Before I could do anything, he was shoving my skirt up my hips. I tried to bolt, to slip around him, but he hooked his arm around my waist and shoved me back against the sink. My elbow scraped against the sharp edge of the soap dispenser and I hissed in pain. He had drawn more of my blood. It wouldn't be the last time, that was for damn sure.
“You want this,” he was mumbling, one hand clenching around my neck as his other hand freed his dick from his jeans. “You can take it, Daisy.”
Black dots danced in front of my vision again, as his big hand cut off my oxygen. I welcomed unconsciousness, but again, I wasn't so lucky. When he saw my head start to droop, he released me so quickly the world tilted on its axis. The influx of oxygen to my brain made me dizzy and I felt sick. He pried my legs apart and stepped into me, his big Texas sized belt buckle dropping heavily onto my thigh.
My eyes widened when I saw his hard dick, aiming right at me. Like the rest of him, it was big. Too big. Again, I tried to scramble away, but he caught me easily, his hands on either side of my waist. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, balancing my ass on the cold rim of the sink. I tried to kick my legs, but all that did was push my skirt further up my waist. My pink polka-dotted panties seemed so out of place as he ran the ruddy crown of his cock across them. They were so youthful, so innocent, so playful, whereas his cock was so brutish and blunt. Then he ripped them right off of me and stuffed them in his back pocket.
“You can take it, Daisy,” he repeated, angling his cock against me. I could only watch in horror as he breached me. Thinking back on it now, maybe my body didn't betray me at all. Maybe it was trying to help me, minimize the damage? Either way, I was going to get raped, and there was nothing I could do about it. I shoved against his shoulders and lifted my knees, trying to press them against his stomach and push him off. Trying to do something. But he just pried my knees open again and thrust his hips, sliding inside of me another few inches. My head dropped back against the mirror, my mouth gaping open at the feel of him, the violation. A grunted moan escaped my lips as he thrust again, going deeper.
How much deeper could he possibly go? I remember wondering. How naïve I was. How innocent.
When one of his hands clamped down on my hip and the other yanked my braid so hard that my head banged against the mirror, I found out how deep he could go inside of me. So deep that I felt like he could destroy me from the inside out. And he didn't let up. He plunged again and again, and I gasped for air each time until my throat was raw. When he swerved his hips and buried all nine inches of himself balls deep, I lost it. A raspy, throaty scream wrenched from my mouth as a sharp stab of pain-pleasure shot up my spine. He clamped a hand over my face, yanking harder on my braid with his other hand.
“Shhh, baby,” he murmured, his lips to my ear. “You love it, don't you?”
I felt my eyes rolling back in my head. My scalp throbbed, my body was being assaulted, and his hand over my mouth was making it hard to breathe. I heard my muffled whimpers, loud in my ears, as he fucked me. I have no idea how long he thrust his cock into me. I really don't. It could have been two minutes, it could have been ten. It sure as hell felt like an eternity. My legs hung limply over the edge of the sink, rocking with each thrust. My fingernails still clawed into his shoulders, but all my fight was gone. The bastard had won, and it wouldn't be the last time.
He dropped his hand from my mouth and kissed me again. I tried to turn my head away, but he grabbed my chin in an iron grip and forced me. He slipped his tongue between my lips, dipping and sucking, almost lovingly. Almost. Then he bit my lip hard, drawing blood. I jerked against him, my pussy clenching around his cock. He growled. Literally, growled.
“Fuck!” he hissed, ramming his hips into mine.
Pain got him off. Plain and simple. I would come to learn that well. He wanted my pain, he wanted my blood, and he wanted my fight. As he licked at my bloody lip, he sped up his thrusts. He dropped my hair and wrapped his big arm around my waist, pulling me closer. My scalp tingled as the feeling returned, but I would hardly call it a relief. Panic was welling up in me. A new horror was dawning on me. He was going to orgasm, I realized. His was going to shoot his disgusting come inside me.
Again, I was so fucking naïve, it's almost funny.
