I Know What Love Is

by Bianca, Whitney

  To this day, I'm still working on keeping that promise.

  Chapter Three

  We drove awhile, for about half an hour, I would guess. He had my head on his lap the whole time, one palm pressed against my cheek, his middle finger straddling my eye. He sang along with the radio, his voice low and soft. Surprisingly, he didn't force me to blow him. Looking back, I wonder why. Did he take mercy on me? He was probably worried I would bite his dick off and he would lose control of the truck and crash into a tree.

  I would've, too.

  Eventually, we pulled into a garage and he put the car in park. I jerked against him, feeling my last chance for freedom upon me. If I could just get out of the truck, I could slip under the garage door and make another run for it. He seemed to sense my thoughts, and pressed his hand down hard on my face. I gasped in pain, opening my mouth to relieve the pressure on my jaw. I heard the garage door motor shudder as the door dropped closed, and all of my hope—poof!—disappeared.

  He released me and I bolted upright. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The space around us was dark, but seemed like a normal garage. Shiny garden tools were hanging on the back wall, glinting in the glare of the headlights. A tiny little shimmer of hope returned. Possible weapons were my only friends. He turned off the ignition and the headlights died, leaving us bathed in black.

  “Daisy,” he said. I didn't respond. His hand found my bare thigh in the darkness. “I'm going to hurt you, baby.”

  Those words sent a cold pang of fear right through my guts. Shit, just remembering the way he said it makes me shiver even now. All I could do was take a deep breath and force my brain not to shut down. Whatever he did to me, I had to keep sharp. Otherwise, how would I be able to save myself, if the situation arose? I was not going to be stupid, no matter how scared I was. I was going to try my hardest to survive.

  He unlocked my door, the latch clicking like a challenge. The sick fuck probably wanted me to try and run, just so that he could catch me. I didn't move, just sat still as a statue. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He chuckled, opened his door and slid out. He stood by the door, waiting.

  He could wait all fucking night, as far as I was concerned.

  Impatience won out. After a quiet moment, he dove back in the cab and hooked his arm around my thigh. He dragged me out and up the two wooden steps into the house, as if I weighed nothing. He threw me down on the linoleum floor, hard, then slammed the door and bolted the lock with his key. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees and looked around. We were in a kitchen, one that hadn't been remodeled since the '70s. The appliances were avocado green. The linoleum under me was peeling and yellowed.

  I heard the tell-tale sound of his belt unbuckling and I tried to scramble to my feet. He was faster, though, and his boot met my ass, sending me tumbling face first onto my stomach. He was on his knees behind me before I could catch my breath, yanking my skirt down my hips. I rolled back and forth, trying to dislodge him, even though I knew it was no use. I was at a severe disadvantage.

  After my skirt was yanked off of me, next went my shirt and my bra and lastly, my lucky boots. He threw them off into the darkness of the next room, and despite everything, I still tried. I tried to crawl across the dirty floor and get away. He let me, for a moment, as his shirt came off, and he twirled the fabric to fashion a kind of rope. Then he looped it around my neck and yanked me back against him.

  My skin touched his bare skin for the first time. I hissed as if burned, repulsed. I didn't want any part of him touching any part of me. I would not get my wish, unfortunately. He reared me up on my knees, his erection pressed against my ass and my back against his chest. He fisted the rope of his shirt, choking me. I raised my hands, my fingernails digging into his forearms, his neck, anything I could get my hands on.

  “Fight me, baby,” he growled into my ear. I swung my elbows back, connecting with his hard abs. Unfortunately, the movement only caused me to choke myself more. I made an ugly, rough sound and he abruptly let go of the shirt around my neck. I gasped in air, choking as I dropped onto my hands and knees.

  “You motherfucking... crazy... fuck!” I managed to get out as he laughed. He sat back on his ass, quickly divesting himself of his boots, jeans and boxers as I crawled toward the fridge. I needed to put some space between us. I knew it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But I couldn't just lay there and wait for him to do whatever he was going to do.

