Issues

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48 Followers

“Terrific. I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” And he was gone, leaving a shocked and still frustrated Melissa on the other end of the phone.

What did I just agree to?” she asked herself. “I don’t want to see him on days that I do have his class; why the hell would I want to see him when I don’t have to? And what does he have to be concerned about me for? I’m more adjusted than most of the therapists’-wet-dreams in that class. And what should I wear?” Her inner voice was an idiot, Melissa decided, and then spent the next couple of hours holding up a pair of baggy black jeans and a dark plaid mock-schoolgirl skirt she’d bought from Hot Topic, comparing which one made her ass look rounder.

Maybe he’s a vampire,” she thought. “If he’s a vampire, then it’s perfectly understandable that I’m going along with him. I must be in thrall. Yeah, that’s it!” She thought a minute. “I really need to read a different genre of literature.

Almost exactly at 2, the doorbell rang. Despite expecting it for the past half hour, she jumped and her breathing accelerated even more. Wiping her hands on her skirt—maybe she should have worn the jeans after all—she opened the door and put on her best semblance of a smile. “Mr. Williams! Hi!”

Giving her an amused smile to let her know that he saw through her façade, he came in, uninvited. “Not a vampire,” a distant, crazy part of Melissa’s brain noted. He looked around, letting his gaze pause at a book of spells that had never worked, her Dark Muffin lunchbox, all the small details that she had neglected to shove under some furniture. “Good afternoon, Melissa. I…like your apartment.” He was of course lying, but since it was the expected thing to say upon entering someone’s place, she didn’t call him on it.

“Ummm, have a seat?” Melissa turned to find him one and saw that the only chair not covered in writings was the computer chair, and that he had already moved towards it and sat. “Oh, yeah, and ummm…” He was already looking at the monitor, opening files, efficiently locating the paper that she had sent to him and scanning it quickly. “…go ahead and read that,” she mumbled to the air around her.

He finished quickly yet his eyes lingered on the screen. “It’s so much like her writing…”

“Huh? Whose writing?” Melissa heard something she couldn’t identify in his voice, an ache of some sort.

He’d forgotten she was there; he started and half-turned towards her with a small smile. “It’s nothing, it’s not important…”

“Hey, anything to keep from talking about that paper!” Melissa thought. Out loud, she said, “No, tell me. Please.”

Mr. Williams was silent for a minute and Melissa almost thought he hadn’t heard her. Then softly he said, “You might have heard that I am…was married.”

Melissa hadn’t heard or if she had, she hadn’t cared enough to remember, but she nodded encouragingly. He continued, “Charlotte…she was everything to me. I wanted to be everything for her. I worshipped her.” He laughed wryly. “In my mind, she really was a goddess. I had to be gentle with her, to care for her. Because that’s what I thought she wanted. I won’t say there weren’t warning signs, bruises and scratches that appeared in strange places on her body. But her writing was what really should have clued me in. She loved to write and she did it well, but all her stories had this dark tone; she was obsessed with women in abusive relationships, violent, dangerous men. I thought that she wrote that way out of pity for the people involved. She was so sweet, so innocent. I even asked her about it, about where that sort of writing came from, and she said ‘nowhere.’ And I believed her.”

Melissa suddenly realized that she was actually listening to his sap story. “He really was suckered into that one; nobody is that sweet, and I bet he’s about to tell me just that.”

Still speaking in a low, introspective tone, Mr. Williams continued, “So the more Charlotte wrote, the more I tried to cradle her, to keep her from ever seeing the terrible people that she wrote about. To keep her safe, and to keep her happy. I supported everything she did. She wrote about women being subservient to men, I became a…I guess the popular term today is ‘feminazi.’ She wrote about rough, loveless sex—and it was at least as explicit as what you wrote,” he added, letting her know that he was on some level still aware of her presence in the room, “and in response I made love to her as gently and lovingly as I could. I tried to be everything a woman would want in a man. And…”

“And what?” she whispered, and now it was only partly to keep him from reviewing her story. She really wanted to know what happened to turn this man into the poor pussy-whipped pansy that he was.

