Grace Restored

This is my entry for heart//beats. Thanks to EarlyMorningLight for organizing it! And thank you to my beta readers elizaloo and EmilyMiller!

For the people following me from Loving Wives, this story is in NonConsent/Reluctance, and it's there for a reason. You have been warned. But it's still one of my stories. Which... again, you have been warned.

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I had her pegged the first time I saw her at the bar: a good girl out for a night among bad people. Not the really bad people, of course; that would be too much. Instead, she was in a goth club on bondage night, when a local group of performers would take to the stage for some extreme, if not very explicit, acts of sadomasochism for the titillation of the normies.

She was pretty in a girl next door sort of way, with long blonde hair tied back in a simple ponytail and hazel eyes. Her tiny frame-- maybe 5'2" at most-- was adorned with the best mall goth gear that Mommy and Daddy's credit card could buy: a Cure t-shirt, short (but not too short) skirt, fishnets, and chunky boots. None of them had any signs of wear; they might as well still have the price tags on them.

Black lipstick and artfully applied mascara enhanced her beauty, but makeup washes off easily. The only real, concrete sign that she might be anything more than a tourist badly trying to fit in was a nose ring. But with the way she occasionally toyed with the simple silver loop, it must have been new, too.

The way the girl acted at the bar was wrong, too. Everything about her screamed "I don't belong here" from the way she stood to not understanding the protocol for ordering a drink to smiling at the wrong kind of guys, the ones who saw her for what she was: helpless prey. And then she smiled at me.

Which is how Grace ended up on the couch in my living room.

She looked comfortable lounging there, with a friendly, open smile and relaxed posture, chatting away about some trivial matter. I interrupted her nattering to say, "I'm going to put some music on."

"Okay!" Even her voice oozed sweetness as she continued to talk about... whatever.

When the music started, Grace fell silent, and her smile turned brittle. I had picked the Joy Division album "Unknown Pleasures," set on repeat, but starting with the track "She's Lost Control."

As I locked the door, turned the deadbolt, and put the chain on, the tension in her body ramped up. Grace spoke up. "Josh? What are you doing? I thought you needed to check on something, then you were going to drop me off?"

I'm a big guy, with probably a full foot and a hundred pounds on her, most of it muscle. I can be very intimidating when I want to be, but I also have a face that I'm told makes me seem approachable and trustworthy, along with a reassuring smile. The smile I favored her with then was absolutely not meant to reassure her. Grace's jaw clenched when I took a step closer, the first signs of panic beginning to surface in the young woman's manner. "Josh, I--"

"Shut the fuck up." Grace stopped speaking for one moment, then the panic turned to outrage. She made the tiniest angry sound before my open palm impacted her cheek. The girl next door touched it gingerly, tears in her unbelieving eyes. "Did I fucking stutter, bitch?"

"P- please, I--" Another slap to the other cheek silenced her, other than a pained noise. The hit wasn't particularly hard. I wasn't trying to leave marks--yet, at any rate--just get her attention. I had it.

"You'll leave when I say so." Grace's eyes were level with my crotch, and she finally saw the bulge growing there. I had thought her panicked before, but now the little slut was petrified. "Get my cock out." She shook her head vigorously, mouthing 'no.' But when I raised my hand to strike again, the gestures of protestation stopped mid-motion. "Now."

She seemed like a sweet little churchgoing thing, but even those types have usually at least given their bible thumping boyfriends handjobs. Was that what Grace was thinking as her shaking hands reached for my belt? As she gulped with fear while she unbuttoned and unzipped my pants? Did she hope, "If I just get him off with my hand, maybe that'll be enough?"

If so, she was wrong.

Grace blanched as my hard dick came into view. I'm not a porn star, but I've never heard any complaints, at least not from women that were sharing a bed with me willingly. In terms of length, it's decent, but its thickness was likely the cause of her consternation; the fingers of her small hand just barely encircled its girth.

A hiss of breath escaped my lips as she stroked it experimentally. Grace's skin was so very soft against my hardness. Between that and her easy, fearful submission, I knew I was in for a good time.

"First time touching a man's cock, little girl?"

"N- no." Her voice was uncertain. "I, um, I had a boyfriend back home. He--"

"I said a man's cock, bitch. Not a boy's."