  When he was completely naked, he grabbed my ankle and dragged me back to him, my flesh scraping across the cracked vinyl floor. I moaned in pain as he rolled me over on my back.

  “You're so fucking sexy,” he whispered as threw my legs open and inserted himself between them. He dropped his head to my chest, sucking my right nipple into his cruel mouth. My back bowed, the pain-pleasure shooting through my body again. He sucked hard and I steeled myself for his teeth. The shock of the pain still surprised me, though, as he bit down hard on the sensitive bud. I screamed, my knees jutting up toward the ceiling and my heels digging into the floor. He licked at the blood, dragging a dark trail across my chest as he went in search of the other nipple. His dark hair was clipped short to his scalp, so I couldn't rip his hair out. I gritted my teeth, slapping my palms across his forehead instead.

  He wanted me to fight, and I didn't disappoint him.

  His nose was bleeding by the time he tried to pin my hands above my head. So was mine, to be fair. His slaps were painful, but I was getting used to the pain. After awhile, I hoped I would be immune. His hard cock pressed against me, but I wasn't wet, at least not like I was back at The Mermaid. My body was too busy fighting.

  When he shoved into me, it felt like a knife stabbing me between my legs. I dropped my head back, as my vision flickered in and out. He shuddered, his big chest pressing against mine. I was distracted by the pain, so he finally succeeded in pinning my hands to the floor. We lay there for a long moment, not moving, as he savored the feel of me. My poor, abused body. A shiver went through me, as well. I rolled my head and my gaze found the mirrored eyes of a cat staring back at me from the darkness.

  The crazy motherfucker had a cat. How ridiculous is that?

  I would have laughed, if I hadn't been in so much pain. He sucked my battered nipple back into his mouth and I gritted my teeth against the sharp sensation. He flicked his tongue against the tip, and I heard a jagged cry escape my swollen lips. He rolled his hips, a few more painful inches sliding inside of me. My body was starting to respond, thankfully. I don't know if I would have been able to withstand his battering ram of a cock otherwise.

  However, he was nothing if not impatient.

  He spit into his hand and rubbed it against me, artificially wetting me. With a wild noise, deep in his throat, he began to buck his hips, fucking me in earnest. I opened my mouth to scream, but I couldn't this time. My throat closed up. My whole body was screaming instead. My head was throbbing, louder and louder, pushing out all other thoughts. To say it hurt would be an understatement. He sawed his gigantic cock in and out of me, harder and harder. At that point, I would have blown him all night if it meant the pain would end.

  “Scream, Daisy. Let me hear it,” he growled against my chest, arching his back toward the ceiling as he pumped into me. I shook my head, still rebellious despite everything. “Let me fucking hear you scream!” he rasped. I remained silent, the slapping sounds our bodies made loud in my ears. He levered up, his shoulders broad as he stretched my arms spread eagle. The muscles in his arms rippled at the movement. The man was cut like a Greek god. He was all rock hard muscles from head to foot. It was a terrifying thing to behold.

  His face was in shadow, but I could feel the anger radiating off of him. He wanted me to scream. He wanted to hear my pain.

  He was going to make me scream.

  My arms tingled. Pangs of electricity shot through my shoulders. My fingers started to go numb. I clenched my knees around his waist, struggling against him. He swerved his hips in a
slow circle, and I couldn't help it—I sobbed out a moan. A tremble went through my body. I was stretched to my limits, in all ways. I had no doubt I was about to break, like a glass smashing into a million pieces on the floor.

  “Please,” I whispered. I don't know why I did. I doubted he would take mercy on me, but it was worth a shot. He cocked his head and I could hear his ragged breathing all around me.

  “Please what?” he asked.

  “Let me go.” It was a stupid thing to say. There was no way in hell this crazy man was going to let me go after all the trouble he went to to abduct me. He didn't move for a moment, as if he was considering my request. Then, surprising me, he let out a hoarse sigh and released my hands. Immediately, I hugged them to my chest, covering my tits, which were wet from both of our perspiration.

  With no warning, he slapped me, hard enough to snap my head to the side.

