tagNonConsent/ReluctanceMidnight Cowboy

Midnight Cowboy


It was late, too late to be out in the cold. I shoved my freezing hands deep into my jacket pockets and picked up the pace. I had spent all evening studying in the library, and now I was in danger of being locked out of the dorm because I'd lost track of time. The campus was dark and deserted. There were hardly any lights on save the streetlights that cast pools of comforting security here and there. The snow crunched under my boots. The sound seemed deafening in the silence.

I turned the corner at the end of the block and put my head down as the wind gusted at me. Bits of ice and snow stung my face. I walked faster, almost trotting now, eager to get back to my warm little room. They would be locking the dorms in exactly eleven minutes, and there was no damned way I was spending the night in the freezing cold.

I thought I heard something behind me: a footstep, or maybe the sound of a long coat snapping in the stiff breeze. I paused, glanced over my shoulder. Nothing but a deserted sidewalk. Shaking my head, trying to convince myself I was being paranoid and skittish, I picked up the pace yet again. Now I was trotting, and I didn't care. I didn't want to be out alone this late anymore. At least a brief run would help me warm up.

Out of nowhere, a hard hand clamped down on my upper arm, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. A bolt of fear shot through me. I spun around awkwardly, hampered by whoever was grabbing me. Before I could see who it was, though, I was jerked back against them, and a second hand covered my mouth. They were wearing leather gloves, whoever they were. The cold leather was smashed so hard against my lips that I tasted blood.

A voice near my ear said quietly, "We're going to go very quietly into the woods. If you scream or try to run away, I have a gun and I will shoot you. Nod if you understand."

I gave a quick nod, my mind racing almost as fast as my heart. Though the hands on me and the body behind me were solid enough, I was having trouble accepting the fact that this was happening. Here on campus, a block from the library and a block from my dorm, some stranger was trying to abduct me and my brain couldn't quite wrap itself around that fact. Do something! I screamed silently to myself, but nothing happened. The man behind me gave me a little shove, and I stumbled on numb legs off the sidewalk, through the snowy grass to the trees beyond.

I hadn't thought the trees would be so thick, but only a few feet in I lost sight of the sidewalk and it was as though we were in a separate world. Just him and me, and all around us nothing but deadly quiet night. It had begun to snow again, softly and lightly. I continued on, deeper into the woods. Woods surrounded the entire campus. It was, ironically, one of the reasons I had chosen to come here. It looked unspoiled, as though the city were thousands of miles away instead of one or two. Now that sense of isolation worked against me.

We had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile into the woods when he finally stopped me. "Put your hands behind your back."

I stood there trembling, not wanting to obey but not knowing what else to do. If I ran he might shoot me. I didn't know if his talk of a gun was a bluff, and I didn't really want to find out. Still, I couldn't seem to make my hands go behind my back. I felt hot tears fill my eyes and cursed softly, my quiet words turning to steam before my eyes.

A sharp pain exploded through my head as he hit me hard from behind. I dropped to my knees, the world reeling dizzily. I thought then that he must have a gun; he couldn't have hit me so hard with just his fist. I put one hand to my head to feel for blood, and he instantly seized it. He grabbed the other arm, wrenched it painfully behind my back, and began to tie my wrists together with a rough length of cord. He tied them so tightly that it hurt, and my fingertips began to tingle. At least, I thought bitterly, they won't be cold anymore after they go numb.

After he had tied me, he stepped back and looked down at me. I was afraid to look up at him. Perhaps if I never looked directly at his face, he would let me go without killing me, knowing that I wouldn't be able to identify him for the police. That thought gave me an idea. Keeping my eyes down, I said quietly, "If you let me go right now, I won't tell anyone. I'll just go home and forget it ever happened." Maybe he'd realize he hadn't gone too far yet, there was still time to stop.

He laughed, extinguishing that brief spark of hope. He crouched down before me, reached out with one hand to tilt my face up so that I was looking straight at him. He was wearing a black cowboy hat that hid his face in shadow, a long black duster, and those black leather gloves. It struck me for some reason that they were all well-made and expensive looking. From the shadows under the brim of his hat, a pair of amused green eyes looked out at me. They were the dark, glossy green of holly leaves, a color that would have been beautiful under different circumstances.

"Sweetheart," he said with a warm, southern accent, "I don't intend to let you go until we get something straightened out. A little misunderstanding between the two of us."

My eyebrows went up, my fear abating somewhat in the face of that surprising statement. "What misunderstanding?" I leapt at the chance to gain my freedom. I'd agree to anything he said.