He pulled out with a groan, grabbing my hand and pressing it against the crown of his cock. It was warm and wet with my juices, and I just wanted to scream again. My pussy throbbed and tingled, but it was over. Or so I thought. He bucked his hips, and shot his hot come into my palm. I almost gagged. But he was just getting started.
“Swallow it,” he demanded, taking my wrist and forcing my hand to my face. “Every last drop.” I swallowed hard, shaking my head. His come was thick and white on my fingers, oozing down my palm. Not at all appetizing.
That wouldn't always be the case. Eventually, I became an old pro at guzzling come. I even started to like his taste, as crazy as that sounds. But on that first night, I was horrified.
“No,” I hissed, some of my fight back. I tried to free my hand from his iron grip, tried to smear his come down the front of his shirt. But he was faster than me, and stronger. He slapped my hand to my mouth, his come against my lips before I even knew what was happening. Then he plunged two fingers into my sore pussy. I flung my head to the right, but I only succeeded in smearing cum on my cheek.
“Lick and swallow, Daisy,” he said. “Swallow while I make you come.”
So that's exactly what I did. What other choice did I have? His come was salty and thick, but I closed my eyes and forced myself to swallow. It was only then that the tears came, rolling down my cheeks at the utter humiliation. He chuckled again at my defeat, his big fingers relentlessly plunging inside of my ravaged body.
He didn't make me come though. I didn't give him that particular victory until much later.
Chapter Two
After he buckled up his jeans and washed his hands, he wet a towel and grabbed my chin. I didn't fight him; I let him wipe off my face. Then he tossed the towel in a toilet and flushed. He stepped close to me again and I jerked, my whole body at attention. I was so afraid he was going to touch me, I couldn't move. The fear rippled under my skin. He ran a calloused finger down my cheek and then, without another word, he left the bathroom. I had my head down, so I don't know how he looked at me before he disappeared. I don't know if he was smiling. I don't know if he was proud of himself. I don't know if he had remorse. At the time, I didn't care.
On shaky legs, I forced myself into a stall and wiped away all of the wetness between my thighs, using miles of toilet paper. I just wanted to get clean. I didn't even think about evidence or DNA. As far as I was concerned, nobody had to know about what happened to me. Now that he was gone, it was almost easy to pretend that it didn't happen. It was all a bad dream.
Except for my missing panties. The bruises. The bite marks. All that stuff was hard to explain away.
I stayed in the bathroom, in the locked stall, for a long time. Giggling, tipsy women came in and out, doing their business, completely unaware of the crime scene they were tromping through. Again, I don't know how much time passed. I was terrified, I can admit it. Terrified that he was still in the bar. Terrified that he would come back for me.
Finally, I made myself stand and emerge from the safety of the stall. Without looking in the mirror, I smoothed my clothes and hair as much as I could. I swept my braid over my shoulder to hide the marks his teeth had made in my flesh. I dipped my head to hide my lip. I left the bathroom and slowly made my way back to the main room. My knees were practically knocking together, I was so scared. Everything in the bar was still hunky-dory. Welcome to the Jungle played on the old juke box. Nobody seemed to notice me. I didn't look up, I just headed toward the door, like nothing was wrong. I pushed it open and the hot night air hit me.
Up until that moment, I was never more happy to breathe fresh Texas air. I could smell the hay from the nearby fields. I could smell the fried chicken from the restaura
nt across the street. Shit, I could smell the cow pies in the air, but I didn't care. The familiar smells reminded me that I was alive. I had been through a terrible thing, but I was still alive.
I'm such a strong girl, right? That's what I thought, too. I'm a survivor, I used to tell myself. But what happens when there's nothing left to survive for? That's when shit gets really dark. Violent and vengeful thoughts start to take up all the space in your brain that used to be reserved for fun and laughter and love.
But I'm getting ahead of myself again.
That night, I didn't drive, because I lived five blocks away. So I stumbled across the gravel parking lot, totally forgetting that I left my purse —with my house keys, my wallet, my cellphone, my whole life- behind the bar at The Blue Mermaid. The Blue Mermaid, where I had no intentions of ever stepping foot again. This seeming mistake turned out to be a lucky break, though, on my part.
