Bus Crash

That apparently was all the encouragement he was going to get and he took a firm hold of her, making her squeal with delight. He yanked her closer and shoved in, hard. Cursing and grunting he started the angry ramming, using her arse as hard as it was possible to use a woman.

She wept, she laughed wildly, screamed and whooped and giggled all at the same time, nonsensical, overpowered by emotions and sensations. Vlajko was puzzled and feared he'd driven her too far, too soon and pushed her over the edge. Her wild, loud laughter and wide-eyed, non-seeing gaze made her seem gone, far away and half insane and he didn't want to break her beyond repair. Only enough to get her to realize that he owned her now. For real, for good, forever. And that it was what she wanted too, to be owned, by him.

He stopped inside her and stroked her face gently. "Hush, mišiću, it's ok," he whispered. "Shh, come back to me." He let his lips travel down her neck to her breasts and keeping an eye on her face sucked a tiny nipple into his mouth. Slowly Aamu calmed down beneath him, keening softly under his touch. She stopped her hysterical laughing and opened her eyes, looking at him, so insecure, so needy, so sweet. He leaned in to kiss her and she sighed and kissed him back reaching her arms around his neck, hugging him to her and gasping things in a language he couldn't recognize.

She took hold of his hand and put it in her hair. She closed her hand around his, coaxing him to grab a handful of her hair. He pulled her hair back until her neck arched up towards him. He could see life pulsing under the pale thin skin, and lowered his lips on her vein, feeling totally in control over her. She was his catch, his prize.

"Say it," he whispered again. "Tell me."

He bit down and she yelped in sudden pain. Fine, Vlajko thought, let's play games. He moved his hand from her hair on her neck, curled his fingers around it and squeezed. Aamu opened her eyes and looked straight at him with eyes that challenged him. He squeezed harder until her breath wheezed. She bit her lip, her eyes urging him further. He pressed down, closing her airways and a small wicked smile fluttered in the corners of her mouth. She bucked into him, silently imploring, "Fuck me."

He resumed his heated, savage thrusts into her ass, reveling in the heat of her body and the look on her face. When she had to breathe she stroked him lightly, and after a few breaths she kissed the side of his hand and put it back. Again he squeezed and now he felt her ass squeezing him in little flutters as she choked. Trust, fear, pain and desire blended together until they were both glowing and shivering, expressions on her face changing and living faster than he could read them.

She was wet all over now, her holes creaming like crazy, bathing her crotch until the smacking and sploshing filled the entire room. She caressed his choking hands, trusting him to decide from now on how often she needed to breathe, and lowered her little hands between their bodies to her clit. He slowed down until she had settled into a rhythm of rubbing herself and then started pushing her towards her orgasm with short, fast, steady strokes. Her throat twitched in his hands, her ass twitched on his cock, her face was frozen in open-mouthed bewilderment, and her little hands, rub-rub-rubbing, tried to tease the last drop of pleasure from her body to hurl her into the depths she so sought.

"Cum for me," he started to urge her. "Cum for me my dirty little witch. Cum if you want to breathe again."

He tightened his grip on her throat and she seemed to sink into a trance. Concentrating, harder and harder on climbing up the spiral to pleasure. His choking urged her on, forcing her to force herself closer and closer. He felt it approaching, her body started convulsing, her back arching, her throat under his hands pulsing. On the very moment she plunged down from the top of the spiral into the empty black depths welling beneath he let go of her throat to hear her rattling, amazed draws of breath. She was out of it, dead to the world as her body cramped and heaved and she mewled raggedly on each breath in and out. When the waves lessened she lay limp beneath him, spent and exhausted, only little tiny twitches rocking her as aftershocks of the huge heaving convulsions.

"Shh," he whispered into her ear and stroked her face. She looked like she was asleep, so tired, so still.

