by Lucian Bane
When it was finally over, he was a heaving mass of sweaty muscle. Beneath him, a boiling emotion built in Cheryl’s chest until it felt like a million pounds, fighting to get free. She wrapped her arms around his head and held him tight as it strained and pushed.
“Ben,” she wailed, pressing her face into his. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He lifted his head and held her jaw, kissing her. The low groan in his throat said he’d satisfied his vengeance, but the bite in his hold warned there was more coming. A whole lot more.
Bad Memories
Cheryl woke up later to a heavy weight pressing her face down into the bed. Panic hit her when Ben shoved her legs open and pressed his cock at her entrance. Before she could gasp or cry, he shoved inside her with a “Shhhhh,” at her ear, his fist clenching in her hair. “Don’t make a sound while I fuck your naughty, dripping cunt like this.”
Her heart hammered in her chest at feeling him reach under her, eager fingers on her clit. He pinched it between his fingers, bringing pain and pleasure as he jerked her head back until her muscles strained. He began slamming his cock over and over, the sounds of his thick growls mixing with her grunts.
He let go of her hair and gripped the back of her neck, pressing her down into the bed. “Lift your ass,” he whispered.
“Ben,” she panted, scared.
“On your knees,” he grit, holding her neck tighter.
She struggled to lift her lower body.
“Put your hands behind your back and hold them there,” he ordered roughly. “You wanted me to initiate, only I’m not allowed to if you show me affection. What a wicked trap to lay.” He shoved his cock in deep and she screamed into the bed. “It all clicked into place tonight as I fucked you.” He pulled out and rammed back in with a seething grunt. “I was mostly right,” he said. “I knew I’d remember everything if I kissed you but…when I fucked you…” He rammed into her again. And again, and again, and again, until heat and euphoria built in her head. He stopped suddenly, the sounds of her frantic moans mixing with his growling breaths. “That’s when I got a plethora of clues,” he shuddered.
Again, he hammered her non-stop until she couldn’t think. He stopped long enough to find her clit and vibrate his fingers over it, making it boil until her moans poured out. “You like it hot there, don’t you?”
Oh God, yes. He fucked her rapid fire again, the vicious slap of his body against her ass causing thick moans to burst from her.
He paused again, buried in her and breathing heavy. “I’ve seen your guilt,” he said, grabbing her wrists at the bottom of her back. “Your pussy weeps for redemption.” She heard him spit, feeling a wet warmth at the crack of her butt. He pressed his thumb along the tight opening with a growl, wetting it as he pulled his cock out a little.
“And your beautiful, wicked ass,” he shuddered, shoving his cock back in her. The force of his thrust jolted her forward and pulled her shoulders. He pushed his finger inside that untouched place and the odd sensation had her moaning and squirming. His hand left her wrist and vibrated over her clit again as the sound of his out-of-control lust mixed fear into the heat slowly building again. Still buried inside her, he moved his finger in and out of her ass. A painful heat bit her clit as he pinched her, making her jerk and writhe with frantic cries.
“That’s it,” he swore, pinching the bud over and over until the heat forced her mouth wider, her moans louder, harder.
“Ben!” she cried into the bed, desperate.
He pulled completely out of her suddenly. “Turn over,” he ordered, pushing her onto her side. “On your back with your legs open.”
Once in place, he knelt on her inner thighs, forcing them hard against the bed. “You want that orgasm? Put your hands behind your back.”
Her heart hammered with whimpers fluttering out.
“Do you want it!”
“Yes,” she shot out.
“Tell me you’re guilty, that you know you are.”
“I’m…I’m guilty.”
“Your hands,” he seethed.
She quickly worked them behind her lower back right as he beat at her clit with the head of his cock. “Ben! Oh!” She watched as he used his cock like a hammer, hitting her clit repeatedly until she jolted and squirmed, trapped by his knees crushing her thighs.
His legs finally lifted off and he shoved his cock inside her next, grabbing her hips in a vicious grip as he slammed her against him.