He chuckled softly at my eagerness. "You think I've abducted you against your will and that I've dragged you off into the woods to force you to do horrible things." He leaned forward, putting his face very close to mine. I could feel his warm breath, see his finely shaped mouth move as he said softly, "In truth, princess, you're here because you want to be here. And you're going to enjoy every horrible thing I make you do."

My throat closed up. I could hardly breathe. And yet through all that fear, I felt a flicker of anger. Princess? Who the hell did he think he had here?

As though he'd read my mind, he laughed. He tugged his gloves off; he had strong hands. He reached up and trailed his fingertips across my cheek. I shook my head angrily, knocking his head away. Quick as a whip he slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. I turned my head and spat blood.

"I know exactly who you are," he said calmly. "Jennifer Riley, nineteen years old, sophomore here at Wheaton College. You came all the way from New York City on a scholarship. I know you spend all your time studying, you haven't gone home for a visit since you got here, and you've got a solid 4.0." He smiled at me slyly. "Am I right so far?"

I swallowed hard. He was right. I wondered what else he knew, and felt my stomach churn. He watched me closely, noting the fear and anger in my eyes.

"May I call you Jenny?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer he shrugged off his duster and spread it on the ground so that he could sit on it. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a long-sleeved shirt of some thick, soft material. It was gray, and blended perfectly with the shadows. He took his hat off, brushed a hand through thick chestnut hair, and replaced the hat. He looked at me thoughtfully. "Has anyone ever called you Jenny?" He took something out of his pocket. Moonlight flashed on silver; it was a knife. "Answer me."

"No." I cleared my throat. "No one's ever called me that."

"What do they call you?"

"Jennifer. Or Jen."

"Then I'll be the only one who can call you Jenny. The only one, do you understand?"

I nodded quickly.

"Scared, Jenny?"

I nodded again.

"Turned on?"

I looked at him, startled.

He laughed at my expression. "You are," he said confidently. He rose to his knees, reached out to grab a fistful of my jacket, and dragged me forward until I was right before him, practically leaning on him. The snow was soaking through my jeans, and I shivered with cold. Still holding me up with a handful of jacket, his other hand slid easily beneath my shirt, then down beneath the waist of my jeans. I struggled, but there was little I could do, off balance, tied up and held as I was. He only smiled at my efforts. His hand slid down between my legs, his fingers stroking gently. And to my horrified surprise and his immense amusement, his fingers came away wet. He put his fingers to his mouth and licked them, then chuckled again. "You look so surprised," he said teasingly. "Oh Jenny, we've got a lot to talk about." Now he grabbed two handfuls of jacket, and pulled sharply. The material gave with a low tearing sound. He pulled the jacket apart, and with the knife he cut it away and tossed it aside. Underneath I was wearing only a thin white t-shirt. It had been warm in the library, and I had thought I would only be making the quick dash back to the dorm afterwards.

His fingers brushed my nipples, hard in the cold. He pinched them lightly, watching my face the whole time to see my reaction. I tried to keep my face blank, but I couldn't keep the blood from rising to my cheeks, staining them red. He bent and bit one nipple lightly, then took it in his mouth. I sucked in my breath unwillingly. His mouth was searingly hot, or so it seemed in contrast to the frigid night air. He roughly sucked first one, and then the other nipple, and when he straightened up, the damp spots on my shirt where his mouth had been turned abruptly icy. I shivered, goose bumps rising all over my body.

He wound my hair around his fist and tugged sharply, tilting my head back so that I was looking up into his face. Something cold touched my throat, and I knew it was the keen edge of his knife. "What kind of kisser are you, Jenny? Are you slow and soft, or sloppy and impatient? Do you bite?" He smiled and shook me slightly. "Do you?"

I bared my teeth without thinking, daring him to try and find out. He did. He took my face in both his hands, my hair still tangled around his fingers, the flat of the blade pressed coldly to my cheek, and he kissed me hard. With strong fingers he pried my jaw open, and his tongue slid into my mouth. I struggled to shake him off, and he laughed into my open mouth. Then I tried to bite him, snapping viciously at his lips. He snapped back, and caught my lower lip between his teeth. He didn't bite down hard, just hard enough to still me. Then his nails raked down my back as he kissed me again, fierce and hungry. Without thinking I responded in kind, kissing him as roughly as he kissed me. He nearly bent me in half, his fingers digging into my flesh, lips bruising mine, as we kissed deeply and angrily for long minutes beneath the silent trees.

