Claire Reborn Ch. 04

I screamed for him to stop, but this only incensed him. He pulled me to my knees and jammed his now rigid pole into me in one viscous stroke. It was fortunate I had started out horny or he would have torn me open. He began to jackhammer into me, slapping my ass with each stroke. It was then I responded with a loud moan, which only seemed to piss him off.

He pulled out of my cunt, quickly changing position, placing his cock against my anus, and thrust forward without any preparation. I shrieked as I felt my sphincter tear but this seemed to only goad him on. With long strokes he would pull all the way out then thrust fully in, causing me great agony. His hands came around, each taking a fistful of a tit and using them as leverage to thrust in and out of me.

This was beyond anything I had ever imagined and now I was screaming with each thrust, fire in my ass, and my tits screaming in agony as he crushed them in his powerful hands. When he finally came I felt him thrust as deeply into me as he could, head flung back as he roared his domination over me, cock pulsing against my torn ring. Then he pulled out of me, shoved me off the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

I lay there in agony, realizing I had just been raped, if you could call it anything. After about half an hour I crawled to the bathroom where I emptied my bowels painfully, blood, semen, mucous and shit all mixed together. My asshole burned when I tried to clean it, and there was a lot of blood. When I was finally able to stand I looked at myself in the mirror and saw dark bruises forming on my breasts, each of Nate's fingers plainly embossed therein.

Turning, I looked over my shoulder at my back and winced when I saw the red welts he had raised, a bit of blood running from some of them. Not as bad as I had suspected. I started the shower, got in and sat there crying until tears could come no more. Then I cleaned myself, wrapped myself in a heavy robe and lay down on the sofa where I fell asleep.

The sound of Nate moving around in the apartment woke me up. When I opened my eyes he was just putting his suitcase down by the door. Catching my eye, he came over and sat on the floor by my head. He looked like a man with something to say, but stuck for words. I still ached terribly and was quite angry with him, but I could see in his eyes he was probably more angry with himself than I could ever be. And sad, very sad. Angrily I said, "What is it? Just say it."

He started to cry. I had never seen him cry before, not even a bit. When he caught hold of himself it finally all came out.

"I'm so sorry Claire, for what I did to you last night. But more, I'm sorry for the lie I lived with you. I love you. I love you as a friend, but I can never really love you."

"Is there another woman?"

He laughed. "No, but there's a man I love very dearly." I'm sure I heard my chin hit the floor. Then things clicked for me. Why we only fucked from behind. The lack of interest in my tits. Low sex drive? He didn't have a low sex drive. I just wasn't compatible. Then I got angry.

"What the fuck was that last night?"

Again he looked sad, and guilty. "I'm so sorry. You pushed some buttons I didn't know I had. Until last night I couldn't admit to myself what I was. Deep down I knew, but didn't want it to be true. I took my anger out on you, when it was myself I should have been punishing. I have to leave. I couldn't stay here after what I've done to you. And I couldn't stay here because here is not where I need to be. You need to be free too, to find someone who can love the woman you are. I hope we can still be friends, even after what I did to you."

I saw the pain in his eyes and reached out to stroke his cheek. "Yes, go. Come see me when you get settled, but not too soon. It's going to take me time to get over this.

He left then. Later I found he had left three thousand dollars to help with the rent. I kept it.

After that I'd had a string of boyfriends. I had a knack for picking them, or maybe they had a knack for picking me. At any rate they quickly cottoned onto my particular kink and, to a man, enjoyed accommodating it. Unfortunately they quickly devolved into just abusing me. After all if I liked pain during sex, why not other times.

That I would not abide, having learned that there WAS such a thing as too much pain. Before it got to that I would kick them out. I turned to cutting with a vengeance. A lot of them thought I was crazy and more than one left because of it. Those that tried to stop me, I kicked out.

Which brings me to Tony. I met Tony at a party in New York. He was in town from London, and his accent drove me crazy. We hooked up and he moved in with me. It was a few weeks in when I realized that Tony had his own little kink; Heroin. Daddy back home kept sending him money though so he was able to keep up his habit without devolving into a street rat to feed it. On more than one occasion he asked me to try it, but that I would not do. When he was on the horse he was not in control. When he came off it he could be a real asshole. That's when he would hit me. I realized that the drug controlled him, not the other way around.

