Coming Out of the Closet

Grabbing Hailey, I turn her over. Suddenly she's looking at me. She's gone pale, making the normally cinnamon-brown of her freckles look almost ashen against her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. I tilt my head slightly, letting her look straight into my eyes. I can tell, by the very real fright I see in them, that she doesn't recognize me. Probably because the dim light of the lamp beside the bed makes me more silhouette than man, from her position; just dark clothes, black mask, bare hands.

Pressing one hand into her abdomen, I lean enough weight on it that a small, tense exhale leaves her lips. Under my palm, Hailey feels deliciously female. The sinking of my hand through a couple inches of soft skin, before arresting against the tightness of muscle that flexes hard beneath it. Under her tank top, I watch her breasts rise and fall as she fights my weight to breathe.

Too many clothes, the thought occurs to me suddenly. Keeping my hand firmly against her stomach, I drop the other one to the band of her shorts and tug down. The material is loose and woolen, but still catches on the protrusions of her hips in a way that drags her a half-inch closer to me. Pulling upward, I actually lift Hailey's legs up from the bed, using her half-lowered shorts like a sling. Once again, I'm amazed by how easy it is. Now that she's stopped fighting, it's just a matter of deciding what to do, and committing. My strength does the rest.

Her shorts finally give, tugging over the roundness of her hips and bum and sliding down her legs with surprising speed. I toss them away. Her underwear is easier. It's fuchsia, slim, with a slightly raised stitched-in pattern along the front. As I slide them down her legs, the lips of Hailey's pussy wink at me; opening and closing as she tries to screw her legs closed once more, and finds my own legs in the way. I go to toss away the underwear, but a sudden thought occurs to me.

Switching my hand back to her neck, I raise her underwear and inhale--deeply. On the bed, Hailey's eyes go wide. Putting the material in my mouth, I suck the taste of her out of the fabric. Then, with a slow enough motion that she can see my intention, I lower them to her mouth. She tries to close her lips. As if she could deny anything to me, at this point. It's much too late for that. I don't bother trying to pry her mouth open; instead, taking three fingers, I push the material between them. I feel her teeth part slowly, at the force of it. Then I have my hand in her mouth, and I stuff the dampened fabric inside of it. Hailey coughs, as I press down on her tongue before retracting my hand.

She's bound, gagged, and naked from the waist down.

Suddenly, it was real. As real for me as it was for her--and had been for her, from the very first moment. If this went wrong, I was going to prison for... a long time. And I'd deserve it. In the adrenaline-pressurized coursing of my blood, a small undercurrent of fear flowed. I didn't let it show in my face, of course. I stared at her, and I knew that the tightness of my jaw, the set of my mouth, the brightness of my eyes; it all looked like anger. I wasn't angry, of course. It would have been impossible for me to be angry with Hailey, in this moment; but I could misdirect it. Fear, in the right light, looks a lot like rage. I was nearly feral with it.

I brace myself, for the first inward thrust. At the far end of my arm, Hailey knows it; her eyes have gone so wide that I can see the outside edge of each dark-circled iris. With her arms trapped under the small of her back and my body seated between her legs, all she can do it press against the sides of my thighs with hers. For a moment, I let her fight; bending her knees, trying to get the bottom of her feet in front of me so that she can hold me away with the length of her legs. It's useless, of course. Widening my knees, I hear Hailey's muffled whine, through the fabric of her underwear gag, as the added width of my stance stretches her hip rotators slightly.

Leaning back slightly on my hips, I wrap my right hand around the shaft of my cock and bring it between her legs. Not hard, the way I'd originally intended. Instead, I hold the head of my penis between the lips of her labia. Only the slightest rise of her hips tells me that she's closed her hands, behind her back. A couple of lines appear in the sheets on either side of her body, as she clenches them.

The head of my cock slowly parted the plump lips of her cunt, running up and then back down. Hailey jerked slightly, as I pressed the head into her clit and rubbed a circle around it. Angling it lower, I pushed forward--slowly. Two inches, and back out. My breathing changed, at the tightness of her. The airless moment, where her resistance built and then, as it gave way, I began to sink inside of her.

"You're wet," I say, tauntingly, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted to be raped."

