Saving Herself

"I'm going to rape you, now."

Movies like to pretend that, when the hero gets punched in the face, he only needs half a second to recover and dole out some retribution. The truth is that, if you aren't ready for it, trained for it, a good, hard punch to the face will knock you senseless. And in the second after my last word, before she had a chance to plead or scream or jump away, before she could tense in anticipation of fight-or-flight, my fist struck her hard, right in the sweet spot of the temple, and laid her sprawled out across the bed.

Without hesitation (musn't waste those precious, stunned seconds) I jumped onto the bed and threw her into position: feet to the foot and head to the head. With a quick loop-and-knot around one hand, thread it through the rail of the headboard, and loop-and-knot around the other hand; I'd affixed my new play thing to my play pen. I was done just in time, as her senses were rushing back to her.

"No, Jake, no, please don't do this. You don't—please don't."

She didn't scream. Part of me was disappointed that she didn't scream.

"I don't what? I don't have to do this? Of course I don't!" My words came out breathlessly, frenzied. "But I'm going to. This is want you want, isn't it? This is why you lured me out her, got me all het up, then slammed the brakes on me. You planned this. You want me to tie you up and fuck you like a little bitch."

"No, no, no, NO!" She did scream then. It made me smile a little on the inside.

I moved down to the end of the bed, grabbed the waistband of her panties, and pulled. She fought me; bucked her hips; kicked madly; and screamed all the while, but nothing came of it. In the end, she was naked, and I'd suffered nothing more than a couple ineffectual kicks to the chest.

On my way back to the head of the bed, I brought the panties up to my face and inhaled deeply—"Mm... so this is what you'll smell like." Caitlin was still screaming, on and on and on, and as much as I enjoyed her cries of fear, I knew it couldn't go on. With her mouth wide open, I shoved her panties deep down inside, filling her mouth and intruding into her throat. Her screams were lost in a fit of gagging, which fading out into a series of low moans.

Just as quickly as she shed her bra, now a lifetime ago, I shed my pants and underwear, and stood beside her, above her, harder than I had ever been before.

"So, here's how this is going to work: I'm going to do whatever I want to you, and you're going to let me. Savvy?" To test our agreement, I reached out and groped her tits. Immediately, she began writhing furiously and tried her hardest to scream through her intimate gag. One, two, three times I punched her in the gut. I cocked my arm back a fourth time, but something inside me said¸ What about now?

This time, her reaction was much more subdued. She recoiled violently from my touch, but the real fight had left her. Knowing my time had come, I stepped up onto the bed and set myself above her, straddling her hips, just as she had me.

The girl before me was astonishing. She was the picture of innocence lost, of a wounded doe, of fruit ripe for the picking. I wanted her, and I would have her.

I gave myself two good strokes and prepared to mount her when that voice said, She wants this, right? You should make her love it.

"So, I'm thinking that maybe this thing doesn't have to be as bad for you as you think it is," I mused. "I mean, even if this isn't exactly what you want, there's no reason you can't have a good time along with me. Now, the time'll go how I want, but maybe I'll throw you a bone every now and again. Maybe you'll realize that you like it, after all."

I could have dove right in and given her all I had, but I knew I'd have to start slower, make a show of good faith, if I was going to bring her to my side. Instead, I started where I'd left off: her breasts.

I took my time working up to them, instead running my hands aimlessly over her skin, her sides and stomach. She shook under my touch and tensed every time I drew near to her chest, as if preparing for a blow. I could see the beginnings of bruises from punching, and she groaned delightfully (to me, that is) when I pressed my fingertips into them.

After a time, she began to calm down. Her tears were drying on her cheeks, and her protestations grew weaker and more infrequent. When I brought my hand up and cupped her breast, I expected her to try to shimmy away or whimper or even just cringe in humiliation. The voice in my head hoped, Maybe she'll give a nice, low moan of agreement. Instead, she had no reaction. There was nothing. Nothing. NOTHING!

WHACK—my hand arced through the air in a flash to come crashing down on her tit. Then, then she reacted. A deep, tortured cry tore through her, barely muffled by her panties. Ya, react. REACT—"

"—BITCH!"

Left, right; left, right; left, right—it was all guttural moaning and shaking bodies, punctuated by the sharp crack of flesh on flesh. When I was finished, she was crying in earnest again, eyes squeezed tightly shut (likely from the shame of it all rather than the pain). My hands stung, although I could barely feel it with all the adrenaline, and her tits were flaming red. I took a second to imagine what it would feel like for her to walk around school the next day, her tender skin rubbing up against her bra.

After all that, after all the pain and humiliation and tears and screams, her true colors began to show through. Her nipples that, since I had bound her to the bed, had hidden flat to her skin, now stood forth, fat and reaching for the sky.

"I told you. I told you you'd like it, didn't I?" I sneered.