“Tell me how wicked your cunt is.”
“Wicked, I’m wicked, Ben!” she gasped, choking back her screams.
“Spank it,” he ordered between breaths as he fucked her. “Spank your wicked cunt and make it burn.”
Cheryl’s mouth opened wider as she spanked herself.
“Faster! Harder! A lot fucking harder!”
Every muscle in her body trembled as she spanked herself just as he ordered. Faster and so much harder. Oh God, oh God! Her orgasm rose in her, and when it hit, volts of pleasure sent her thrashing on the bed, twisting and bowing in every direction in his merciless grip. His own orgasm came like a whirlwind, overtaking, obliterating. Her body locked up, legs an iron band around his waist as he pulverized her with his cock. He was a human bull between her legs, only he wasn’t trying to throw her, he was trying to break through her body. She fought to hold her leg-lock, knowing she had to meet that insane power with every bit of strength she had to survive it.
Like a freak, passing storm, Ben rolled off of her and pulled her body into a spooning embrace. He then filled her ear with contented moans before falling asleep, leaving Cheryl to lay awake, her body vibrating from the overload of pleasure, and pain. Of confusion and dreadful fear.
When the tears finally came, it was pure agony and sorrow and even a strange joy. What was wrong with him? Or her? Her mind raced over and over with all the mixed pieces he’d dumped out. His anger about what she’d done to him opened a portal of endless regret inside her. Had he been feeling what he’d said? Did he believe she’d been cruel?
Even still, this was not the Ben she remembered. He would never behave that way. What hurt the most was him really feeling all this resentment and rage toward her.
How was she supposed to fix this? Help him?
You wanted him to initiate. Well, you got it. Now you’re going to cry about it was too much? Yeah, cry a river, Cheryl. Cry a fucking river.
And she did. She cried until tears poured and poured out the holes in her soul until she was bone dry.
Then finally she slept.
****
The next morning, Cheryl woke to hearing laughter. She listened and recognized Charlie. Excitement and fear hit her stomach at realizing who the other voice was. Ben. He had the most beautiful laugh.
The second she tried to move, she gasped in pain. Oh God. She slowly made her way to sitting, holding her breath at feeling the extent of damage. Felt the same as when she’d gotten in that wreck. Every muscle in her body hurt. Which meant it was worse than she’d realized at the time, or she was way out of shape.
She remembered Charlie’s invitation to work out. She needed to take him up on that, needed to be strong. For whatever, for everything. For herself, for Ben. For her family.
Creeping her way slowly to the bathroom, she leaned carefully into the tub and turned it on. She then made her way to the closet for the salts Yan had thought to stock in there. What were Charlie and Ben doing? She hoped to God they were bonding better than they had.
Submerging in the hot water was excruciating. Her mind flashed with X-rated images. Ben’s cock beating on her clit. The way he’d made her spank herself. The way he’d…fucked her and…did that to her butt.
She let out a gasp at the sudden ache in her clit. Some of what he’d done…felt astonishing. Maybe if she hadn’t been terrified it would’ve been different. Could she learn not to fear him? Maybe, if she knew he wasn’t going to really try to hurt her. He didn’t hit her. He’d put his hand on her neck but hadn�
��t choked her. He pulled her hair hard, really hard. But even that…wasn’t bad, not while he was…
She opened her legs, straining out breaths when the hot water flowed over her tender clit and lips. It throbbed with a painful ache to be touched and never touched again.
She jolted in the tub when the door opened. She didn’t lock it? She eyed Ben as he shut the door and made his way over. If he had any kind of remorse about what he’d done, it hid inside the hard stare he pinned on her as he sat a couple feet away on the tub ledge. He broke the hard connection, lowering his eyes to her breasts.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she fought not to be afraid. She braced when he leaned in until his mouth hovered near her lips. He brushed the tip of his nose back and forth along hers and the tender gesture clenched her chest. She reached with her mouth and pressed her lips into his.