It's the word that does it. The first verbal confirmation of what this is, that makes her body close like a tripped beartrap. Only her legs remain open. Everything else pulls in, like her bodies trying to hide behind her own spine. The freckles on her chest and shoulders condense; a series of tiny, brown-pointed constellations. Through the thin, bunched-up fabric of her underwear, her exhale sounds like she's been punched in the stomach. The brown of her eyes swims in the lampshade-dimmed light of the bedroom. It works because it's true--on both sides of the statement.

Under the skin-tight pink of her tank top, the nipples of her small breasts have gone stiff. They point up at the ceiling. Between her legs, her clitoris matches them; a smaller version of the same shape. She's trembling now, but she's stopped fighting. I sunk two inches deeper, watching the skin of my penis go glossy as I pulled it back out. Rubbing the head of it between her lips once more, I begin thrusting with my hips. I hear Hailey's nasal exhale, as the underside of my pussy-slickened cock begins to rub over the raised point of her clit.

Below us, the door opens. Hailey's eyes go wide as dinner plates, going unconsciously from my face to the door and back, all in the space of two heartbeats. My grip tightens slightly, around her neck. I'd never thought of Hailey as fragile before, but that's how she feels now; my hand almost large enough that my fingers can reach the back of either side of her throat.

"Don't fucking scream," I warn her, "Not a sound. One word, and I swear to God I'll choke you unconscious. It's rape, sweetheart. I'll fuck you either way. I'll make whoever your little friend is watch me do it. Got it?"

I might have to follow up on the threat, I know. Something in the back of my mind recoils from the idea--my thoughts spinning with all of the ways that it could go disastrously wrong. But another part of me, the part that's in control, knows that I'll follow through. I don't want to do it, or at least I can't admit to myself, even now, that I want to do it. I'm simply capable of it. By the slightly fearful light that enters Hailey's eyes, I realize that she knows it. Her nod pushes the bottom of her chin against the top of my hand.

Outside of the door, a pair of feet ascend the wooden staircase. Still wearing hard-bottomed dress shoes. The same kind I'd been wearing only hours previously.

The sound of my keys being set down on my counter. A sound I know she'll find as familiar as I find hers; her ring of them being hung beside the laundry room. There's no doubt in her mind that it's me, walking into the bedroom beside hers. I'm struck by the strangest thought--what if it had been me? Would I have known, or would I be as oblivious as Connor is, right now? Could I have walked past Hailey's closed door, without knowing what was happening three feet behind it?

I'd let him drive my car home from the gala. He lived just a couple of blocks away, and had been sober when I'd left. I'd caught a cab home two hours earlier. Time to prepare.

She thinks it's me. And yet--she doesn't make a sound. Her feet are close enough to the wall that she could kick it, but she doesn't. Her wide eyes stay centered on mine. A moment later, after a bit of fumbling sound, the door of my bedroom swings closed and I hear feet descending the staircase. I can feel Hailey's heartbeat, under the heel of my palm; it perfectly matches the metronome of Connor's footsteps.

A knot of tension releases from my chest. If he'd decided to knock on Hailey's door when he realized that I wasn't home, everything could have been ruined. But he hadn't. Below us, the front door opened and closed. We hadn't moved so much as an inch, since it had opened for the first time. My eyes still locked on Hailey's, I tilt my head slightly. A grin crooks up the corner of my mouth; a hard, close-lipped smile.

"Should have screamed," I say, simply.

At my first thrust, she does. Even the makeshift gag can't fully contain the sound; only muffling the height of its pitch, the sharpness of it's peak. The sound of it makes my already tight erection go almost painfully hard, inside of her. The base throbs. I've slept with enough women to know that, despite what stories and porn will have you believe, they don't really scream. Not usually. Screaming orgasm is just an exaggerated pseudonym.

Hailey screams.

The sound of it is so wrong, it makes my spine go as rigid as my cock. The vulgarity of it. My body reacts to it, before my mind has a chance to. Everything in me has gone tense; I'm a rope, stretched between two hands. I can feel the frayed threads of me twisting. Below me, Hailey's legs are doing the same. Curling around the back of my thighs, just above the knee; pulling me closer, involuntarily or not, even as her body wrestles up the bed in an attempt to separate us. I groan, as the entrance of her cunt slides a couple of inches up my shaft.