Thank heaven for small favors.
I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing. I had my arms wrapped around me, and my head down as I walked. I trudged along, more out of memory than actually looking where I was going. My head was too clouded. My body was too numb. I was in shock. I became aware that a vehicle was behind me and I stepped off the road to let them pass. I was on a stretch of street with no sidewalk. This being Texas, the land of the Ford F150, where going anywhere on foot is frowned upon, this was not unusual. However, there were houses all along the road, with lights on. It was hardly deserted.
After everything I'd been through that night, I still couldn't sense the danger I was in.
The vehicle didn't pass, though. It slowed behind me, the headlights casting a white triangle of light in my path. I turned my head to look, my shoulders hunched up around my ears like it was cold outside. I realized it was a truck, most likely a ubiquitous Ford, and waved for it to pass. The truck still didn't go around me. It idled, like the driver was trying to make a decision.
A shiver ran down my back as the driver put the truck in park. No, it couldn't be, I thought. But a bad feeling hit me, and I couldn't shake it. I told myself I was being stupid. Mr. Brick Wall was long gone, right? But when that truck door opened, and a pair of steel-toed boots hit the pavement, I didn't hesitate. I took off running into the dark night, fast as my lucky cowboy boots would take me.
*****
I swear it was only going to be a one-time thing. I had no intentions of seeking her out again. Her pussy had been so wet and tight, and her sweet moans and whimpers still echoed in my ears, but I was done with her. One time was enough, or so I told myself as I left her behind in the bathroom at The Mermaid.
I know Joan will never believe me, but I didn't follow her out of the bar that night.
I was sitting in my truck, minding my own business, my dick throbbing, reliving the feel of her body against mine. Her body fit me so good. I was flying high on the feeling. The rush of the orgasm. I was savoring it. There aren't many things in life that bring me pure joy. A pretty girl wrapped around my cock? That's what I call pure joy. I loved the fight she had in her, the spunk. When I licked my lips, I could still taste her blood, thick on my tongue.
I'm a sick fuck, but I'm not a hardcore criminal. At least, I wasn't then.
Kidnapping is a serious offense, and a whole can of worms I never had any intention of opening. Any criminal knows their limits. Me, I liked sex a little rough. But I didn't play with knives or guns or imprisonment. I knew that violent shit was a slippery slope that would get you put away for life.
So, when I started my truck and turned out of the parking lot, I was more shocked than anything to see her on the road. I'll admit it, my curiosity was piqued. She must have lived close to The Mermaid if she was walking. Or maybe I'd fucked her so good that I'd addled her brains and she'd forgotten her car back in the parking lot? I found myself driving behind her, keeping my distance, my headlights barely touching her. But then she noticed me. She turned her lovely face toward me and the light caught her cheek.
My heart jumped in my chest.
Suddenly, everything was do or die. I could ride on past, head home like I had planned, or... suddenly there was an Or. Or I could grab her, throw her in my truck, take her home with me, and fuck her until I got tired of her. I thought I was done with her, but staring at her in the road, so vulnerable and alone, I realized that I had only just begun with her.
The possibilities were endless.
I was out of the truck before I knew what I was doing. She took off running into the darkness, and I'll admit, I didn't hesitate. I ran after her, like a bat out of hell. She was about halfway up the lawn of a little bungalow with a porch light shining bright when I caught her. I swung my arm around her waist and tackled her to the ground. She screamed, and the sound echoed across the street and reverberated deep inside my bones.
I still love to hear her scream. There's just something about the way her mouth opens and her eyes go wide. She's so beautiful when she's terrified. These days, I think I rubbed off on Joan a little bit too much. The girl has a sadistic streak a mile wide, and it's my own fault, I suppose.
Anyway, when we went down in the dark night, I straddled her on the dewy grass. I knew that once she started screaming, she wasn't going to stop. The girl was a fighter. So I reared back and punched her in the side of the head. It sounds fucked up, but I didn't put much force behind it. I didn't want to hurt her too bad. I just wanted to let her know who was in charge.