He laughed. It was a mirthless sound. “And one day I found her on my bed getting the shit fucked out of her by some man I’d never met before. And screaming with every orgasm. She was getting fucked like a whore and the bitch was loving every second of it.” He paused as if surprised by his own words, but continued in an even harsher tone. “He was calling her names and grabbing at her and I could tell he was hurting her, and she just kept begging for more. Begging. My wife. Charlotte had never so much as asked me to make love to her, and she begged this stranger to fuck her tight little asshole.” He was breathing hard now and Melissa could see the muscles in his arms and chest tensing and bulging.

Then, without warning, he smiled coldly and looked back to the monitor. “But my ex-wife is not the point of this visit, is she? So about this paper…” Melissa felt her stomach plummet at the dreaded subject change. Mr. Williams took his time rereading her story, shaking his head at some points, and finally turned to her expectantly. “So?”

“So…” Melissa looked from one side of the room to the other, played with the edge of her skirt, scuffed her toes into the carpet. “So.”

“So where does it come from?”

Of all the questions she was expecting…well, that wasn’t one of them, though in retrospect it probably should have been. “Come from? You assigned it. It’s just a story. Like your…like she said, it doesn’t come from anywhere.”

Mr. Williams shook his head, keeping his eyes on her. “You’re a smarter girl than that, Melissa. Writing doesn’t come from nowhere. So I ask you again, where does it come from?”

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to play this game. “It comes from the ether!” She made pseudo-magical wiggles with her fingers.

“Where does it come from, Melissa?” His voice was harder than she’d ever heard it before, even against students who used “negative language.”

Melissa had had enough of this. She felt more than a little creeped out by his tone of voice and the way he was looking at her, but she really did not want to admit that any of those dark thoughts had any source in her. They couldn’t. Just thoughts. Safe when they’re just thoughts. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at—”

“Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re afraid to admit it, but you know. Abuse, objectification, rape…these are very serious subjects, Melissa, and that you wrote about them in an everyday Freshman Comp class says that you have a certain familiarity with them. Am I wrong?”

His fingers seized her leg in a cruel grip, pulling it towards him and forcing her skirt to ride up her thigh before she had a chance to do more than gasp. Twisting her awkwardly, he exposed the bruises on the inside of her thigh where her own fingers had clutched and marked her in her frenzy the night before. By this time, she had recovered enough to grab her skirt and try to tug it back down, but the damage was done.

“I told you, that sort of writing doesn’t come from nowhere, Melissa. Who did this to you?” Mr. Williams’ voice sounded strange for some reason. “Did your boyfriend do this to you?”

Melissa forced a laugh, trying to feel relieved that he was just concerned about her but for some reason that she couldn’t explain, she felt even more afraid with each second of his eyes staring at the tell-tale marks on her leg. “Actually, there’s a funny story there. I ummm…did them to myself.” She pointedly yanked at her skirt but he refused to let go. The uneasy fear grew.

“Right, you just what? Fell on a doorknob and bruised yourself? Who did it? Was it that man I’ve seen you with?”

She didn’t even know how to reply to a comment like that. “What’s he talking about? What man?” she thought, but all her mouth could do was drop in bewilderment.

He, however, took it as confession to guilt. “I knew it! You couldn’t lie to me forever.”

Now Melissa found her voice. “What the fuck are you talking a—”

Mr. Williams slapped her. Hard. Uneasy fear skyrocketed to terror in an instant. Clutching at her reddened cheek, she stared through tear-filled eyes as he stood up, looming above her. “You thought you could fuck with me. You thought I wouldn’t catch on. That I was too blind to see what was going on right under my nose. Did you like laughing at me behind my back? Huh? DID YOU?”

“How could he know I laugh at him? What the hell is going on?” Melissa’s mind raced frantically, trying to find a way out of this developing nightmare. She didn’t have any time to think, however, for he was already on her. His hand shot down to where her neck met her jaw and lifted her painfully to his eye level. His very cold, possibly insane eye level. He began to squeeze and she corrected herself: “probably insane eye level.”

“Does your boyfriend do this to you?” Out of nowhere, his free hand reached under her skirt, paused at her panties, and shoved two rough fingers around the edges into her cunt. She couldn’t get enough air to squeal in pain and violation. Her vision began to blur. Nothing registered in her mind but panic; she never knew, in all her musings about death, how much she really didn’t want to go there yet. “Do you like it when he does? Do you beg him for more?” Without warning, he released his hold on her neck and she staggered to the floor, inhaling painful gulps of air. Slowly—God, why wouldn’t her limbs move more quickly?—Melissa crawled over to the couch, hoping to lift herself up, to run, to escape. He stopped her as her hands closed on the cushions, clawing at the skirt still clinging to her hips.