Now he pulled out and swiftly turned her limp body over, re-entering her from behind to be able to fuck her as hard as possible, to cum as hard as possible. One arm snaking under her belly, the other grabbing her shoulder, he started ramming into her with desperate wantonness, at the same time slamming against her and yanking her limp body onto his cock to get into her as deep as humanly possible. She gurgled weakly at the pain but was too exhausted to do anything about it. His thrusts were like punches into her gut and his grip on her was so fierce that it bruised her. She was a hole now, a hole being used. A human would move, speak out, make a noise, but she was not human anymore. Not like this. Not this tired. She was just his grunts, his grip, his cock bruising and pommeling, his hands, his smell, and then his cry, his desperate, broken cry as he came into her stretched ass, flooding her with goo that started to seep and splurge out even before he pulled out.

"Oh boy," he thought collapsing on the bed beside her with a sting of pain in his chest. "She'll be the death of me."

Chapter 8

Gradually they settled into a routine of sorts. Aamu had taken up some of the chores in the garden, around the house and with his animals, which left him with more spare time to fuck and play with her. Her Serbian was improving, and in the evenings they watched TV together Aamu snuggled up in Vlajko's arms. Sometimes there would be a sex scene on, and she would get restless and impatient, but he would make her watch the program to its end nonetheless, teasing her breasts, neck and crotch with strokes and touches, before he would take her to bed and give her what she now openly yearned.

She still wept and bled from time to time when he was particularly rough with her, but her raw need for submission was so acute that if he needed to use her so hard, she was prepared to endure it. She wanted to endure it. She wanted to give him all that he craved. And she knew that despite the harsh and cruel sex he loved her. And there she always stopped her thoughts, that word, the beginning of all possible trouble.

They never spoke of their feelings after the night he had tried to make her say the words and she had not. All he had to go by was what he saw, her need, her desire, the affection in her voice and touch and in the no longer missing buttons and ripped seams in his clothes that she secretly mended. Yet she still wasn't all there. She'd stopped asking for her things but sometimes he saw her standing at the edge of the yard, staring down the footpath to the village, waiting perhaps for the policeman he had once promised would bring her things back to her. On those nights he was sour and angry, and she was confused and timid, sensing his mood and trying to avoid his temper.

This time he'd found her weeping in secret at the back of the garden, and every streaked, wet line on her face was an insult towards him, and a blow towards the dream he was trying to build for them. He had grabbed her by the arm, marched her into the house and taken her on their bed, hard and brutal, until she wept from pain as well. Now he lay holding the sleeping girl, breathing in the soft scent of her skin and hair, reveling in the feel of her sticky behind tight against his just as sticky crotch. It felt good to have her there, varm and alive in his arms. The cottage seemed different with her in it. Her essence was on everything, making light brighter and contentment happier. She was like a small sun; hot, bright and lovely.

Then he remembered her face when he'd found her in the garden earlier and gave himself a mental kick. He remembered her eyes, her pained, sad eyes and darker thoughts took over. "Who am I kidding?" he sneered at himself. "I'm only fooling myself."

Deep down he knew she was only there because he had kept from her the means to leave. Anything else was the pathetic self deceit of a weak and stupid man. At the first chance she'd get she'd leave him to get back to the life she'd been torn from. And the sun of his little world would go out and what used to be enough for him would forever more be pale, hollow and lonely. He wished he hadn't taken her in, that he had demanded one of the ambulances to come back and take her too to the hospital, no matter how overcrowded they'd been there. He wished he didn't know how good it felt to hold her and kiss her and fuck her 'til she screamed. Yet she hadn't chosen him. Hadn't wanted him. He had taken her, and she obeyed him and tried to please him but that was not love. "You big fool," he thought bitterly, remembering Jela's words, yet still he couldn't let go of the girl. Not even when every moment close to her would add to the feeling of emptiness when she'd no longer be there. This moment now was as much of a goodbye as he was likely to get.

Aamu woke up alone again the next morning. Vlajko always rose before her, but this time things weren't as usual, for she heard him talking to someone outside. Slipping quickly into her nightgown, Aamu crept to the cottage door to see who it was. She saw him standing alone on the far side of the yard, peering down the slope with his hand on his ear.

"A cellphone!" she gasped under her breath, filled with indignation. Aamu slipped her feet into his big shoes and ran to him, dragging her feet to keep the shoes from falling off. He finished his call and turned to her.

"You have a phone!?" she nearly screeched, unable to keep the hurt, anger and accusation from her voice.

