Explaining the Mysterious

A whistling noise brought my attention to Brian a split second before a line of fire danced across my flesh. The impact flattened my breasts and nipples before bouncing back into normal shape. The crack came from a great distance traveling much slower than the pain, which lanced fast searing across my skin. For a second, my chest locked up, my breath like a solid weight that wouldn't move.

Another whistling crack unhinged my chest so suddenly that I screamed. He balled up a cut piece of my nightie and shoved it roughly past my lips. The scratchy lace prickled on my tongue irritating my dry lips.

Brian grabbed my tits kneading, squeezing them while my muffled cries tried to escape past the wadded up lingerie material.

"Rachel, we should talk about what I expected from you, and how you failed."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and as I whipped my head back and forth, they flew from my eyes.

"Let me rephrase that, I'll talk, and you'll be a good girl and listen."

His belt looped loosely around his hand with the buckle against his palm. He'd used the end of his belt to whip my breasts. As he talked, he paced back and forth beside the bed. He was working himself into a frenzy. His eyes wild and frightening.

"I didn't want it to come to this. I'd hoped you'd be different from the others, but you're not."

He stopped pacing and talking to lay another stripe of pain and fire across my tits. Any arousal I'd felt before began to leave with the pain and shock. My rum-filled head pounded with a brewing headache and fear left me trembling and cold with shock.

He muttered to himself, dropped the belt beside the bed and skimmed off his boxers. His cock was rock hard, pointing towards me with its wide purple head. I'd always loved the width of his cock stretching me tight around him.

He pulled the makeshift gag out and held my head in place while shoving his cock into my mouth. There was nothing gentle or loving about how he shoved himself into my mouth. The width stretched my dry lips until the corners cracked painfully. I gagged as the wide head filled the back of my throat choking off my air.

After a few quick thrusts, he jammed his cock to the back of my throat, held it there. I panicked trying to shake my head back and forth, but he grabbed the sides of my head to hold me in place. My stomach heaved once, tightening as I choked. With a groan, he removed his cock from the back of my throat. I choked and gagged just barely holding onto the roiling mass of rum that still existed in my stomach.

Climbing onto the bed, he lifted my legs as far as possible in their restraints while widening my thighs and shifting my knees out sideways. Slipping his hands under my ass, he lifted my hips and forced his cock into my pussy in one impaling thrust. I wasn't nearly as wet as I normally would be when we made love, so his cock was an intrusion. A painful intrusion.

I cried out as he entered me. I'd been wrong about there not being any leftover arousal. His cock stretched me and filled me so deeply that my pussy grew wet. The wetness allowed his cock to slam faster and harder inside me. Combined with the pressure on my clit with every thrust, I experienced a surprising build up of arousal.

"Please, Brian. I won't do it again." Whimpering, I realized that if he continued, I'd be left helpless against the growing wash of arousal that was building. It would collapse on top of me drowning me.

He growled and wrapped his hands around my throat. "I know you won't, Rachel. I thought you were different but you're not. You're a slut like the rest."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. A blonde and silver flash near the doorway. I'd forgotten all about my guest. Why had she taken so long? I'd been screaming in here a long time. Maybe she'd called the police, and when they'd taken too long, she'd searched for a weapon.

The edges of my vision began to fade. I twisted under his strong hands, struggling with my whole body to remove his hands from my throat. My movements caused his cock to slip out of my pussy. He removed one hand to reposition himself inside me. I took a great gasp of air before he started squeezing my throat again.

Why was she hesitating?

She stood calmly beside us watching. "Did I tell you my name?"

The loss of oxygen to my brain caused me to hallucinate. She wasn't standing there nonchalantly introducing herself to me while my crazy boyfriend choked the life out of me. Light glinted from her hand.

"My name is Clara. His name isn't really Brian. I'm not sure what it is. I never knew his real name..." The black at the edges of my vision crept further in. I couldn't see her without turning my head to stare directly at her, which I did so I could catch her eye. She finally focused on me lifting the choker she wore around her neck to show purple and black bruises on her neck, "...before he killed me."

He slumped over me. His hands loosening around my throat. The heavy weight of his body pinned me under him while wet warmth splashed on me. Startled, I screamed fighting frantically to throw his body from on top of me.

The knife in Clara's hand found a place. The glint of the knife was barely visible because the blade stuck firmly out of his back. The space where Clara stood a moment ago was empty.

The sense of shifting reality could be blamed on the Zombies tonight. Had my boyfriend really tried to kill me? Had this strange woman from the club said she was dead right before she stabbed him? Was I going to die from his choking dead weight pinning me to the bed?

I took shallow breaths because his weight wouldn't allow me to expand my lungs. The ropes were still tight around my wrists and ankles. The edges of my vision were growing dark again. Before I blacked out, a loud banging on the door burst through my fading consciousness. I tried to yell but what came out was a wheezing croak.

Officers yelled, 'Police!' as they broke down the door. They swarmed into my bedroom with guns drawn. Now that the police were here, I stopped trying to move which caused Brian's body to settle heavier on my chest. A blurry face moved into my vision as the light faded. The face shouted something behind him and the weight lifted from my chest.

They laid Brian on the bed next to me. I searched his face for the boyfriend that would do this to me, and saw only a slack-faced, dead stranger. Eyes that I'd once thought soulful and full of depth were blank and glassy.

In a scratchy, panicked voice, I screamed, "Untie me!"

They brought in a female officer to question me. They hadn't allowed me to get dressed or clean up so I was wrapped in a bathrobe curled up on the couch. The officer made me tea which I held with both hands as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded in reality.

I blinked and the police were gone. Hundreds of questions later, they'd left me alone while removing Brian from my bedroom, securing the crime scene, and gathering evidence. I'm not sure how long they questioned me before bringing me to the hospital where I stayed overnight for observation.

The next day, the hospital released me to the care of the lead detective; Samuel Donahue. Detective Donahue brought me to the station to answer more questions.

"How did you meet Brian? How long were you dating?"

I answered each question with a scratchy voice. There would be no permanent damage to my voice but there were stark purple bruises around my neck. Bruises that looked disturbingly like the ones Clara had on her neck.

Detective Donahue left me to sit in the interview room with a cup of coffee and a stale muffin. He came in what felt like hours later with a file folder. His partner rolled in a metal television stand with a DVD player.

Donahue said, "I'd like to show you a few things. We fingerprinted your boyfriend. His fingerprints match up with someone else. His name isn't Brian." Donahue slid a picture in front of her. "It's Dennis Glazier."

I could only stare at the picture. A wanted poster. I didn't think they still made wanted posters. I vaguely understood I was in shock. My responses deadened by what had happened. This should have more of an effect but surprise after shock after surprise made my reactions sluggish and my mind numb.

Detective Donahue continued, "Last year, he'd been wanted for questioning in the death of his girlfriend; Clara Winters." He slid another photo in front of me. A familiar, blonde woman.

"He disappeared as police were about to make an arrest."

I nodded woodenly, "I guess you found him."

Donahue frowned. "You say that you met a woman named Clara in the club. One who looked surprisingly like Glazier's victim, and that she's the one who stabbed him."

"Yes."

"Run the video." He waved a hand at his partner. On screen, I could see myself in miniature trying to get through the crush of bodies on the club's dance floor. Everything was soundless and drained of color. It felt a lot like my emotions. The detective fast forwarded until we could see my miniature body walking out of the bathroom, through the crush of the dance floor. We watched as the top of my costume fell under my breasts exposing me to the club, and finally my miniature self weaved its way to the front door of the club and out of frame.

I was alone.

"Explain your story to me again, Rachel."