Drowning in the Wake Ch. 01

Elise woke to thumping on the door. And by the time she'd realised what was happening it was so silent that for a moment she wasn't sure if she'd dreamt it. But it wasn't a dream. It was the landlord.

Bang bang bang. Her stomach gripped, and she subconsciously pulled her legs to her chest. Rent. Why had she chosen to live in an apartment with a landlord that lived upstairs?

But of course she hadn't. Leo had. And somehow...

Hard thumping on the door startled her out of her memories of the man she was almost sure she hated. The man who'd run out on her. Run out on their lease. Run out on... everything he'd said. Everything he'd promised her.

She held her knees against her, but even that brought back memories. The way he pinned her legs to her...

Bang bang bang. 'The rent, Elise!' came from the front door. The voice hard and angry. 'You're late again. Two fucking weeks late!'

A shiver went through her. She knew exactly how late it was. And exactly how far she was from being able to pay it. Not to mention next month's. Or any of the other bills. The envelopes she'd just stopped opening. How long would the lights stay on... Her phone...

'Tomorrow, Elise! I mean it. Pay your rent or I change the locks.' And with one last slam on the door, it ended. She heard his heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak as he retreated, and in her mind she saw his hard unshaven face. The beer belly stretching what seemed to be his only singlet. The blue workman's shorts that never seemed to get washed. His hard hands.

She was suddenly aware of her own state of dress — as if conjuring him in her mind might make her appear in his. She was only in a singlet herself. Singlet and panties. And almost at the realization of how little that was, she felt the circular breeze of the fan on her skin, bringing up goosebumps and pulling at her nipples — stirring them into hard little buds that pressed at the soft material.

Was it the fan? Or the thought of that disgusting man's hands on her. Holding her wide apart. Pushing her white cotton panties to the side. Demanding the rent as he forced his dirty, rock hard cock between her delicate folds. The stink of him, the snarl on his face as he made her lips part. Made her stretch for him. Made her take all of it. For the rent, you little bitch. For the rent.

Jesus. What was wrong with her? The man repulsed her. And even the thought of him seeing her like this, the too-hot comforter kicked off in the night, her tanned skin contrasting against the white of the sheets, the white of her singlet, the white of her panties... What would he do if he saw her nipples pressing points into the ribbed fabric... her long legs sprawling across the bed, one knee cocked, the length of her thigh exposed...

She shuddered. Shook her head as if to clear the thought from her mind. But still she found a hand clutching at the firmness of her breast, the other sliding across her stomach, wanting to cover her panties from view, to protect her most vulnerable place from the casual touch of the fan.

The banging had stopped. All was silent but the rhythmical thrum of the ceiling fan. But though the threat had passed, her heart had taken up the beat, thudding alarmingly in her chest, as panicked as if he'd broken the door down and was coming for her, climbing onto the bed to seize her, his work boots treading dirt into the pristine white sheets, calloused hands grabbing her ankles, forcing them over her head. Nothing she could do. No point resisting. Nothing would stop him anyway.

The look in his eyes — the look that would come into Leo's blue eyes. God. Fuck. She felt her pussy clench, as if he were here now, running his fingers up her thigh and looking at her like she were made of quicksilver. Of the night sky. Of starlight. Her left knee bent automatically at the memory, so clear in her mind — those eyes — as if her knee itself knew to open for him. Like her legs could decide to spread all by themselves. Like it weren't even up to her.

She was still rubbing her breast, her hand having found its way under the singlet, feeling the firmness of her bosom. Her tit — 'Righty', as he'd always called it. Cheeky bastard — that sideways fucking smile. Fuck I love your tits. And somehow now she was having to consciously stop herself from sliding her middle finger into the crease of her panties. She had to get up. She had to get a job. Just like she'd had to yesterday.

And yet her perfectly painted red fingernails insisted on stroking the soft innermost portion of her thigh, moving excruciatingly into the little valley — fuck — the moment they fell into that swale her whole body clutched in pleasure. Jesus.

She had to get up.

But she relented to her fingers. She let them slide all the way along the elastic that pressed snug against her sensitive skin, a defensive wall against intrusion, shielding her softness from prying fingers that wanted always to slip underneath, scramble over, or press fervently against the limited defences of a thin strip of cotton.