Her shoulders are pushed backward, back slightly arched. Her dark eyes, which squeezed closed in the split-second following my initial thrust, stare at the ceiling overhead. There's bright tears in their corners. I don't know whether they're of pain, or pleasure, or both; or something completely other. Tears of helplessness. Her previously impeccably-placed blonde hair is a spread-out heap on the pillow behind her head.

And then I'm fucking her. Hard. Hard enough that it makes the bones of my hips hurt. It rocks her up on the bed and then brings her back down; almost like she's fucking back, by momentum alone. Each time we meet, the base of my cock makes a wet, slapping sound against the front of her cunt. It doesn't match, I think--it's too... empty. To empty for the way I fill the tightness of her passage, to empty for the thudding of my hips meeting the space between her pelvis and thighs.

Her breathing, through her nose, is a rasp. Reaching up, I tug the underwear from out of her mouth; they make a wet ball as my fingers curl around them. Holding them against her chin with my palm, I push two fingers inside of her now-open mouth. Her breath is hot, against the tips of my fingers; wrapping around her bottom teeth. She bites down--not hard enough to draw blood, but by the force of it, I think she might be trying. The force of my thrusting had lessened slightly, but I ram my body into hers at the sharpness of her bite. Immediately, her teeth release, mouth going slack. Not her choice. An automatic reaction.

Pushing myself up slightly, I stare at her over the rounded arches of my knuckles. Removing my hand for a brief moment, I tuck her underwear into the back pocket of my dress pants, reaching between my knees to do it. Then the hand goes back to her neck. Hailey's brown eyes have gone slightly unfocused, for a moment. It's not an expression I've ever seen, on her face; but it is her face. For a moment, they clarify. She's staring at me, straight into my eyes, and then through them. Like she's looking into my thoughts. Eyes going slightly wider, she shivers.

For a moment, I don't understand what's happening. The cheeks of her bum have lifted off the sweat-damp sheets, and she's twisting slightly to the right. My hand pulls out of her mouth, going instinctively around her throat, thinking that she's trying to escape once more. But she's not. Around my cock, the muscles of her cunt squeeze, going even tighter than they did at the first thrust. And remaining that way. Like a fist, squeezing me. I gasp, pleasure and pain making my vision flicker.

And then she's arching higher still, head pushing back until it almost disappears over the far side of the pillow. She's not screaming, now--this is a sound that I recognize. The strangled gasp, cut off as if with a knife at the very end of its length. She's cumming. My own voice very nearly matches hers; wheezing at the flood of heat which travels down the length of my cock and straight into the hollow of my stomach. A drop of sweat rolls down my cheek and falls into the tangle between us. Legs and sheets and cunt and cock.

"Fucking whore," my own voice surprises me. This time, it's not just Hailey who doesn't recognize it; I sound like a wounded animal. Something between a snarl and a growl, "Come here."

Reaching forward, I grab her hair. My other hand remains firmly around her throat. It's not my imagination, any longer; she's pushing back against me with her hips, matching each of my thrusts with one of her own. I barely notice, when I pull out of her; my cock is hard to the point of pain, my testicles hugging the bottom of my shaft. There's a low throbbing, just below its base. Dragging Hailey out of the bed with both hands, I wait a second to let her find her feet, and then push her to her knees. Releasing my grip on her neck, I pull her head forward with the one in her hair.

Behind the open pink of her lips, I catch a glimpse of white teeth. A thought occurs to me.

"Bite me," I warn her, dragging her head back by the hair, "And I'll hold my cock down your throat until you pass out. Raise your arms."

Another threat I knew I might have to make good on--and was prepared to. Behind her back, she brought her arms up as far as the rope around her wrists would allow. Reaching down, I tugged them loose. It was a simple drawstring-knot, and came away easily. I tensed; expecting her to bolt, or claw at me, or push me away.

Instead, she reached up and wrapped one hand around my cock. I could see the redness around the skin of her wrist, where the ropes had been. With quick, practiced motions, she jerked me off. Through my nose, my breathing pitched downward as her mouth wrapped around the head of my cock. Lips closed, she licked around the slick head and then leaned forward, switching her hand to my pelvis and pushing slightly. I groaned, the sound tightening my stomach under her fingers, as she pushed me toward the entrance of her throat.

