The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01

"It's rape." She was upsetting herself again, "It's still just rape."

He took her still manacled hands and pulled them down so they were in her lap. "Close you eyes."

Susan closed her eyes, "Rape is rape. It's a dirty act only performed by filthy men who only want to hurt a weaker person."

He ignored her comment and slowly pushed her till she was lying on her back, "I want you to think back and remember when you were high school."

"You can't make me do this if I don't want to."

He continued to ignore her, "Remember back when you were in high school. Try to remember the one boy you loved more than any other. Maybe he was the captain of the football team. Maybe he was your older sisters boyfriend. Maybe he was just the guy you liked so much you fantasized about him. Think about him. What was his name? Tell me his name Susan."

Susan wasn't ready to go along, but she decided to give him a name anyway, "His name was Gary."

Susan I want you to pretend. Pretend you're with Gary. You're in high school. You're alone in your parent's house. They won't be home for hours. It's just you and Gary. Pretend I'm Gary Susan."

He spoke as softly and as tenderly as he could, "You can't make it not happen, but Susan you can pretend you're with Gary. I'm Gary, and I love you. I've been aware of you, and I've been thinking about you for a while."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, "Drift off Susan. You're with Gary." He pressed his face softly against her neck, "I love you Susan. It's me Gary."

Susan felt him hovering around her neck. She kept her eyes closed. She'd been trying not to think too much about what he was saying or doing. It wasn't easy. She knew he wasn't going to stop, but at least he was trying to make it easier for her. If she could pretend, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

She knew she couldn't pretend the way he wanted, but she could pretend. It couldn't be Gary, but she tried to pretend. She pretended it was her childhood fantasy, an imaginary person, a make believe hero. If she could play make believe she thought she'd be OK.

She kept her eyes closed. He was being gentle. His hands were gentle on her skin. She lifted her hands up so they were at her cheeks. She felt his face, his cheeks. He wasn't hard or mean. She closed her eyes tighter. She had to make pretend.

She was in a castle, in a big canopied bed, the man on top of her was her new husband. She had to get through this.

The man softly caressed her cheeks. He kissed her eyes and her neck, "I love you Susan. I'm going to take care of you." He kept saying phony endearments, anything to keep her calm and passive.

Susan lay in his grasp. She kept willing herself to be somewhere else, with someone else. She tried, she really tried. One thing she knew, this guy might be a murderous son of a gun, but she sensed he knew his way around women. She was no vamp, but she recognized a talented lover when one showed up, and this guy had talent. He was the best she'd ever been with, and he was probably going to kill her. No she thought to herself, don't think about that.

He was leaned down. She knew it. She discreetly opened one eye. He was leaning down to kiss her. What should she do? She could bite him. She could bite his tongue. She could snap at his lips and cause some serious facial damage. Yes, she could do those things, but what advantage would she gain from doing something like that, no advantage at all. However, she could pretend to reciprocate his advances. She could act like she was trying to enjoy what was happening, even if she really wasn't.

As he kissed her, Susan kissed him back. She could tell he wasn't what one would call an avid or energetic kisser. No. His lips were compelling without being hard, urgent, or painful. Some of the men she'd known liked to think a really amorous kiss had to be like a punch. She thought a really amorous kiss was more like a hug. This man's kiss was like some kind of warm sweet hug. She liked it. She didn't have to pretend about that.

The man felt her response. He knew there was no sincerity in her behavior, but he enjoyed the physical presence. This girl knew how to kiss.

For several languorous minutes the two people remained entwined. He could wrap his arms around her. He could touch her in all the places he wanted. She had to lay there in his embrace. The woman had to accept whatever he doled out, and she was accepting it.

As they lay there, side by side, Susan did slowly begin to relax. She tried not to think, at least not too much. He was treating her better than any of the men she ever dated had treated her. In fact, if some of the men she had dated had given half this much attention to her feelings they might have still been around.

Susan sighed to herself. Imagine. Here she was with a man who may end up murdering her, a man who certainly kidnapped her, and a man who, for all intents and purposes, could just as easily beat and rape her, but here she was being lavished with warmth and affection. She sighed to herself again. It just goes to show that one can never tell what could happen.

She sighed again. Her mind kept crying out, don't be a monster, don't murder me.

The man heard her sigh. He knew then if she wasn't enjoying what he was doing at least she was accepting it. For some reason, he couldn't fathom why, this tiny moment of pleasure for her gave him pleasure.

The man leaned up and looked down at her again. She had her eyes closed. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she still pretending she was somewhere else? With someone she wanted to be with, or was she just struggling to get through what she was certain was going to happen next? He hoped she was in a deep fantasy. Yes, it was a rape, but it didn't have to feel like it.

He kept kissing her. She'd stopped moving and twisting. If he was getting anything out of this it had to be soon.

This was it. He knew it. The time had finally come. He went to the step every man and woman takes when they are in intimate embrace.

Pulling down his jeans the man reached down and found her private place. He rubbed gently over her upper surface. He took his fingers and slowly coursed up and down her mound. He could feel she was wet. He knew this was a natural phenomenon. Her will power, like any other person's, man or woman, was going to be superseded by nature. A person's biology always worked independently of a person's mental capacities.

She was sexually excited, not by him, not by the moment, not by her unique circumstances, but by her natural femininity. She was a woman. He was a man. It was that simple. He was glad for her. Even if this was really a rape it might not completely feel one.

He could tell she was no virgin. She'd been with men before. How many he didn't know. To tell the truth, he didn't care. She wasn't his first woman either. But right now he felt this was their first time. He wanted it to be right for her, as well as right for him. He liked making women feel good, and this might be her very last time. He sensed she was feeling, or trying to feel good.