  “Hear me now,” he said simply, leaning close and licking my stinging cheek. “You're mine, Daisy. Mine to do with as I please.” He dug his knees into the floor and crashed his hips against me. Once. Twice. “This pussy is mine,” he said, punctuating each word with his a thrust of his cock, each harder than the last. He swerved his hips, and I gritted my teeth, trying not to scream. He smiled, cruelly, like he thought we were playing a game. He hooked his arm around my leg and hiked my knee high. Then he pounded into me, destroying me with every thrust. I felt my body trembling and I tossed my head to the side, trying to keep my wits about me. It was hard to keep from losing my shit. Then he stiffened and tossed his head back, the muscles in his chest bunching. I felt him spurting inside of me as he came, hot and insidious.

  Try as I might, that time I couldn't stop myself—I screamed.

  *****

  My come smeared her thighs, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. My mind was singularly focused on fucking. I was going to fill her with my come. I wanted to feel it gush around my cock, seep out of her, and pool on the floor.

  And then, when I was able, I was going to fuck her again.

  Her eyes were glazed, her swollen lips parted as she moaned. Her dark hair was like a halo on the floor around her head. Her face was pinched like she was in pain, but she wasn't fighting anymore. She was strong, but she knew I was stronger. I knew she could take all of me, that was all that mattered. I dipped a thumb in between her teeth, opening her mouth wide. Then I kissed her, sucking on her tongue and tasting her spicy flavor.

  I had never been so turned on in my life. Hearing her plead, her voice soft and scared, had done something to me, deep inside. A flip had been switched. I was like a kid with a shiny new toy.

  She was mine then, and she's mine now.

  She will always be mine.

  Chapter Four

  I won't bore you with the details of the hours that followed. Basically, I was raped. Repeatedly. In many positions. I felt like a fucking sex doll, not a human being. He only stopped when he was too exhausted to continue. I was barely conscious myself, my mind going in and out every time the pain or the emotions became too intense.

  When he was done, he hauled me up and threw me over his shoulder. I felt his come seeping down my thighs as he carried me deeper into the dark house. He flipped a light switch and the harsh fluorescent glare stung my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, my limbs limp and lifeless. My hair hung in my face, but I didn't move to push it away.

  I felt about as alive as a sex doll, let me tell you.

  The shock of the night had not yet worn off. Eventually it would, but by then I had been through so much that nothing could shock me anymore.

  I realized we were in a bathroom when he turned on the shower. To my credit, I did try to struggle against him. I was convinced he was going to drown me. When he set me down on my feet in the mint-green tub, I sharpened my nails into claws and went for his eyes. He shoved me back against the tile wall, like a horse would swat his tail at a fly.

  He stepped in after me, and I curled into myself in the corner, wanting to be as small and as far away from him as possible. He clamped his hand on my arm and yanked me under the warm water. I jerked in shock as his hands began undoing my braid, his fingers running through and untangling my long locks.

  Immediately, I had the urge to chop my hair off. I would gladly be bald for the rest of my life if it meant no man ever touched me again.

  He softly washed my hair with a manly smelling shampoo while I stood stiffly beside him, my arms crossed over my breasts. I didn't want to look down and see the blood being washed away. I didn't want to know how much he made me bleed.

  “What kind of shampoo do you use?” he asked, his lips uncomfortably close to my ear. “I like the way your hair smells. Like flowers and honey.”

  I didn't answer him. He didn't stop touching me, though. He lathered his hands up with a bar of soap and ran them all over my body. I gritted my teeth to stop myself from hissing in fear when he slipped a palm between my thighs.

  “We're done fighting for the night,” he said, as if that would make me relax. He pulled me toward the water, and washed the soap away. I stood stiffly under the shower, tears threatening to fall. I held them in by sheer force of will. I was done crying over him. He didn't deserve it, and I damn sure couldn't afford to feel sorry for myself. When he decided I was clean enough, he wrestled one of my arms away from my chest and shoved the bar of soap into my hand.