Tony got bored and I agreed to a trip to the west coast, not having any prospects at the time. That's what brought me to LA.

Jack caught my eye when I was standing with Tony. Tall, big boned, broad shoulders and deep chest, handsome in a rugged way. He had his black hair short, and swept back. A dark suit, slightly wrinkled, looked very good on him. My mind was elsewhere during that argument as I was sure Tony would go off his nut, as he liked to say. Then I was a bit out of it after Tony slugged me; I knew he would be pissed after he got back. Part of me was excited, but I wasn't really in control right then.

Jack caught my eye again, we'd locked gazes. I felt naked under his gaze; it was as if he looked inside me. He smiled, a smile that said I know your secret.

After I had our bags Jack surprised me when he asked if he could help. I really wasn't all there. I almost blurted out something about him getting me wrong, but realized he hadn't said anything other than the offer. It was all in his look.

Then I saw the cops with Tony. I was scared. Tony's drug kit was in my purse! He would go ballistic, assuming of course we didn't both end up in jail for possession. I thought about running, but where would I go?

A warm hand on my shoulder surprised me, and that smooth voice again, asking if he could help. I argued what could he do, but he pointed out what little choice I had. A part of me screamed run, but then he was no longer asking. He commanded, and my mind just clicked and I was following along behind him. The blood roared in my ears. I'd felt that warm feeling of comfort that came when things were under control. But they weren't. I was confused.

In his car I dropped my shoes and curled up on the seat across from him trying to make myself as small as possible. I looked out the window but no one followed. I was safe, for the time being. But who the hell was this man and why had I followed him? I stared at his shoes, afraid to face him. He wanted me to look at him. When I looked up it wasn't enough. He insisted I look him straight in the eyes.

He looked me up and down like a gladiator appraising his prize. "Get yourself under control girl," I thought. My brain was saying one thing, but my body said another. Suddenly it was stifling hot in the car. I could smell him, a mix of day old cologne and that smell you get from too long sitting in a plane. Yet it was an honest smell, with a musky undertone.

"Fix your clothes," he said. I hesitated, confused. Then he yelled at me and I hurried to pull myself into shape. It was then I noticed my cuts were exposed. He must have seen them. Startled, I looked up at him to see if he showed any reaction. When I saw none I settled back in the seat, still on edge.

Then we played twenty questions; he asked the questions. Tony he referred to as goth-boy, which I didn't get at first, but thought amusing afterward. I could see that; the way Tony dressed.

He gotten angry with me. I had tried to duck a question. He didn't like that, said I had to tell the truth. Finally I had to admit to my darkest secret, my fascination with pain, my need for control. I felt exposed, and the part of me at my core liked it. A thrill had run through me, and I felt myself become wetter. "Not now," I thought, but this was the thing I couldn't control. I'd fooled myself with the cutting and inciting the beatings, but my body I couldn't really control. I could only incite it.

I found myself beside this man I didn't know. I don't remembered moving. I think he even kissed me. I snuggled in, he was warm and the air conditioning had chilled me. I liked his arm around me. It felt safe in a way. I couldn't really describe how I felt. Conflicting thoughts and emotions ran through me.

The smell of his musk was stronger, and I thought that perhaps he wanted me. Perhaps this was the smell of his arousal. He gave me a choice: go with him to his house; or he would drop me off wherever I wanted. He wanted to talk. Who was he kidding? I asked, then told him, I would gladly fuck him. God, at that point I'd have fucked anything to get some release, and frankly to take my mind off this mess I was in.

He flat out refused! What the hell! Even offered to give me enough money to go wherever I wanted and send me on my way. But just stay the night and talk. We argued a bit about stuff. He thought he knew me. The thing is I was afraid he did. For a brief moment a look of great sadness came over him, and I realized that perhaps he had some reason to help me after all.