"Yes. It's... yes. It's- it's the first time." Grace regarded my dick anxiously as she stroked. Her breath came a little faster, a little shallower. There was still fear there, but curiosity now, too. Arousal, perhaps.

"Taste it."

Her head shot up, fearful again. "What? No, I've never- I can't--"

My hand grabbed her hair and dragged her face close to it; Grace struggled against me, but she might as well have been fighting the tide. I was always going to win. "Taste it. But I swear to God, if I feel teeth, you'll lose them. I barely hit you before; I'll do much worse if you try to hurt me."

Grace clamped her mouth tightly shut. A little more pressure from my hand brought her closer to my dick. "Open your mouth, girl." She tried to shake her head 'no,' but I held it firmly in place.

With a growl, I said, "I'm losing my patience, bitch. I've been a generous host, giving you your first look at a man's dick. I'm being even more generous offering you a taste. How the rest of this night goes is up to you; if you're a good girl, we'll both have fun. But if you're a little bitch..." I yanked her hair, jerking her head to look almost straight up. "Only I'm going to have fun. And I'm going to take my frustration out on you. Do you understand?"

Grace opened her mouth; from the look in her eyes, I presume she was going to answer in the affirmative, but I didn't give her the chance. When her lips parted, I took the opportunity to shove the head of my cock against them. "Thank me with a kiss."

Tears started to form in Grace's eyes; I think it was dawning on her that she wasn't going to get away from me. From this. I would get what I wanted from her, one way or another. Shame etched her face as she closed her eyes and kissed my glans daintily. I wanted more, but this was a decent start.

"Good girl. You're going to keep being a good girl, aren't you?" A hesitant, miserable nod. "There we go. Daddy's got all sorts of treats for you if you're a good girl." Grace's slender body shivered; it could have been arousal or fear or revulsion, or a heady mix of all three. I withdrew my cock from her lips for just a moment, and there was a fleeting expression of hope on her features.

That hope proved unfounded as I reached down for the hem of her Siouxsie shirt. "Wait, what? No!" I ignored her cries and yanked hard; there was a small tearing noise as it ripped free from her hands, then a yelp at her sudden nakedness. Grace struggled for a moment longer, but she was no match for me, and the mass of black cloth flew somewhere behind me.

The girl next door had been pretty when fully dressed, but she had been hiding untold treasures beneath her clothes. Her body was slender, but the pink bra--of course it was pink--encased two of the most perfect breasts I had ever seen. As I reached for the clasp, she slapped at my hands; apparently our earlier talk hadn't been enough.

The knife that suddenly appeared from my pocket was.

She froze in fear as I flicked it open and said, "You are going to do what I want. I don't give a shit if you want to or not; I'll make it good for you if you do, but I'll happily rape the shit out of you while you scream and beg and pray." Each word was like a hammer smashing her hopes, and the blows rained down like the tears from her cheeks.

"And if you think about going to the cops? Good fucking luck with that." The edge of the knife traced up her belly and across the cup. She shivered again; this one was fear, clearly and wholly and truly. "No one's going to believe you. Everyone in that club knows me. I've slept with half the women there, and I've never forced myself on a single one of them."

Cold steel traced up her chest and under the strap on one shoulder. "I'm one of the good guys." I grinned maliciously. "Everyone knows it. All of them will stand up in court and say you left with me willingly. They'll tell the judge that I've never crossed any boundaries, and that I've only ever taken a woman to my bed that wanted to be there."

Her mouth twisted in fear and misery. "Th- then why? Why me? I--"

A sound of metal on fabric, and the first strap came apart. Grace, the pretty little church girl, struggled to not move, to not try to preserve her modesty, to not shield herself from this maniac with a knife that had threatened--promised--to rape her. "Because I respect them."

The knife flashed again, and only a flimsy clasp and elastic tension stood between me and a glimpse of heaven. "But you? You're just some dumb bitch who wanted to play with fire." And then, with a rough yank, not even those impediments remained. "And you need to be taught a lesson."

She was as gorgeous as I had hoped. The knife at her throat dissuaded Grace from trying to take back the modesty I'd stolen from her. Her naked breasts were magnificent, their large pink areolae tipped with diamond-hard nipples the size of erasers.