He knew she was playing some kind of disassociation game. She wasn't where she was, she was somewhere else. That was OK.

Susan lay there, now at least partly beneath him. He was going to do her. She'd said fuck when she'd been with some other men. This didn't feel like a fuck. It didn't feel like sex either. She wasn't sure she could explain what it was feeling like. She was afraid. So there was fear. There was heat, and she was certainly hot. She could feel her skin becoming increasingly hot and dry, but she knew she was moist inside.

Overall, it wasn't a bad feeling. It wasn't a good feeling exactly either. She sensed that this was going to be real sex; not like he was just using her, even though that's what he was doing.

This man didn't behave like some fetishist or sadist. He was being careful with her. She'd cried, and he didn't get mad. He hadn't hit, or yelled at her. In fact it was like he had been almost sympathetic. He'd almost thrown in the towel when she'd panicked. He could have just thrown her on her back and knocked her off. He could have gotten his rocks off and gone to take a shower. She'd dated men who'd done that, and then acted like they'd done her a favor. It was as though he wanted her to have pleasure too.

This man was something. She wasn't at all sure what, but she was sure he was something, something outside her earlier experiences. God she only hoped when it was over he didn't warp into some horrid Leather Face character.

He slowly eased his way down on her. Keeping his stomach just above hers so their bodies were barely touching he let his hard shaft slide slowly up and down on the surface of her vagina. He slowly allowed himself to slide between her labia. Then he gently went into her. He took his time.

He always liked the feeling of being inside a woman. He liked the physical penetration. Her womb was warm and damp. As he entered her she responded, but not in the phony lascivious way a whore would. Her response was more autonomic, natural, graceful, and womanly. He heard her sigh again.

Susan still lay there. He was rubbing on top of her. He was entering her. It felt good. It felt really good. His penis was hot and hard. He was moving deep inside her. Others, she could tell had probably gone deeper, but he knew how to get it done. This wasn't good, not even OK, not even anything. This was. This was what? This was what it was.

If her hands had been free she might have wrapped them around him. She wanted to hug him closer. She wanted to kiss his neck, bite his ear. She wanted to snuggle her face against him. If she had her hands free she would have given in to the situation and maybe openly surrendered.

But her hands weren't free. She was a prisoner; a kidnapped prisoner, a victim, this man's potential murder victim. Still, right now at this moment she was alive, more alive than she'd been in a long time. Oh what a feeling. She let go.

She quivered slightly. She climaxed. As orgasms went, it was relatively low on the Richter scale, but it was real. She made no loud hysterical outbursts. She'd seen the Meg Ryan movie, and she knew how men liked that nonsense. This climax was full and complete, even if it wasn't an earthquake. It belonged to her. It was hot, deep, real, and it was all hers.

As she reached her physical peak, he felt her. She jerked and quivered just a little. There wasn't any fakery in this. She'd had a real orgasm. Though it was largely against her will, or maybe in some fantasy, but it had happened without the baloney women sometimes tried to spew out.

Within seconds he climaxed too. He didn't hold back. She got it all. Every drop of semen he had been storing for almost a month exploded into her vagina. It felt great. He felt terrific!

Just as she was coming down she felt him as he made one thrust that was harder than the others. She was overcome as his sperm poured out of him into her. She'd never really let any man do that to her before. She hadn't let this man. He did it because she couldn't stop him. It flooded into her. It was hot, really hot. It almost burned, and it went way inside. She felt his sperm, and it went way into her.

God it was different! This was what sex was really supposed to be like, and she hadn't yelled, bucked, screamed, ranted or raved. She'd done none of the crazy fake things she'd done with other men. All she could think was wow! I'm still alive.

For several seconds neither of them moved. She felt him slowly get smaller inside her. She liked the feel of him inside her. It made her feel full.

The man sensed the end of a significant moment had arrived. He slowly reached down and pulled the coverlets up around them. He wrapped his arms around her body. Reaching up, he pulled her still cuffed hands down to the front of her stomach. She rolled over and curled up in a fetal position. He kissed the back of her neck.

Susan lay there, crumpled up like a rag doll; exhausted, not from the sex, more from the overall emotional trauma. He wrapped the two of them back in the silk sheets. He wrapped himself around her. She felt his strong muscled arms atop her.

For her part she pressed back against him. She wanted to keep feeling his warmth. She wanted to feel his arms around her. He was breathing on her neck, and it felt more than good, it felt somehow comforting. She couldn't place the smell of his breath. It wasn't sweet, not tart like caffeine, but it was distinctive, not bad distinctive, good distinctive. She knew as long as they lay the way they were she might not get hurt.

She lay there numb and scared. She remembered talking to girl friends. She remembered some of the juvenile novels she'd read in high school. In those instances the women always talked about a sense of contentment they'd felt after sex. Now she knew what they meant. So this was what it meant to be contented, to feel satisfied, fulfilled, and complete.

She started to cry a little. It bothered her that the one time she'd really felt fully satisfied as a sexual person, it had been with a man whose purposes could very well be totally antithetical to her well being. She thought, 'What the hell.'

She gave up. She fell asleep in the arms of a man who would probably end up killing her, but right now she was still alive. She'd had some decent sex. Maybe death wouldn't be quite so hard to face.

The man could tell by her smooth even breathing that the girl had fallen asleep. He would have liked nothing better than to stay right there and join her. He would have liked to have said something nice to her. But he felt fortunate he'd gotten as much as he did. She had let go a little bit, but he knew she was still terribly scared. Besides he had other things that needed his attention. He quietly got up and made the arrangements that would be necessary when she awakened. After a few more very quiet moments, he got up.