I resolved then to stay, but all my defenses were up now. Clearly this man had some history, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

He dumped me at his house, told his driver to take me shopping, then disappeared. Peter, the chauffeur or whatever, didn't talk much while we shopped. He did occasionally give me a funny look that I couldn't read, and more than once I saw him shaking his head. He had this thick Cajun accent, and occasionally lapsed into patois, but for the most part presented himself as a well-educated man.

At one point we sat drinking coffee and I straight out asked him, "Listen, can I trust your boss? Or is he some kind of sick pervert who picks on helpless women." He just about spit his coffee across the table. Then he laughed.

"Nah, cher, I would not say he picks on helpless women. As for bein a pervert, maysup that depends on what you define as perversion. Some might say yes, others not. Each of us have our secrets and our demons. His are no worse than most. He will treat you with respect, you can depend on that. You just might find his idea of respect a bit strange. The few women I have seen him with were all the better for having known him, that I can say." There I had it. An answer that left many questions unanswered. Peter would say no more.

In many ways he was the perfect man to take shopping. He waited patiently, never expressing boredom, gave me his honest opinion, and was quick with the charge card. I figured since the offer was there and I was likely a long time from getting my own clothes back, what was the harm in having a little fun.

Peter showed me the house when we got home, then had to start supper. I filled a big tub with suds and settled in for a long soak. While I lay there my hand wandered down to touch myself, almost of its own volition. I had settled down after the excitement of the day, but as I lay there stroking my lips I thought back to the days events.

The events in the car played back through my head. I thought of how I had sat facing him. My legs drawn up, almost as if in supplication. He had not taken any guff from me, demanding I be honest with him. I remembered the heat when I was beside him, and the odors and how I had felt. The soft touch of his lips on my hair. The feeling of shelter, from the storm the morning had been.

My body responded. My other hand lightly stroked my nipples making them hard. I took each, and pinched them till my breath caught, then harder still. I felt the heat in my belly responding, and my fingers dragged sullenly through my now swollen labia til they reached my little nubbin, still hiding in its hood. I drew around, not touching until, with thumb and forefinger, I grasped at its root gently rocking the hood back and forth, palpitating the sensitive nerves therein.

My chest rose and fell in sympathetic harmony to the motion of my fingers, breath rasping as I wiggled down further in the tub, opening my legs further. I continued to abuse my breasts, flicking the nipples as if flicking lint off a jacket, the sharp pangs bringing gasps from my throat. Below I had returned to my hole, and thrust two fingers deep inside me, but the soapy water had removed most of my lubrication. I returned to my clit and continued rolling and pinching the hood.

My second hand moved down and found my little pucker, pressing in and out. I'd never been taken there since Nate, but often thought what it would be like if done gently. Now I though about his cock, pressing me there, and how it would feel stretching to accommodate him. How big might he be? My finger pierced it up to the first knuckle, but again I was stymied by a lack of lubrication. I settled for pressing in and out alternately protruding and depressing the tight ring. It felt so wrong, and therefor so right.

As I reached my peak, for reasons I could not fathom, I thought of myself naked at his feet, and screamed my pleasure. I held there for a long time, savoring the sweet agony between my legs, then my body sagged, tension released. I must have nodded off for the next thing I heard was the sound of steps approaching.

I was still randy as hell, and true to my nature I thought I'd see how well I could push this guy's buttons. So, when the door opened I just lay there, trying to look seductive. The problem with that is, when you're doing it you have no idea as to whether you do look seductive, or just silly. Still, I tried.

This was the first time I had seen him out of a suit. His shirt clung deliciously to his body, which could have been that of an Olympic swimmer. His shoulders were huge. After giving me the once over he asked me to stand. I might as well have been trying to seduce a stone statue. Then he told me to move my hand. It was then that I realized I had been covering my cuts. I guess I was still self-conscious about them. Silly, since he had already seen them.

I didn't move quick enough; he startled me when he barked. My heart skipped a beat and I could feel myself flushing. Damned traitorous skin. I couldn't hide a thing from anyone. His eyes stopped briefly just below my waist and I though he was looking at my cuts, but then realized my arousal was probably still pretty apparent. "Hmmm," I thought, "maybe not stone after all."

When I got out of the tub I deliberately took my time and made sure he got an eyeful. Watching him I thought I saw a momentary hunger. But then he got pissed again when I suggested he help me dry.