As I rolled one between my fingertips, Grace closed her eyes and moaned. "Good girl." She moaned louder at the words, then whimpered softly as the gentle rolling turned to a more insistent pinch. "Mmm, such a good girl. I'm going to enjoy this." The knife snapped shut and went back into my pocket. "Stand up."

I took a step back, and Grace slowly rose to her feet, furtively looking around. Looking for an escape route. She needn't have bothered, because the only way out was through me. I wiped her tears away; she flinched at first, but stayed steady when it became clear there was no slap coming, no knife or threats on display. Just a strange, seemingly misplaced kindness.

"Take your skirt off."

"What?"

"Skirt."

"I..." My eyes told her there would be no discussion, only another lesson for the recalcitrant student. Grace's gaze slid away from mine as her trembling fingers found the zipper. "Just... Please don't hurt me." I was silent as the skirt slid down athletic legs and pooled on the floor.

I roughly thrust my hand into her mismatched gray panties and was wholly unsurprised by the swamp of heat and wetness I found there. She tried to step back, but the couch prevented it, and my other hand, wrapped around her upper arm, kept her upright. "I knew it." Her eyes shot back to mine. "You're a fucking slut. You wanted this the whole time, didn't you?"

"N- no! I--" Grace's words ceased as I mashed my lips to hers and my tongue penetrated between them. Stifled speech turned to guttural nonsense as my fingers stroked her labia and teased at her clit.

She didn't want to want this, but she did. Grace was a good girl; she just needed to learn exactly what type of good girl she was. And, as the reluctant slut came on the tips of callused fingers while my tongue violated her mouth, she got her first inkling.

I broke free, leaving her gasping and voiceless. "Yes, Grace. You are. You're a fucking slut. My fucking slut." She was easy to force to her knees; "force" wasn't even the right word. The girl's legs were like jelly from the intensity of her climax, unable to bear the combined weight of pleasure and guilt. Grace was helplessly falling, and I would make sure she landed exactly where I wanted her to.

The good bad girl's eyes were still closed, but her mouth was not. It was an alluring sight, the perfect receptacle for my cock. She struggled at first as her lips felt it pass inside, then more as the glans nudged at her throat. Of course she did. This bad man had made her feel something she wasn't supposed to, and now he was violating her mouth! How could she let that stand?

But as my fingers tangled in her short black bob, I made it clear: her orgasm was a means to an end for me, and that was all. It was my orgasm that mattered now. Grace looked up at me, tears trailing down her face again, leaving black trails of mascara. Snot and spit joined the descent as well, as I fucked her face mercilessly. I savored the choking and gasping sounds she made each time I'd let her have just a little air. Savored even more the little moans that told me I'd unleashed something in her that she'd never be able to put back in its cage.

"Suck it, you slut. Fucking suck it. It's coming, whore. You want it, don't you?" The words were as much for me as they were for her; I wanted this, wanted it soon. But the degradation was also what I wanted, letting her know I knew her most shameful secret: she was a slut and a whore, and she would take my jizz and love it. Hate it. Mix those feelings together in a cocktail of self-loathing as intoxicating as any served at the bar where we'd met.

Grace sucked my dick vigorously; I couldn't say when that started, only that it was true by the end. Was it to get me off sooner, or because she wanted my cum? I doubt even she could have told you. But regardless of the reason, the first surge of jism erupted in her mouth, and it spilled out past her lips. I yanked my cock free as she choked on her reward, then gave her more, painting her face, her lips, her tits with my seed in spasm after spasm of pleasure.

Grace's eyes were shut, her expression conflicted. But when she heard the very recognizable click of the camera app, those pretty hazel eyes flew open. And when she saw I was holding her phone, the emotion written on her face coalesced into outrage. "Hey! Stop!"

I mockingly gestured with one finger, the universal symbol for "wait; there's something more important I need to deal with." She reached up, but I slapped her hands away, then slapped her face with my dick for good measure to emphasize my contempt.

The whoosh-ding of a successfully sent message made her cry out once more, desperately trying to grab the phone again. I grabbed the hand that reached up, yanked her to her feet, turned her around and pinned both arms in one of mine. She struggled, but it was a worthless gesture of impotent anger. When Grace saw the message on the screen in my outstretched hand, the one from her phone to mine, she went limp. There was no point.