God. Elise's back arched and her hips tilted, trying to position her fingers exactly where they weren't meant to go. Her candy apple red fingertips against her milk white panties made her tummy flutter — a wave of heat sweeping through her — and she wondered briefly if it only turned her on because of what it did to him. How he would make her trace the tip of her finger ever so gently across her panties, till she'd made a little channel in the material, the outline of her perfectly waxed petals...

She shivered, even as another heatwave swept across her, rising in her chest and crashing into her clit like a surf break. And she just couldn't stop herself from flicking her middle finger up and across her little button — Jesus— her panties were so thin it was like she were wearing nothing at all. Like the tip of her finger were swirling directly against her clit, the way Leo used to make her do, holding her legs wide open, giving her no choice but to give him what he wanted. To put on a show for him. She was an actress after all. And when he gripped her ankles like that she got so wet she'd have done anything for him anyway. Whatever he'd said. And he'd said so many things. So many naughty... so many filthy fucking things.

Her finger was stroking the channel into her panties now, the groove already well formed, and she could feel the heat emanating from the other side of the flimsy barrier as she pictured him there, lying between her legs. Kissing her in the valley. The left one. Then the right one. His voice soft, telling her what he was going to do to her even as his grip held her like a vice. So strong she was helpless, he'd tease her — about to do what she needed him to do, but not quite doing it... Breathing warm air directly onto her barely covered slit.

She'd look down and see his face, his beautiful mouth, his hard jaw, piercing blue eyes, like a movie star. And when, eventually, he'd slowly dip his head towards her soft wet panties, and ever so lightly draw his tongue along the little channel he'd made her make for him, it was like a fantasy. Like a god was going down on her. Worshipping her like she was the deity, the thing of fantasy...

Fuck. A hard jolt ripped through her. She was further along than she'd realized. Already her hips were making subtle circles, encouraging her own finger to give her what she needed, to swirl incessantly around her clit, the way Leo would do, his stubbly chin buried hard in her folds, while his tongue played with her so gently, but so insistently. She'd known from the very first time to just let him have her — that he wasn't going to stop. Not till he'd gotten what he wanted. Not till she'd broken on him. Till he'd seen her strain, and gasp, and arch her back, pushing herself hard against his hard jaw, crashing against the thrashing of his tongue.

Jesus Christ. As if he were actually there, she felt her hips push up at his nudging tongue, still lightly caressing her through her soft little panties. Fuck. He loved when she wore white. Or pink. Little innocent cotton panties, with a little bow on the front. So innocent, for him to...

And at that thought she couldn't stop herself from pushing the tiny scrap of material to the side — feeling the wet cotton slide across her lips — and dipped her finger between her soaking folds, and up the length of her slit. Oh! Her body lurched again in response, and now all she wanted was what her body — still — expected to have happen next.

A flash of the landlord — the fucking rent, you little slut — and she groaned as she pressed her finger harder into her slit. Her legs were spread wide — she was a fucking slut — and her hips were humping her fingers in the rhythm they needed. The landlord eating her out. She recoiled at the image, but a flood of juice poured from her hopeless pussy. The landlord dipping his tongue into her out-of-his league pussy — the one time he'd get to taste... Ahh!

She was beating a fast thrum into her defenseless clit, waves of pleasure rolling through her body, interspersed with the occasional jolt of ecstasy. The first glimpses of the destination she was getting carried closer and closer towards. His calloused hands on her smooth calves, her juice shining on his dimpled chin, seeing him through her wide spread thighs, his eyes hard like he hated her.

She'd learnt long ago that what looked like hatred, what had made her feel disgusting that first time, was almost what drove her now. The angry look of lust in a man's eyes. When they're not even really there anymore. Drunk on the sweet scent of her pussy. Lost in the need to fuck her into some kind of submission.

Ah fuck! Elise ground herself onto her fingers harder, now using all three to keep a constant presence on her needy clit, pulling the overflowing juice from her channel to rub deliriously into her pleasure centre, then dipping all three inside her without warning — Jesus! — like he would do. Now. Then not. Then deep inside her again. Never letting her get used to it. He would just take from her randomly, like he didn't give a shit if she were ready, or care what she wanted. Like she were a mere plaything for his amusement, a toy for him to do what he wanted with, a cheap chattel, pretty but ultimately worthless, for him to take out his momentary desire on...

Ahhh.

Pulling her right leg even further back, she gave herself to him fully. Sunk into his domination of her. And now he had her fully spread, her good girl panties pushed out of his way, her perfectly waxed pussy lips splayed open and inviting, her little red toenails pointed just the way he liked...