Finally he pulled back, sucking air like a drowning man. His green eyes blazed. "You're better than I thought you'd be," he said. He slapped me suddenly, without provocation, and then slapped me again. He looked at the angry red mark he left on my cheek with something like fascination. He reached down with one hand, and I heard a zipper opening. "If you bite me here, though, I'll have to hurt you pretty bad." He sat back, leaning comfortably against a tree. His fist in my hair and the knife at my cheek again guided me down.

His shaft was warm and hard. He slid into my mouth as though he belonged there, and I completely forgot the shame of my situation as I tested to see just how far in I could take him. He was very large, and very hard, but he slid down my throat easily. I heard him sigh deeply as my lips pressed against his stomach, his entire cock sheathed deep in my throat. This had always been my favorite part of sex. I loved giving head, and I loved doing it well, hearing the gasps and moans as I worked a man's cock. I worked him hard, sucking and stroking him with my tongue, working the muscles of my throat even. His hand in my hair tightened until it brought tears to my eyes, but I only sucked him down deeper, working him hungrily. Back and forth, in and out, sucking teasingly at the tip before plunging him in entirely. I purposely scraped my teeth lightly along his length, made up for it with long, slow licks on his shaft and his balls, always ending by pulling his cock in entirely. I knew he was near to coming by the way his hips lifted off the ground and his breath caught in his throat. I wanted him to come in my mouth, wanted to taste his hot semen.

He stopped me, though, pushed me back roughly. He looked at me with hungry emerald eyes. "Turn around."

I tried to catch my breath, re-focus my spinning mind. "What-"

He back-handed me, punched me in the stomach. I gasped and choked. He shoved me down on the ground, put a hand to my throat and squeezed threateningly.

"Don't!" I gasped. "Please!"

"Do what I say."

"Okay! Okay. Whatever you say."

"Up on your knees and turn around."

I did as he said. His arms came around me, one hand moving up to cup my breast roughly. The other slid under the waist of my jeans again, and found me hot and wet.

"Spread your legs wider."

I obeyed immediately, and his fingers slid up inside of me.

"You want me, don't you?"

I closed my eyes on the tears that were forming. "Yes," I whispered. And it was true. I was dying to feel his cock inside me, thrusting up into me. His fingers found my clit, and I gasped. He laughed out loud. As I writhed and twisted in his harsh embrace, he whispered encouragement in my ear.

"That's it, princess. Come for me, Jenny. Come on my fingers. Call my name when you come. It's Jake, say Jake when you come. Oh, come for me baby."

I did. I came hard, my body tensing and shuddering in his arms. "Jake," I whispered weakly. "Oh, Jake." His fingers stroked my sensitive clit, making me jump and twitch.

"Good girl. Now put your face in the dirt."

I bent forward without a word, put my forehead against the cold ground as he tugged my jeans down to my knees. He spread me with his hands, and then he entered me with one hard shove, making me gasp aloud. He was so large that it hurt slightly, especially with his roughness. He gripped my hips and pumped at me brutally. It felt as though his cock hit my stomach with every cruel thrust.

"Tell me you like it, Jenny."

"I like it!" I gasped.

"Tell me!" He slapped my ass so hard it brought tears to my eyes. He grabbed my hair again, pulled so hard he wrenched my neck back, and all the time he was pounding me from behind hard enough to force little gasps and grunts from me. He put his free hand between my legs, rubbed my clit roughly.

"Fuck me!" I cried through gritted teeth. "Fuck me, I love it, fuck me hard! I want it, Jake! I want you!"

It felt as though it lasted forever, and at the same time it was over too soon. He groaned, pushing deep into me, and then with a few slower strokes he was done. He pulled out and sat back, breathing heavily. I stayed where I was, head to the ground, jeans around my knees, ass in the air.

After a moment he laughed. "Good girl, Jenny. You didn't move." He pulled me into a sitting position, gathered me up into his lap. He kissed my neck, my face, my lips. Our tongues met hungrily, but a little gentler this time. He put his hand between my legs and caressed me lightly, rubbed my clit back and forth for a few seconds until I began to pant again, then took his hand away with a smile.

"I'll leave you wanting a little for next time." He stood and rearranged his clothing, put his duster back on (the hat had remained in place throughout), and tugged his leather gloves over his hands. He smiled down at me. I was still tied, my pants pulled down, my hair and face streaked with dirt, bruises beginning to form all over my body. And I was wet for him, hot for him, trembling with the desire for him to press my face to the earth and fuck me again, and again, and again.

"Good night, Jenny. I'll see you again." He tipped his hat to me like a country gentleman, and then he turned and strode off into the woods, leaving me stripped, tied, beaten, humiliated, and well-fucked. Leaving me until he wanted me again. And I'd be ready for him.

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