  “Clean me up,” he demanded, turning his body toward mine. I forced myself to look at the ceiling. I thought I might vomit if I had to look at his body. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the face. “If you want to use your tongue, be my guest,” he said, a small evil smile curving over his lips. I lathered the soap in my hands, swallowing hard. I reached out for him, my eyes shooting to the ceiling, but of course, that wasn't good enough.

  “Look at me,” he growled. I jumped, my muscles tense. I'd learned to fear that animalistic tone of his. I forced myself to do what he said. My eyes locked on his mean, cruel mouth, then traveled upward to his his flat, dead eyes. He had a mole beside his right eye. I told myself to memorize his features. For later. For the police report and sketch artist. My eyes continued downward, past his thick neck and sharp collarbones. His chest looked like it's been carved out of granite. He didn't have much fat on him, but he was bulky with muscle. His nipples were flat and brown. His cock was long, even when flaccid. Water dripped from the thick tip.

  The temptation to punch him right in the balls swelled up in me.

  Instead, I ran my soapy hands over his chest. I could have been a nurse giving an old man a sponge bath, it felt so clinical, but he was watching me. I could feel his heavy gaze on my face.

  “Lower,” he said. I bit down hard on my lip and winced at the pain. I'd forgotten how sore my face was. I lowered my hands to his cock, as hesitant as if someone had asked me to touch a hot stove. He dropped his head back under the water, his chin jutting up to the ceiling. Quickly, I ran my hands down the soft length, then pulled away so fast I almost slipped and fell on my ass. “More.” His voice was gravelly, like cut glass.

  “No,” I heard myself saying, like an idiot. He sighed lazily, rolling his head to look at me, as if he couldn't believe I was still attempting to deny my status. I was nothing, a sex doll to be used when he wanted me. He was going to teach me my place.

  “Kneel,” he said. Immediately, I reached for him again, but his heavy hands dropped onto my shoulders, forcing me down. The time for a clinical sponge bath had passed. Drops of water hit me in the face as he pushed me to my knees. He slid his hands into my heavy, wet hair and guided my face toward his cock. My knees ached against the hard cast iron as I wavered on what I should do. I could bite his dick off, I reasoned, but he would definitely kill me then. I could grab his balls and twist, but I didn't want to know the consequences of that offense, either.

  I licked my lips and he jutted his hips toward me. Leaning forward, I allowed my tongue to brush the skin of his cock. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, like he was in pain. I
hoped, prayed, that his cock hurt as much as my body did, but I sincerely doubted it. I ran my tongue down his length, water pooling on my tongue as it ran in rivulets down his body. I had a fear of drowning, otherwise, it might not have been so bad.

  The sad thing was, it wasn't the worst blow job I'd ever given. At least he was clean.

  Since his penis was in my face, I studied it. It wasn't ugly or disgusting, actually. I noticed how the skin of his shaft was soft and silky and the crown was bulbous and a mottled pink. I memorized the maze of intricate blue veins beneath his skin. His dark pubic hair was coarse, but not completely unruly, like he'd trimmed just for me. If anybody ever asked me to identify his dick out of a lineup, I wanted to make sure I could.

  After a moment's hesitation, I sucked the head between my lips, swirling my tongue around it, catching drops of water in my mouth. His cock was slowly stiffening, but was still spongy soft on my tongue. I ran my tongue up the underside, tracing the thick ridge there all the way to the tip, then sucked the whole length into my mouth again. It felt like I was doing some kind of science experiment without using my hands. It felt bizarrely asexual, despite having a man's cock in my mouth.

  Unfortunately, this particular cock was connected to a real evil motherfucker, and while under his control, it was a tool of destruction. I got my wits back around me and abruptly released him, closing my mouth.

  I realized I was making the assumption that if he wasn't hard, he wasn't dangerous. I flitted my eyes upward and caught his gaze. He was staring down at me, his hands still in my hair. But he wasn't pushing. He wasn't pulling. He wasn't being rough. He was just watching. I leaned forward licked him again, a small cat-like lick, right on the slit in the center of his crown. It tasted salty there, like his come.