He drew back far enough to stare at her before whispering, “There’s something wrong with me.”
She let out a gasp and leaned in, pressing her lips over and over on his, holding his face. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m here.”
He removed her hands off his face and pulled back more, studying her. “Have I ever done something like that to you? Like I did…the second time?”
She shook her head. “No. Never.”
He lowered his head for a few moments. “Last night… the second time I did what I did?” He slid his thumb across the tip of his nose. “Wasn’t my first time.”
She stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying. “What…does that mean?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “I mean, I remembered doing it. With women. A lot of women. Different ones.”
She shook her head, feeling sick. “No, Ben…that wasn’t you. That has to be from your head, your new head. This means the memory thing didn’t work, that’s all. They said it wasn’t a guarantee.”
He held up his hands to her. “These hands. Are in every memory. And the women are…I recognize them.”
She shook her head more. “Ben, if the memory wipe failed, you might not know the difference between your memories and his, they would be mixed. Ben, look at me. It wasn’t you. I know you. I know your past and our life. We need to talk to Dr. Wong—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically.
“Why? Why wouldn’t we, he could help.”
“Because of what I did to you,” he said, shooting up.
“So, we won’t tell him that,” she cried.
“I can’t tell him,” he said, pacing.
“Why!”
He spun to her. “Because the things in my head mean I’m a fucking psychopath, Cheryl.”
“What?”
“It’s not just what I did to you. After…after I did that, I dreamt things, only there was blood, a lot of blood, and it didn’t end well for the women, not any of them.”
“It’s…dreams…”
“But it’s not Cheryl! I remembered killing them.”
“But…even still, it’s not you, Ben,” she whispered.
“How do you really know that?” he demanded. “Were you with me twenty-four seven?”
She swallowed, trying to think logically, wiping the stupid tears from her face. She stood and grabbed the towel and Ben’s gaze fell to her legs.
“Oh fuck,” he whispered, his eyes shooting to hers. “What is that? On your legs?”
She wrapped the towel around her. “You knelt on them.”
He covered his face with both hands, pacing. “And that was me holding back,” he said, shaking his head.
“But why did you hold back?”
He shot his gaze to her. “Because I knew hurting you could get me in trouble, and I knew to be careful. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to hurt you, because I did. I wanted to hurt you more than anything,” he bit. “I still do. I need to be locked up, and if we tell anybody, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”
“Then we need to… to figure out what you’re seeing and why,” she whispered.
“I’m not safe, I’m not stable,” he muttered, pacing. “I don’t even think Charlie is my son. I think you had an affair.”
“Ben,” she gasped.
“It’s what my head is telling me!” he said, straining not to yell.
“I’ll ask Dr. Wong for everything they have on the donor.”
He was shaking his head. “No. No, I have to look, I can’t have him asking questions. Somethings wrong. Something’s going on with all of it.”
“What do you mean?”
He eyed her, still pacing like a caged animal. “What do I mean? If these aren’t my memories, then what the hell am I doing with a head like that?” he whispered.
“They…I’m guessing they may not have looked or cared, Ben. They needed a donor.”
“Fuck,” Ben whispered, nodding. “That’s exactly right. They needed a rat, and any rat would do. We need to find out all about this Frank person. Who he was, everything we can learn. Then I have to figure out how not to murder you. We surely can’t fuck anymore.”
“What?”
He snapped a glare on her. “I can’t control it! When I start, it…takes me like a demonic possession.”
“But you did control it.”
“Cheryl, look at you. I have a feeling a lot more bruises will show up, and soon people will see it. And then what?”
“We…we can go home. And figure this out. Nobody has to know.”
“We need to tell Charlie.”
“Why?” she whispered, feeling sick.
“Because I need somebody who can watch over you. Somebody who will protect you if something goes wrong. Somebody I trust to do what needs to be done if push comes to shove and things go really bad.”
“Goes wrong how?”