Any other time, I would have called it the best blowjob of my life. But this wasn't why I was here. Steeling myself, I wrapped my fingers deeper in her hair. I felt the mouth around my shaft loosen slightly, and her inhale seemed to draw all of the air out of the room.

"My mouth--" I held her head in place, thrusting with my hips. Not nearly as hard as I'd done in bed, but hard enough to make her neck and head pull backward, "My throat--" I pushed myself deeper, causing Hailey to gag. The sound made me nearly delirious; obscenely wet. I could feel a tightness in the bottom of my stomach, and knew I was going to cum very soon, "My whore."

She couldn't nod, with the head of my cock pressed to the crook in the back of her mouth, but I felt her try. When I pull out, slim threads of spit connect her open mouth with the head of my penis. I rub it over her lips, and Hailey's brown eyes go a bit wider. My grip has loosened enough that she can stare up at me--and she does. It's the final straw. Seeing the unrestrained submission, in those eyes. How the dark lines of her eyeliner have gone slightly hazy, around their bottoms. Pushing myself back into her mouth, I slide forward. As deep as I can go.

I cum. I pull back only slightly, but Hailey still chokes on the first pulse of liquid that comes out of me. My breath collapses in on itself, and I feel the strength go out of my legs. My half-muttered obscenity is lost on my own ears, deaf with pleasure. Below me, Hailey stays completely still. Mouth open, she swallows repeatedly. I pull out of her mouth, reeling as the heat of it is replaced by the still, air-conditioned air of the room. Instead of remaining still, she leans forward and takes hold of my shaft. I shiver, as her tongue slides along its bottom, licking the last gathering of cum from the slit.

Pulling myself away from her, I half-stumble a step backward. Reaching down, I pull the pants up from where they've fallen around my ankles. My penis is painfully sensitive, and I pull my hips back to tuck it under the band of my underwear. In front of me, Hailey is still kneeling on the carpet. She watches me wordlessly--waiting. Her brown eyes disappear in a quick blink, and then reappear.

"Good girl," I tuck my hand into the front pocket of my pants. Silver flashes, and I watch Hailey's eyes go fixed on it. Our house key, "I'll lock up on my way out. Be back next week."

Present, Ten Hours Later

I come awake slowly, stretching in the morning light. It takes a moment, for the events of the previous night to come flooding back. As they do, I stiffen beneath the sheets. My thoughts race. Where is Hailey? I strain my ears to listen, but the house is quiet around me. Was she at the police station, right now? Doing a DNA test? Was she still sleeping? Had she left, the night before, and not coming back? Had my final threat been too much?

Rising from bed, I dress quickly. Beige pants, burgundy shirt. White socks and underwear. As I'm about to leave my room, I glance at my dresser. There, in a gold-capped, square blue bottle, is the cologne I'd used the night before. For a moment, I only stand and stare at it. Then, slowly, I walk back across the room. Picking up the bottle, I spray it twice on the underside of my wrist and then brush it around my neck. Putting the bottle back down, I inhale.

I barely see the house around me, as I open my bedroom door and make my way downstairs. As I enter the kitchen, I pull up short.

She's there. Hailey glances up, obviously having heard my footsteps coming down the stairs. The first thing I see--the very first thing--is her smile. Not quite a smile so much as a grin; as familiar as my own reflection. The splash of freckles across her cheeks bunch together, and her teeth peek out at me from the corner of her mouth.

"Where'd you sneak off to?" She asks. With one hand, she presses down the plunger on a glass container of french-pressed coffee, "I didn't see you, after the gala."

"I was..." I paused, then shrugged, "actually with someone."

"Oh?" Her brown eyes catch the light, and her eyebrows bounce. Reaching up, she takes two mugs down from the cupboard overhead, then turns back to me, "You want one, I assume?"

"Please."

"I actually met somebody last night, too. Grab the milk from the fridge," she nods in the direction of it. I walk forward, hearing her continue speaking as I pass her, "So, tell me who this luck--"

It's her inhale, more than how she stops speaking, that makes me glance back at her. It's the strangest expression I've seen, on her face; a perfect combination of her earlier brightness and her darkened, wide-eyed stare from the night before. As I open the door to the fridge, my eyes don't leave hers. For a moment, she's so surprised that I think she's going to drop the mugs. They dangle from two fingers, forgotten.

"Where..." she blinks, and her eyes lose some of their wideness, "Where did you get that cologne?"