Her skirt was up, her panties were still on but pushed to the side, and he was grunting, forcing his way into her. Into her cunt. She tried to scream protests and he shoved her head into the couch and thrust the remaining inches of his cock deep inside her. A convulsion wracked her body at the sudden sensation of being filled, and it took her a full minute of rough pounding before she realized that she wasn’t fighting. That she was, in fact, moving back. Moaning. Writhing. Squeezing the cushion to her own mouth to keep from screaming in joy. And then she realized that all of the darkness in her stories really did come from somewhere—they came from Melissa herself, who really did want to get fucked hard and rough and painfully. Used like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just like this. Not just a fantasy, not just thoughts. “This…is what I’ve always wanted,” she thought, and then thought was gone.

Unaware of her revelation, of anything but her body beneath his, he was still thrusting hard. His breath was hot on her neck as he bent over her, his cock swollen and rigid within her. “Does your boyfriend make you moan like that? Moan like a little slut?” She whimpered into the cushion in reply and it seemed to spur him on. “Does he CLAW at you?” He raked his fingers down her back hard; she arched it more to evade the sudden agony and found her ass pressed even firmer against his groin. He was fucking her so hard she expected a fresh set of bruises on her ass tomorrow. “Does he BITE you?” He sank his teeth into the nape of her neck, holding her there like a bitch to be mounted. “Vampire,” that crazy part of her brain thought before she shut it down. All her brain shut down. Oh God…the pain, the pleasure, the fucking, yes, the fucking…Melissa began to quake from head to toe as the sensation built beyond anything she had ever been able to do to herself. Releasing his teeth on her neck, Mr. Williams leaned his head next to hers, whispering harshly into her ear, “Does he make you COME?” As soon as the word left his mouth, Melissa shrieked and stiffened against him, clenching down and coming in immense surges of ecstasy.

As she slowly relaxed, she realized that he was not yet done with her. In fact, he barely seemed to be winded, despite pounding into her furiously. Her orgasm only seemed to make him want it harder, rougher. His hands were knives, scraping at her back, her thighs, the tender flesh of her throat. Dimly Melissa wondered what it would take to get him off. Then she found out.

Mr. Williams pulled out suddenly; she breathed a sigh of relief that was just as rapidly inhaled again as he repositioned his cock at her ass. “C’mon…beg for it.” Melissa was silent, appalled, terrified. She’d never been fucked in the ass before; no way was she going to ask for it! “Do it! I heard you do it before, you can fucking do it for me.”

Oh my God, he thinks I’m—” was all she was able to think before he began pushing his cock into her ass. The couch barely contained this scream.

“Do it, bitch! Beg me to fuck your slutty little asshole. If you ask pretty enough, maybe I’ll do it nice and hard like you like it.” He pushed a little deeper, relishing the sensation of the muscle stretching to encompass his cock.

Melissa lifted her head from the couch. “Please, it hurts,” she whimpered.

“But that’s what you like, isn’t it? That’s what gets you off, right, Charlotte? You came once for me, real pretty…you wanna come again?” He was panting in her ear now, ready to shove his throbbing dick all the way up her ass at the second she said what he wanted to hear.

His words registered. Pain DID make her come. Made her come hard. So why the hell wouldn’t she want him to do it again, to make her come so nicely again? The more she thought about it, the more the burning stretching tearing sensation in her ass made her ache for more. Taking a deep breath, Melissa whispered, “Please…”

He knew. “Please what, baby?”

“Please…fuck me in the ass!” Her words were barely out of her mouth before he brutally thrust the remaining inches of his cock into her virgin asshole. He paused for just a second to hiss at the exquisitely tight sensation, and then began to pound her as fast as he was fucking her cunt earlier. The pain was unbelievable for Melissa; red flooded her vision and she could barely breathe. All she could feel was the cock reaming her, using her, fucking her mercilessly. Just like she wanted.