He got downright bossy, and all high and mighty again. I followed his instruction though. A big part of me was liking his mastery, but I was afraid to look up at him as I kneeled.

When he touched me I was surprised, but it was only to arrange my limbs. As he was finishing I realized what a submissive pose it really was. My breasts, what there was of them stood proud, and I could feel my pussy open to the air. As he stood he stroked my inner thigh and my breath hitched. My body was betraying me. I though back to masturbating and my vision. This was it.

Behind me he adjusted my pose. I felt wanton, on display for his pleasure. His hand brushed my thigh then stroked up once along my again wet lips. There was no lack of lubrication now. I could not help myself and let a small moan escaped. Then he paused at my anus, circling deliciously. How could he know this my most secret fantasy? Involuntarily I tried to swallow his finger.

He stood and gave me the robe. I was astounded. He seemed unaffected by any of this. Here I was ready to fuck the living daylights out of him and he wanted me to get dressed. I was dumbstruck. Then the commanding voice again and he was gone. I struggled to catch up, then followed watching his feet. I was afraid to look up at him. There was so much to think about, and I was confused.

We had dinner. I ate a lot. Not unusual for me, for someone who used to be anorexic, I always seem to be trying to make up for it. If I didn't keep up with my dancing I'd be a blimp by now. I started the conversation by insulting him. He just laughed. For me the conversation went downhill from there.

I was shocked to hear myself admitting I liked when Tony hit me, when anyone hit me. He had an expectation of the truth and didn't take any bullshit. But worse was when I admitted I liked the pain of cutting myself. It was something I had never really admitted to myself, never said. Instead I told myself it was to make up for the anxiety. It was my way of asserting control.

But really, I had control of my life years ago. After all I was the one that started all the shit. I stopped being anorexic. I drove Tony and the others crazy. I did it on purpose. In reality, deep down, I hated having to be in control. It scared the shit out of me. I saw my control as a brittle facade, that might break at any moment, exposing me, and my twisted desires. But I had never found anyone worth ceding control to.

He talked about junkies, and how the pain and bliss went together for them. They took one with the other. Then he told me about some chemical in our body and how it was like a drug, how pain and fear could bring it on. I felt as if a light went on in my head. The euphoria I felt afterward, and yes, the bliss. Then he pissed me off.

He poked at my brittle armor, the shell that kept the world out. My need for control. I lost it and stormed out. Only he stopped me. For the love of God I don't know how. He yelled, my body froze. He wanted me to do that thing, but I wouldn't. He crushed me down. Well, to be honest I didn't put up much resistance. I felt an animal inside struggling to get out. With one word he broke the shell, my armor. "Present."

I was free. I was in total control, because I chose to give up my control to him. I couldn't believe the calm that came over me. And the pride as I positioned myself as he had shown me, my breasts thrust there under my lowered eyes. I thought I could feel warm fluid running down my thigh. God I was suddenly so hot for him.

But then I panicked for a second afraid of what would happen; then he stroked me. God, I almost came right there. I could feel my body quiver, and the heat in my breasts where a bolt of lightning had struck from my pussy. He placed his finger to my lips and I accepted it savoring the tart, salty taste of myself.

His hand moved to my breast, kneading it oh so gently. It was as if he knew where all the nerves were. I felt as if I could bring forth milk the pressure was so intense. My cunt drooled as his fingers stroked up and done, toying with my clit. I began to rock to the rhythm, legs wide as they would go. I felt so exposed, physically, mentally, emotionally. I gave myself over to him, fully. I was his to play, like a fine instrument, and he was a virtuoso.

When my orgasm hit I did not think I could get much higher. And then he did that which I needed most. He poured napalm on a burning fire. Caught in that delicious orbit between pain and ecstasy that is an orgasm, he drove me higher. I shrieked, I writhed, desperate for him to continue, to stop. Part of me felt the incredible pain and shrunk from it desperate to survive, but the core of me enveloped it, welcomed it, cherished it for the cosmic twin it was to me pleasure. For what can we compare our pleasure to if not pain. Two sides of the same coin. My nerves had become attuned to it, had learned to cherish it.