"You want this?" he asked, and held out the phone to her. His tone was cold and empty, his face blank, his eyes full of contempt. But Aamu was too overwrought to really notice. She snatched the phone from him and hurried back towards the cottage clutching the thing with both hands.

"Aamu!" Vlajko shouted and when she turned she saw an uniformed policeman already climbing up the footpath. With him he had her bags.

The policajac dropped her rucksack and bag and looked at her in her thin little nightie with unveiled hunger that made Aamu feel uncomfortable and exposed. When she moved to stand a little behind Vlajko, hiding herself behind him, the man's expression soured. He exchanged a cold good day with Vlajko and strode off down the footpath and back towards the road.

Vlajko sighed and carried her things back to the house. He looked at her, at the phone in her hand and turned to leave. Had Aamu bothered to pay attention, the look of grief and loss in his eyes would have seared her soul.

There she stood, in a stranger's kitchen, slick between the legs with his love, with their night together, with their shared ecstasy -- and holding in her hand a way out.

She looked for a place he wouldn't come to think of and stashed the phone. Then she went out and walked slowly over to where Vlajko was fiddling with the old tractor's motor.

She knew the words and asked, "Why now?"

"As if you care," he answered her gruffly, without turning, without looking up.

She couldn't make out what he had said and stood still for a minute or two, waiting for him to look at her, to say something more, to acknowledge her in any way. She waited, and waited and, when he still ignored her, started to feel stupid, worthless and small. She wanted to say something, scream, rage, anything, but her throat was so choked that she couldn't make any sound at all, and so she rushed from him with a heart burning with ache.

He was so altered. Last night he'd grabbed and fucked her, touched and kissed her, hurt and held her -- in every way made her his. Now he was giving her the cold shoulder, as if he didn't give a damn about her. Could it be that he had gotten what he had wanted? Had she been such a fool that she hadn't seen that his true goal was to bed her, toy with her, use and humiliate her, soil her in every possible hole and then pack her off and get rid of her. The goo seeping from her started to feel like filth, poison and lies, and the carrot in her ass like the most degrading thing she had ever submitted to in her life.

Trying to hold her tears at least until she could cry in private, Aamu kicked his shoes off and ran barefoot the rest of the way back to the house. The elation she'd felt the night before was turning into ashes, cutting her like ice. His coldness hurt her and the prospect of getting her life back only anguished her. With something close to horror she realized she had fallen in love with the man. How could that be? And was he pushing her away because he felt it too and didn't want to sink deeper into it with a girl who would eventually leave his house and him to return to her western ways? To a bathroom, a computer, cafes, hamburgers, cinemas.

Aamu had built her life according to what choices she had had. In a way the choices were endless, in a way they were all the same, an alternative education for leading a life just like everyone else around her. The life that six days out of seven didn't even feel human until the only world she could look at without feeling sickened was that of microbes, molecules and soil. She had tried to bear the self accusations and the self loathing for living a life that was bleeding the earth around her dry. A lifestyle the planet's resources couldn't offer to even a fraction of all the people on earth. She'd tried, and she'd failed. She had always wondered whether if her life had been more down to earth and less artifice would she have been less sick. Whether if all the diagnoses she'd had over the years were all just reactions to the unnatural sham of a life she'd lived. Disorder this. Disorder that. Depression. Insomnia. Bulimia.

Just thinking about it made her want to binge. She went to the kitchen area and rummaged the cupboards for anything sweet. Chocolate, pudding, cheesecake, cookies, fudge, ice cream, cocoa, eclairs, doughnuts, blueberry pie with whipped cream...

"No!" she yelled at herself in Finnish. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" she wailed, holding her head in her hands.

She felt the tears coming. She didn't want to go back to that. She didn't want to leave Vlajko. She wanted him to always be there to look after her, to fill her, to hide her from her demons. She wanted to be his little mouse. Just his little girl forever. In this house she didn't have to do anything that made her despise herself. In this house she wasn't using up natural resources that were usurped from someone else. In this house she didn't need to keep a constant watch for the thousand and one ways life tried to yank the rug from under her. In this house she'd found a sphere where things weren't constantly spinning out of her control. In this house she had been at peace.

