Reign

It really is such a waste when it rains at night. I can hear it and smell it, but I can't see it. The blackness outside is solid, as though there is really nothing beyond my open bedroom door. I walk naked out onto the screened porch to get closer to the rain for a moment, as it washes the world.

It's time to lie down in a moment and let the rain usher me into that half-waking state where anything can happen. At least in my imagination. But now I just want to smell the wetness and the dirt it's soaking into.

I walk back into the bedroom and flip the ceiling fan on to stir the heavy air. The sheets are cool as I lie on my back, knees bent to catch some air. So cool and soft. A fine sheen of sweat covers me as I pull my fingers down my front, across one nipple to my navel and after lingering there, I touch that tenderly ticklish place between my lower abdomen and the top of my leg. Its not sexual but sensory. The fan whips the air pushing it down on me and now I have goose flesh spreading down my arms. I spread my legs slightly just so skin doesn't touch skin anywhere. Too hot but so sleepy.

The next moment, my eyes are shot open by a small sound that I shouldn't have heard. I can't tell if it's a footstep or the cat brushing against something out on the porch. The blackness where the door is gives me no information but my eyes are wide and I'm so still, listening. I forget to breathe. I hear the cat yawn on the night stand beside me and I know where he is - not on the porch. My heart pounds and I can hear blood rushing in my ears. I listen for long minutes but I hear nothing more and now I start to relax again. Who knows what that was... nothing... soon I'm drifting again, and the rain continues to sing to me.

"Shhh," he softly says, "Everything is fine. You're fine. Nothing bad is happening. Shhhhh." I start to scream but air catches in my throat and nothing happens. I think my heart is swollen in fear until it's stuffing all the air back down into my lungs. A cold sickening abyss of fear is on me now and I can't control it. "Shhh," he says again, placing his hands on either side of my face to still me. He is right at my ear now, bending over me, but touching only my face. I smell the leather of his jacket and some dampness from the rain drips onto my shoulder. It makes me shudder and I can't tell if it's fear or coldness that trembles me so.

He moves one hand down to my left hand and catching my fingers, pulls my hand to his mouth. He breathes in deeply then raises my arm above my head, holding it there against the headboard. "Nothing bad is happening to you. I won't hurt you." I roll my head away from him, sick with terror. He's strong. I can feel it in his hands. He's not forceful but tense. He's careful and deliberate as he moves to place his hip against mine to hold me down. With his free hand, he pulls my other arm from beneath us both and it's over my head now also. He holds both my wrists in one hand easily and I'm powerless.

There have been times in the past when I would imagine being overcome by someone, an attacker, a mugger... Surely I could fight them. I always imagined I could resist somehow and get away. What is it we're supposed to do? Fingers in the eyes or groin? All I can remember now is to kick out a taillight if I'm bound in the trunk of a car. Stop, drop and roll... Nothing, nothing helps me now. He's so much stronger than I am - I had no idea. No man has ever used force on me before. How was I to know?

He's talking softly to me again, trying to calm me. "I won't hurt you... I promise. No one is going to hurt you. Nothing bad is happening. Shhhh" His mantra goes on and on for some time and all he does is hold my hands over my head. He touches my skin sometimes but just a soft pet to calm me down. Slowly, I relax some and try to think. Memorize everything I can about him. His hands are not rough. He smells clean enough, like the rain. The leather of his coat is soft, a good coat. He's wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Not a cowboy hat... smaller, maybe a fedora. What other detail can I record? He's a white man, I'm fairly sure. His voice isn't rough or course, but controlled. Why is he here? Why doesn't he take what he wants and leave me alone?

"I'm not going to take anything," he says, repeating my own thoughts. "Not even you. Shhh, now. Nothing bad is happening."

He shifts slightly and pulls something from his coat pocket. It's a piece of rope or twine, maybe four feet of it. He deliberately pulls it through my fingers so I can feel it. It's soft like suede and as he's running it through my fingers, he wraps it around my wrists and secures it to the decorative wrought iron that I so admired when I bought this set. I think it's my enemy now and somehow I feel hurt by that. I choke back a halting sob suddenly and he touches my face again. "Nothing is going to hurt you. Certainly not I" He said "I"; not "me". He's educated. How many people use that pronoun properly? Almost no one.

My wrists are cocked at an odd angle and I begin to lose sensation in my finger tips. I flex my hand and try to lift one arm slightly. "Does that hurt? Is it too tight?" he asks. He forces a single finger into the knot and yanks sharply startling me, but the restraint doesn't turn lose. It has eased up some now and it's better. A little better, I think. He straightens up a bit and uses three fingers to lift his hat slightly; he shakes his head quickly beneath the brim and the hat settles back into place. His leather jacket is open, bare skin underneath.