Thank you for your cum, Daddy! Please give me more! The chipper tone took the ambiguous photo of Grace kneeling in supplication with my jism all over her face and turned it into a wholehearted endorsement of what I'd done to her. I had proof now that what we did was consensual, or at least enough proof that no lazy cop was going to investigate further once he saw it. And anything that happened after? Well, she was clearly asking for it.

Her body was effortlessly light. Even as Grace once more became agitated, even as she realized I was carrying her down the hallway towards my bedroom, even as she kicked and screamed and begged, I needed to expend little more effort than if I was carrying an angry cat.

She certainly fought like a wild animal. Her nails clawed at my arms and torso, but the stinging welts only made me move faster. When Grace bit my forearm, I simply shifted my grip and squeezed, forcing the air from her lungs. Nothing she could do would stop what would happen in that room. Hell, my unbuttoned pants were more of an impediment than her useless struggles.

"Please! Please, don't do this! I'll suck you off as much as you want, I'll come back here every day and do it, but please don't make me do this!"

That didn't even rate a response. I flung her onto the bed; Grace tried to scramble away, but one hand grabbed her ankle, easily holding her in place. She tried to kick, but there was no leverage for her to get in more than a few glancing blows. My free hand found what I needed on the bedside table; when she kicked next, I yanked hard, bringing her back towards me with her own momentum. Towards me, and towards the end of her pathetic resistance.

The click of the cuffs around one wrist didn't register to her at first. Then the metal bit into her wrist as I hauled her nearer to the head of the bed. She tried to get free once more, but a backhanded slap--harder than I meant, but these things happen--dazed her long enough for me to thread the other cuff through the vertical slats of the headboard and snap it shut on her remaining wrist.

"No! Please, Josh, please! I don't want this!"

Grace flailed as I tried to pull the panties down her legs, and I eventually grew frustrated enough to simply rip the flimsy material apart with my bare hands. The soaking cloth almost dripped with the slut's juices; I laughed as I showed them to her, taunting, "Yeah, you do. Your mouth might lie, but your pussy can't."

The little church mouse watched me undress with horror. It was starting to fully sink in: this was going to happen. I was going to take my clothes off, and I was going to spread her legs, and my cock was going to penetrate her. And there was not a damned thing she could do about it. The thought made my dick, now hard once more, twitch in anticipation.

She half-heartedly tried to kick me away as I got back on the bed, but all that did was let me grab her legs once more. "Please, please, please! Don't do this!"

I chuckled, "Why?"

Hesitation. Fear. Then begging. "I'm a virgin! Please, Josh, please, you're not a monster! Pleahhhhh!! NOOO!!!"

The sound of her voice as I thrust into her cunt was like music, a discordant, malevolent hymn to evil. I would be her monster, and I would revel in it, revel in the tightness of her little cunny and the despair in her eyes. "Not anymore."

Grace's sobs were almost rhythmic at first as I sawed in and out of her, my thick cock trespassing over and over where she had begged me not to. The noises soon changed, though. Her sobs shifted to moans and grunts. What she begged for changed, too.

"Please, stop! Please- p- please- I... Oh God! Please, I don't want to- No, Josh, don't make me- make me- make me cum!" Her tight pussy began to flutter around my dick. As her orgasm approached, Grace became even more fearful and frantic. "Please! I don't! I'm going to-- no-- no--!" The fear wasn't about me, or even about what I was doing to her. What I had done to her. It was about what her body was doing now and about what that might mean.

I was raping her. She was cumming. And neither of us was going to stop.

"No! Noooh oh oh god! Oh fuck, Josh! Oh fuck, I'm cumming! I- no- yeeesssss!" The thrashing completely ceased; all motion in her body did, other than the back and forth on the mattress as I kept pounding into her. And then she spasmed, her hands straining against the cuffs with such ferocity that she dug gouges into her wrists, her legs locking around my back, her head pressed so hard against the mattress that her neck muscles corded with the strain.

I chuckled darkly, "Good girl. Good fucking girl. I knew you wanted this."

She panted, "P- please... I did, but please- don't--" Each syllable broke away from the next as I thrusted into her; my own orgasm was approaching, and I charged headlong towards it. "I- Not- not on pill! Please! Stop! D- Don't cum in meeeeee!"