed training before being able to withstand his size without injury.

He reached for the bottle of antiseptic on the night table and turned it upside down. The cap didn't leak and he placed it on her anus.

Good girl that she was Aamu didn't move or speak when the bottle pried for entrance to her butt. Aamu didn't enjoy being in command in bed, never had. She enjoyed being made to wait in fear for what was going to be done to her. And Vlajko still being such a stranger to her added just the right amount of danger and fear. She had no way of knowing how far he would go in hurting and abusing her, but she was determined to be a good girl and take what ever it was he was going to dole out.