I wanted to grab them, to pinch and twist and pull. But the voice said, No, and the voice had been right so far. Make her love it. Just so, I slowly lowered my head to her chest. My eyes caught hers on the way down, and I could see the questions within them: "What new pain is he going to inflict on me?", "How much longer will this last?", and "What is happening inside of me?" She was right to ask them, but, at that point, I chose to forego pain. Instead, I focused on the pleasure she didn't know she wanted.

Those who've never had great oral sex can't understand the wonderful things a person can do with their mouth, especially their tongue. There's an art to it. And when you're building a woman up, when you start with soft kisses on her navel and plant a trail of them on your way upwards; when you meander, licking small circles around and up and down her breast; when you blow a jet of cool air across her nipple; when you sit, your pursed lips resting on her skin with a feather-light touch; when you finally plant a firm kiss on her, sucking her bud into your mouth and flick your tongue over its tip; when she arches her back, forcing herself harder against you, and lets out a deep throaty moan, then you know you have her.

Again, time stretched on indefinitely while I played with her like this. Her other breast, I toyed with using my hand, careful to squeeze and pull and knead, rather than rub, knowing what that would feel like on her raw skin. Something had changed in her. I'd changed something in her. Her body writhed under me, not in pain, but in pleasure, and the sounds she made were clearly complimentary.

It's time, the voice told me.

The fingers of my right hand gripped her nipple, pinched, twisted a 360, and yanked straight up. My lips pulled her other nipple deep inside my mouth, and my teeth bit down. There was no consideration, no perverted desire to please. There was only rabid hostility, only a singular intent to cause the day's greatest pain.

Her hips twisted furiously, trying to throw me off to the side. Her back arched and fell, and arched and fell violently, trying to shake my grip loose. And this time, her scream was painfully high-pitched and nasal, so classically female. But still I held on—my jaw locked, my fingers claws. For one, two, three seconds, I held before releasing her. Any longer and I feared I'd draw blood, a taste I most certainly don't care for.

She continued to fight me, even after I sat up. Whatever spell she was under had clearly broken. I sat on her still, riding it out, but when it became apparent that she wasn't going to stop, I thrust my arm out and grabbed her by the throat.

To choke someone, to truly suffocate them, is a tremendously difficult thing to do. But to scare them, to make them think that their life is in your hands, only requires a firm grip, strong downward force, and a menacing look. She calmed down right away.

"You want this. You know you want this. So why are you fighting me? Huh? Why?" I was losing myself. This started out with me losing myself, but now I was losing myself. What did I want? Sex? Pain? Just how much did I want to hurt her? "No! No, I'm done with this! I'm done playing games. This is happening. Now!"

I practically jumped backward in my haste. At first, she refused to open her legs to me. I didn't waste any time trying to coax her into this. Instead, I punched her in the pelvis, right above her pussy. She opened up for me, then, either stunned by the pain or shocked into relenting. It didn't matter to me.

I expected to have to force my way into her; expected her to be dry and shut-up. Instead, she was wet, soaking wet. My cock was drenched in her juice. I slipped inside of her like she'd been dying to have me in there. Her only protestations were deep, mournful sobs.

I held my face over hers as I pounded away. Her cheeks were glistening with tears, and her eyes were more red than white. The instant my gaze met hers, though, she clamped her lids shut.

"Look at me. Look at me!" I screamed, and she did. Surely it was for fear of how I might hurt her next, but the truth is that I couldn't imagine any new, grand ways of doing so. What could come next? A knife? But there was no next for her, no new harm. Instead, there was humiliation, as my pleasure grew and surpassed her pain.

For a normal person, an orgasm is the grand culmination of pleasure. It draws from every inch of the body, concentrated in the most sensitive areas, and stores it up deep inside. Then, like the firing of a cannon, it explodes, flames rushing through the body, setting every inch ablaze in the glory of sex. But for me, for me fucking this—raping this—little bitch, it was the exact opposite.

My body was already on fire. I was already burning with furious, mad sex. It was like I was in one long, timeless orgasm, and my climax was like dropping a glass of water. All at once, my body imploded on itself, and like the water rushing away from its old blockade, my cum burst out of me to fill Caitlin up, full to the brim.

All at once, I became intensely aware of my body; of the way my arms shook, holding me up; of the sweat trickling down my forehead to group up and fall into Caitlin's open, gagged mouth; of the dually smooth and rough feel of her pussy on my cock; of the way that Caitlin had her legs up, feet locked together, pulling me into her.

I pulled myself out of her, my erection still holding strong, and her panties from her mouth. Looking into her eyes, wide open and unblinking, I asked her, "So, tell me; is this what you wanted?"

Her only reply was a listless stare and indistinct muttering.

"Is this want you wanted?"

"I... I don't..."

"Tell me!"

"...yes..."