Vlajko found her there, sitting on the kitchen floor with her face in her hands, sniffling. She hadn't changed out of the nightgown, she hadn't even looked through her bags. A tiny hope flickered in his heart and he crouched beside her. She leaned her forehead against him, pleading wordlessly until he put his arms around her. She rubbed her face into his chest. He saw the phone beside her and looked at the log of made calls. She hadn't called anywhere.

"My little pet likes it here, does she?" he tried to taunt her, but there was no taunt in his voice, only warmth and relief. As always his gentler side wanted to be her prince and the other side, well, ravish her. He reached a hand to stroke her cheek but she moved out of the way. Vlajko crouched and with hands on both sides of her head turned her to face him. He leaned in to kiss Aamu but she resisted, yanking her head this way and that, pressing her lips shut tight.

"C'mon little mouse," he murmured knowingly. "You know you want it."

Her following involuntary groan said it all and Vlajko rose and grabbed her. Aamu was kicking and screaming but her feeble attempts at hurting him only made him more aroused. And the anger she felt for herself didn't ease up when her fists thudded into his sides. He flung her against the couch and took off his trousers while she lay in his feet, dazed and recovering. She was limp when he gathered her up and bent her over the handrest, ready to be fucked.

She resisted, ever so eagerly assuming the role that so aroused her, and he thrust two fingers into her. She didn't want him to know it, but when his fingers thrust inside her she felt aglow; whole and indestructible. It was as if filling her physically he filled her mentally. With his hardness inside her, it didn't matter that she was small and broken, for he'd be strong for the both of them. So strong she could let go of everything and fall, fall, fall into him.

When ever he pulled back she felt her body move involuntarily to meet him, to get back the precious feeling of fulfillment. The two thick fingers of his big hand made her feel full but she wanted more, to feel stretched and stuffed to the point of pain, and beyond. Her little snatch gripped his two fingers like a hungry mouth. When he curled them inside her she writhed and groaned and out with them came goo he'd pumped into her the previous night. It turned him on like crazy to know she was still slick from his own semen.

She struggled and screamed in fury, not ready to admit to him that she needed him as much as he wanted her, but she wasn't trying to get away from him. She was trying to get away from herself and from the fact that the needs of her body were drowning the last remnants of reason. She should have used that phone. She should have gotten the fuck out of there. He would soon be able to tell that her moans were not angry but lusty and that her unwilling protests once again just a show.

He started fucking her roughly with his fingers, adding fingers and picking up speed until his hand was to his eyes just a moving blur and Aamu was screaming in pain. The harsh shoves hurt her soft insides, his nails scratched her cunt walls to ribbons, and she tried to crawl away but his hand followed, mercilessly digging inside her body, as if saying she had no say over it anymore, that all she was was now his.

Vlajko kicked her legs wider apart. Her crotch was open before him, emanating warmth from the pink, pulsating slit he'd just fingered. A strong heady smell rose from her crotch and the sight and the scent held him spellbound. Aamu smelled it too, ashamed of being thus spread open when she was unwashed. He didn't bother to be gentle and plunged his cock into her little cunt with one savage thrust. Aamu screamed from the sudden ecstasy of being stretched full. Soon she screamed from pain as well when he got into the heights of his passion and slammed his cock again and again with brutal force against the back wall of her vagina. He'd fucked her so often she never had time to heal and every new rape burned her like sandpaper. When he hurt her like this he made her so afraid but even though she knew one shouldn't have to fear the person one loved she couldn't help wanting him.

She knew it was wrong for a man to knock a girl around but when Vlajko did it to her she felt owned and loved. How could she explain it to anyone -- to mom and dad or her friends -- when she herself knew that what she felt was borderline insane. If she said he did it because he loved her they would lock her up. And they might be right to do so. Yet every time she lay in his feet, dazed, bruised and helpless, she knew that in the next moment he would lift her up in his arms, arrange her to receive him and then make her his own -- his beloved -- by joining with her. His strength felt the most reassuring when she herself was the most broken. And she knew he loved her too, for when he wasn't making her scream, the rest of the day he was all warmth, smiles and caresses. She'd found what she had always dreamed of: a man who gave her both safety and terror, both tender love and brutal sexual agony. She'd found it, and she'd never let it go.