Gah! She stabbed her three long fingers inside her again and again — hard, just like he would do. Somehow, after how much care he'd taken to prepare her, to get her absolutely dripping with wetness, his recklessness made her shake with pleasure.

Now, riding waves of intense feeling she could no longer control, Elise allowed her left hand to abandon her taut breast, and let it slide down her abdomen to dip into her moistness as well. And as she felt this new finger flick over her soaked clit, she let her other hand fuck her fingers into her, as deep as she could force them, one thigh held open with her elbow, opening herself to him, giving herself to him — not like he'd asked, but like he'd demanded, all with a look. All with those eyes...

Fuck!

The landlord's ugly little pink dick — Christ! Her hips bucked into her unstinting fingers as they kept forcing their way into her needy pussy. Her unfamiliar left middle finger circling her clit delicately — it was as if he were going down on her and fucking her at the same time, so hungry for her, so desperate for her — Jesus! Fuck.

Fucking hell you're hot.

And now the rhythm was unstoppable. She was getting taken by her own fingers, her own pleasure, on a ride that had only one destination. You filthy little bitch. Fuck you want it, don't you. You want my cock filling you up — you need it, you cockhungry slut. You don't even care about the rent.

Nnnhh.

She was so close she couldn't breathe. All she could do was roll her hips around her circling finger, and let her other hand plunge red fingernails hard past her gasping little lips, plunging in and out of her helpless body.

Fuck, she was a slut.

Ahhh!

And then it was Leo. Her fingers were a joke compared to his size. His cock was like a nightstick intended to flog her, but distracted by her soft little panties, her pretty fingernails, her smooth skin — turned aside from beating her, it would lodge itself deep in her defenseless pussy, stretching her beyond what she'd ever thought she could take. Not asking if she could take it. If she would. But making her. Stuffing her. Making it fit. Making her resistance give way — her lips so betrayingly wet there was very little resistance she could offer. And she would simply succumb to his hardness, the hardness in his face, his cold blue eyes, his hard masculine jaw, the ripple of muscle in his shoulders. And the hard steel rod fucking uncompromisingly in and out of her, smashing into the very end of her, over and over again. Ramming her, reaming her, destroying her.

Take me.

Worthless.

Decoration.

Point your fucking toes.

So pretty.

God I hate her.

You think you're better than us.

I want you.

Then take me.

You're beautiful.

I'm so wet.

Take it. You have to fucking take it.

Ahhh!

I'm cumming!

She was hit so hard it was like he'd really hit her. But instead of a wave of nauseating pain, an avalanche of ecstasy crashed through her — and for blissful, uncountable half-seconds that's all there was, her three fingers jammed deep in her pussy, and her other finger wedged tight against her exploding clit, as she held taut against the onslaught of pleasure.

Oh Leo. Already she could feel love transfusing into her lust. The warm pleasure intermingling with the need to feel him against her, to see his relief. The reassuring weight of his muscled frame. The strength of him holding her open so effortlessly. The thudding of his heart, his heart, and the way, eventually, he would come back into his eyes. The hardness softening, little by little. And from holding her hair hard into the pillows, how he would begin to caress her again, his cock still hard inside her, jerking as she caressed him, squeezed him — showed him her love, how welcome he was. That she was his. That it was all his. He could have all of her.

The feelings washed over her like pleasure itself — she was totally his. If he wanted her.

And at the next thought, Elise opened her eyes. And was brought back to the present. To the reality. He didn't want her. He'd ripped open the present, pocketed the delicate ribbon, and discarded the unwanted gift.

And left her where he'd found her. An out of work model. Unable to pay the rent of an apartment that wasn't even hers. Jamming fingers into her snatch when almost every man she encountered, and plenty of the women, would do anything to fuck her. A beautifully wrapped present they all wished were for them.

Elise felt her chest rise and fall, the perspiration on her skin, the wetness she'd left in the sheets. She felt deliciously destroyed, ripped apart and yet finally whole again.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She almost said it aloud this time. But she knew damn well what was wrong with her. And as she sucked the juice of her fingers, feeling the exquisite smoothness of her manicured fingernails and savouring her earthy sweetness, she reminded herself of what she had to do today. It certainly wasn't to worry about how the only time she felt whole was when she was reduced to nothing on the end of a cock. How fucked up that was... It was simply to find a job. A modelling job. Any job — to somehow try and satisfy her landlord, without fucking him.

To be continued...