“Yeah, you love it, don’t you, Charlotte? That’s what a whore like you needs, isn’t it? To get fucked raw? That’s what you need, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” His voice rose to a furious shout on the last words.

“Yes, yes, goddammit I need it, please, give me more! Please, fuck my asshole harder! Fill me! Use me, please, just fucking use me!” She was twisting and sobbing in ecstasy, in agony. It was so good. She was so close.

“Say it…Say that I’m the only one that can satisfy you!” His voice dropped slightly in volume, but raised in intensity.

Melissa could barely understand what he was saying, but when it hit—“he still thinks I’m his wife”—it hit hard. This was what he needed to hear. The whole point of raping her. To relive his shitty past, but do it in a way that would give him his happy ending. He needed to hear it. And she actually wanted to give him what he needed. So as his nails scratched at her back so hard they left thin lines of blood to soak into her shirt, she screamed, “Yes, Trevor! You’re the only one that makes me come like this! The only one that I want! Please, baby, fuck me!”

It really was what he needed. His thrusts became shallow, quick; he groaned deep in his throat and threw his head back. She felt the first contraction of his cock inside her and immediately her own desperate arousal pushed her over the edge with him; they both yelled as their pleasure hit hard. It left them both drained and exhausted.

As breath and sanity returned, so did emotions. Melissa was the first to collapse, her knees simply giving way and dropping her to the floor. She felt raw and sore in a dozen places, but that paled compared to the turmoil in her mind. She did it. She had faced her inner demon and emerged the victor—in fact, that was a nice image that she would probably write in her journal later that day. Melissa laughed, a simple, astonished, genuinely happy laugh at this enormous self-growth. She was dark, she was morbid, and she was by Goddess proud of it. And then she turned to her teacher.

Mr. Williams had placed his collapse a little more carefully; he was sitting in the computer chair again, with his head between his hands. Upon hearing her laugh, he looked up at her and she was not quite surprised to see tears running down his face. It actually didn’t spark the disgust that she normally felt when seeing people cry; it actually made her feel tender and sympathetic, new emotions to her repertoire. The first time he tried to speak, no words managed to come out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m so sorry.”

Now she understood. It was a glorious fuck and revelation for her; for him, it had been rape of an innocent student. “How the hell am I supposed to clear that up for him?” she wondered silently. Aloud, she said, “Don’t be.”

Her words, instead of calming him, only made him cry harder. She simply sat and let him sob until he calmed on his own. Not quite able to make eye contact, he said, “I just…I never stopped wanting her to come back to me. To say that I was the one she wanted to be with, the one that made her happy. I kept the same opinions, the same personality, in hopes that she would come back someday.”

Something mischievous sparked Melissa to say, “So you don’t really find feminist undertones in literature fascinating?”

“God, no! I can’t stand that shit!” he blurted, and then paused, shocked. “I totally remade myself for her. Or what I thought she wanted. I never really liked making love to her, either. What—” He stopped, looked over at Melissa, and sighed. “What we just did was by far the best sex I’ve ever had. What I always wanted to do, but thought that she would hate me for.”

Melissa nodded in understanding. “And for the record, you were right. That darkness…it does come from somewhere.”

He smiled—a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was glad to see it. “All talk. Prove it to me.”

Her heart swelled for some reason. “You mean you still want me to redo the assignment? Even after…” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the room. “Everything?”

Mr. Williams rolled his eyes. “Melissa, I never figured you for one of those students who assume they can make up for terrible grades by giving special favors to their teacher.” They both laughed at that. Sobering, he said, “No, I can’t condone what I did to you. It was unfair to both of us. But I’m honest enough to admit that I think I needed it…and so did you. And that’s really all I have to say. Except that I expect the real free-writing paper in my mailbox before class tomorrow.” He stood; she walked him to the door, uncertain of what more to do. There had been no kissing in the act; there certainly wouldn’t be any now. They settled for a hug, and then he was gone.

Immediately she ran over to the computer. Her energy was higher than it had ever been before, her imagination like blood coursing through her. No thought, just feeling the words flow. Still, her fingers trembled as she began to type. Would he see the need he had filled? The pride in her inner darkness, where previously there had been fear? Would he see how much of him she still carried inside her?

Quint
Quint
48 Followers