"What do you want?" I ask. "Whatever you want, you can have. Just take it, OK? I won't tell anyone. I swear." I barter with everything I have except I have nothing and he has everything.

"Don't swear," he says, "There's no need." He twists his head sharply and pops his neck, releasing his own tension. "I don't want anything you're not willing to give. I just want to see what your boundaries are." He lowers his face to my hair and then my shoulder, inhaling in long draughts. I close my eyes in spite of myself. A deep exhausted sigh leaves me but then some of the fear goes with it. I smell his leather again, his coat still a little wet with rain.

Where is my rain? Did it stop? I turn my head towards the open window listening for the rain. The small hairs at the back of my neck are sweat-stuck to me there. When he sees this, he brushes one hand under my hair and lifts it off the pillow. He blows on the back of my neck and the coolness instantly makes my nipples tighten and emerge. Traitorous, effing nipples. Don't they know what's going on here? Don't they get that he's here to... to what? They're so stupid... they don't know...

Still blowing softly on my neck, he feels for my nipple, then twists it slowly between his thumb and forefinger, making it hurt. I bow my back slightly to turn away from him, but the movement presses my breast deeper into his palm. He opens his fingers and fills his hand with me, instinctually kneading. The pleasure surprises me. I turn back to him, my eyes darting quickly, accusingly at him. But he's watching my breast moving in his hand. In a moment he looks at me with a half smile and rich, dark eyes. "Good girl" he says, "good girl" and the praise makes me shiver.

He raises up now and stands, one knee still resting against my hip bone, an insignificant check against too much movement that might come too fast. He's wary of me as well and I can feel something has shifted between us. The leather coat hangs open and I can see he's aroused. He hangs heavily just inches from my face. My eyes move up to his. His lips part to suck in air as he tosses his chin upward at me, an invitation. I can almost reach him with my mouth, lying awkwardly on my back with my arms still stretched out above me, but he doesn't help. In fact, he pulls back a half step to make me reach for his cock, try harder. When I look at him, he cocks his head sideways slightly, challenging.

I move quickly to take him in my mouth then, going as far and as deep as I can, cutting off my own breath. He helps me then, stepping in and placing a hand on the back of my head, he shows me how far it needs to go down my throat. "That's a good girl," he says and I want to take more of him, swallowing hard.

My arms twist above me, my hands wanting to hold him, to feel the soft, soft skin on the stiff rod of his sex. He sees me struggle and steps back again, increasing my unease. "Come on love," he says. He moves over the top of me now kneeling between my thighs. He's raised my bumm up off the bed, my legs draped over his and just before he enters me, he slaps my butt. The stinging skin makes me lift my ass higher, clenching my butt cheeks. And that's when he does it. That's when he sinks into me, slicker and deeper because of the downward angle. A couple of strokes and he pops out of me. I hear it slap against his belly and I want to reach down to guide it back in but the restraints keep me from touching him at all. I need it now but he pulls away from me, won't allow himself to go back in.

"Uoh!" I cry out a little bit, then grind myself forward as far as my restrained arms will allow. "My arms hurt! Let me go!"

"No," he answers, "Not yet. Lie still now!" At once, I quiet but the tightness inside me coils up, higher and stronger still.

He moves up closer, pushing my legs up over his shoulders. For a moment his mouth travels down the inside of one thigh, breathes me in with an insufficient lick, then a deep inhaling of my scent that draws a low moan from him. I close my eyes to the sensation of a his rough face unshaven since the morning. He returns to my center burying his mouth and nose in my small nest. Gentle bites and kisses with not-so-gentle explorations with his tongue make my arousal is undeniable. "Please," I beg, "Let me... let me.." What? Let me go? Let me come?

Taking a long, probing taste of me, he then closes my thighs and flips me onto my knees. My arms are now in front of me and I grasp the headboard with both hands, wrists still crossed and tied somehow.

He slaps me hard on the ass again and again. I flinch and clinch each time anticipating the next spank. I start to knee forward to get away, when he grabs my pelvis and pulls me back onto himself finally giving both of us what we want. Then he's on me stroking and pumping. I can feel him in my belly now and just about then I hear a guttural, teeth-clinching oath coming out of him, "Oh Fuck me, girl!" Those words make me start to orgasm. I close around him with no will of my own, none I can control. He knows I'm there, he can feel the slick, slick tightness pulling him in deeper and deeper still. I back into him now, pushing my ass up against him, "Give it to me love," he whispers "Let me have it again." When he says that, it's like I orgasm on command only now he's with me and I feel him pump into me. One... two... three... thrusts from him and I jerk with completion.

Later, I wake up, hearing the rain again, the fan still moves over me, the cat's strange amber eyes glance over me and away. I'm half covered by the sheet, alone. He's gone, but the soreness in my arms and between my thighs assures me this was no dream. That and the soft suede ties I see dangling above my head from the wrought iron.