She flopped back on the grass, but she didn't lose consciousness. She got a good shot of her own in, her knee slamming into my thigh, missing my balls by mere centimeters. It still hurt like a bitch and I slapped her, hard, in punishment. I heard her gasp of pain, and it sent a shiver of lust through me. If I could hear that sound for the rest of my life, I could die a happy man. I knew then that I'd made the right decision. The girl who called herself Daisy was everything I'd ever dreamed of. Why only have her once? Why not have her as many times as I wanted?
A car drove by then, and I flattened myself on top of her. She squirmed, her hips bumping against mine, but I had about seventy-five pounds on her. I wasn't worried she would get free. As she writhed, I caught her arms and dragged them above her head. It was so tempting to pry her legs open and fuck her again, in the middle of someone's lawn, in the wild wide open, but I didn't. I was willing to wait.
The car continued on its way, not seeming to find anything strange about my truck, pulled over on the side of the road. Breathing a rough sigh of relief, I knew we didn't have much time. I had to get her into my truck before someone got nosy. I got a good grip on her hair, wrapped my other arm around her waist, and hauled her to her feet. She screamed again, and I cursed my stupidity at neglecting her sexy loud mouth. That mouth was going to get a workout later, but for now, I needed her to shut the hell up. I yanked her hair harder, pressing my lips to her ear.
“Scream and I swear to God, I'll kill you,” I said mean enough to make her think I meant it. She went limp against me, but I didn't want to take any chances. I remembered her hot little panties stuffed in my back pocket. In a stroke of genius, I pulled them out and gagged her with them. She bit down on my finger in the process, but that only earned her another smack. Her rebelliousness didn't deter me.
At that point, wild horses couldn't have dragged me away.
I can be really stubborn sometimes. It's my fatal flaw.
*****
The bastard dragged me back to his truck and I couldn't do a thing about it. I tried to toe off my left cowboy boot and leave it behind, but my favorite blue boots wouldn't cooperate. The thought that I was about to disappear without a trace was horrifying. I was going to be one of those girls on the news, and my mother and father would be interviewed for the 11 o'clock show, tears staining their faces as they begged for my safe return. My mother would weep on my father's shoulder, asking herself why her only daughter had to be so damn rebellious.
“Why did she have to go to Austin? She should have stayed closer to home, wher
e she would have been safe!” I could hear my mother's voice in my brain. Instead of being annoying, it was heartbreaking. I realized that she was right, after all. In that moment, I made a fierce silent declaration—if I survived whatever was going to happen to me, I would move back to the suburbs of Dallas. Without hesitation. I would never rebel again. I would be the perfect Southern daughter my mother had always wanted.
I kept kicking, but I was no match for him. He threw open the passenger side door of his big dumb truck and hauled me in, my knees banging against the dash. It was indeed a Ford, and I cursed, inwardly. Why couldn't he have been driving a Toyota? A Toyota would have been easier for the police to find in cowboy country. Instead of slamming the door, he shoved in behind me. I spit out the makeshift gag and scrambled over the center console, trying to reach the keys. I don't know what my plan was, but I thought if I could just get the keys, maybe I could stop him from taking me.
Stars burst behind my eyelids as he hit me again, this time on the back of the head. I was going to be bruised from head to tail when he got done with me, I thought through the haze of pain. I slumped forward, my vision throbbing in and out. His fingers dug into my hips as he yanked me back onto his lap. I could feel his heart pounding against my back, and his erection against my ass.
“You're gonna be a good girl, Daisy,” he growled into my ear, his hands roaming up my front. Why the hell did I tell him my name was Daisy, you may ask? It was the name of my favorite childhood horse, a sweet palomino mare. I loved that horse. For whatever reason, her name was the first thing that popped into my head. At least I hadn't been dumb enough to tell him my real name. He tweaked my nipples and I clenched my fists, wishing so badly that I could hurt him. That very moment, I vowed to myself that by the time my ordeal was all over, I would take just as much from him as he took from me. If I was going to die, I was going to drag him down to hell with me.
I Know What Love Is Page 2