“With my head!” He jabbed his finger at his temple. “Did you forget the mountain of disorders I could still have? This could be one of them for all I know, maybe I’m imagining all of it. Maybe I’ll imagine I’m making love to you one night when in reality I’m cutting you into fifty pieces!” He dropped onto the tub and held his head, gasping for air.
“We’ll start researching,” she said, going to him and sitting. “All of us. We’ll figure it out. Once you know, it’ll help you, it’ll help you sort everything. You can learn to control it.”
It’s Worse
Ben angled his head at the woman tied on the bed, stroking his cock eagerly. He allowed one of her arms and one of her legs loose, needing to feel the fight. He climbed on the bed with the three-inch pipe, smacking it against her bruised and bloodied ass, waking her. He put end of the pipe between his lips and blew in it, creating a bellowing foghorn sound to let her know her time was up.
Her foot slammed into the end of the pipe and shoved it into his throat, knocking him back. He gagged and coughed, spitting up a chunk of flesh and blood before he snapped his gaze to her. Rage launched him on the bed where he slammed the pipe anywhere and everywhere on her body, roaring in fury.
He beat her without stopping, long after she’d gone still, then finally stared down, heaving as another wave of fury rolled through him. “Fucking cunt,” he gasped at her.
She’d stolen what he’d planned for weeks, taken his carefully laid fantasies and just fucked them up. He beat at the mangled corpse on the bed again, not stopping till the blood, flesh, and bone converged into one lumpy mess.
He threw the pipe against the wall and climbed off the bed, staggering to the small bathroom. He slid his tongue around his mouth, feeling a chunk of his pallet missing. At the small mirror, he opened his mouth and lifted his head to see. Blood filled it again and he leaned and spit, seeing more chunks of skin.
Fury gripped his muscles and he stared at himself in the mirror. The unfed hunger to torture and kill sent his fist plowing into his reflection over and over with a roar.
Ben sucked in air, yanking at what held him.
“Ben!”
He rolled and thrashed, screaming as his
body hit something hard, knocking the wind from of him.
“Ben!”
The voice sent him scurrying back, holding his hands up to block them.
“Ben! It’s Cheryl!”
Cheryl. His brain spun and screamed with that name.
“AHNS, turn on the light,” she yelled.
He blinked and fought to breathe, his eyes landing on her. He let out a half yell of horrified relief at realizing it was a nightmare. He spit, looking for blood, sliding his tongue on his pallet and gasping as he stumbled to his feet, hurrying to the bathroom.
“Ben!” she cried as he locked the bathroom door and threw up before he could make it to the sink.
Gasping for air, he tripped over to the mirror and turned on the water, rinsing his mouth. His breaths bellowed as he opened wide and angled his head, looking for a scar on his pallet while feeling with his tongue. Nothing, he could see nothing.
He recalled seeing something on his hairless head in the mirror, above his ear. A tattoo.
He quickly opened the bathroom door to find Cheryl and Charlie, waiting with terror on their face. “Check for a tattoo under my hair,” Ben ordered, turning and pointing. “A-a symbol. Like a note. A music note.”
“Okay, I’m looking. I don’t…Charlie do you see anything?”
“I see it!" Charlie showed Cheryl. "It looks like a music note, just like you said.”
Ben’s breath left him as Cheryl sucked in hers.
“What does it mean, what’s going on?” Charlie asked.
Fuck, he wished his son hadn’t come in on this. He didn’t like lying to him, or Cheryl. It was day five into his charade with the doctors, feeding them half-truths. But the dreams were getting stronger. Clearer. And after researching every aspect of his own life and trusting his son and wife, he was convinced that the head he wore either belonged to some dude that got off to watching snuff films, or it belonged to a real psychopath who had killed more women than Ben could count.
“Every night there are new dreams,” he confessed, feeling sick. “They’re getting worse. Clearer. I can…” He covered his mouth as his stomach churned. “I can smell and see and hear what…” He shook his head, unable to say it. “I feel like…there’s a reason I’m having these dreams.”