by C. V. Hunt
“Yes,” she said. “Oh yes.”
I pinched her nipple and she gasped.
“I’m getting close,” she said.
I began finger fucking her harder and faster and buried my face in her cunt and ate her in a frenzy. I realized my erection had returned and I had a strong urge to pull out my cock and masturbate while pleasuring her.
“I’m coming!” she cried out.
Her clit spasmed in my mouth. A gush of her come soaked my hand and splatted onto my neck before pattering on the garage floor. She bucked her hips and slammed her pubis mons into my nose hard enough to make my eyes water. Her clit twitched under the pressure of my tongue as she squirted a second round. Her body convulsed and trembled as the last small waves of her orgasm subsided.
“Fuck me,” she said.
I was still manipulating her and I raised my head to look at her. Her expression made me question if she was experiencing ecstasy or anger. The cold clingy presence guiding me did not question her command. I pulled her down from the washer roughly—her skin squealing in protest against the machine’s surface—and I forcefully spun her around and bent her over the washer. She made small sounds of protest as I forced her into the position I wanted. I undid my pants quickly and guided my hardened cock into her soaked cunt. She moaned and I grabbed both of her hands and stretched her across the washer’s top and made her take hold of the dial board on the back. I grabbed her narrow hips and let the monstrosity controlling me take over. I tried to check out mentally as my body acted against my will but the sounds of her calling out in pleasure and the wet smacking noises our bodies made while colliding with as much force as my body could deliver kept me there in the moment as if I were witnessing it all from outside myself. I hammered her pussy hard and knew both of us would be bruised. She didn’t seem to mind when the impact of my fucking began to ram her into the washer, causing the front of the machine to lift and bang down on the floor. There was no thought in my mind other than a primal animalistic one to procreate and wishing the cold and bothersome puppet master would let go of me but I knew even if the thing would let go I had fallen down a rabbit hole where nothing would ever be the same and I would never be allowed to go home again. The girl moaned in pleasure and looked over her shoulder at me and shouted for me to fuck her harder and I complied and felt a strong orgasm building in my bowels and the panic of whether or not the girl was on birth control crossed my mind for a split second and I knew I needed to pull out but the thing controlling me pressed on my buttocks more forcefully as my orgasm crossed the threshold into the land of no return. I vaguely remember the nauseating expulsion of come as the orgasm gripped my throat, or maybe it was the compelling force choking me. A bolt of sensation exploded and ran from my stomach and into my anus.
17
I was lost in the woods and the sun was setting. With each ticking second I began to panic more and more as I frantically searched for anything that looked remotely familiar, or for a glimpse of another cabin, or the sound of a vehicle to announce a road nearby. In the shadows of the trees the forest was already chilly and I knew it would only get colder once the sun was completely set.
I spotted the flicker of something in the distance through the jumble of trees and used it as a guide as twilight shifted into darkness. I stumbled toward it, branches scraping my arms, legs, and face. It didn’t take me long to recognize what I was seeing as a campfire. Once I passed the last cluster of foliage separating me from the campsite I found Tryphena standing by the fire. She was naked. The flames cast ghoulish shadows across her features and the oppressing darkness beyond the light of the fire filled in the blanks and caused her brown eyes to appear as black and luminous as the feathers on a crow.
Something or someone moved in the darkness around us. My mind was filled with the knowledge that whatever was out there was ominous and couldn’t touch us until the fire died down and we were swallowed by the night. The thing paced and circled us like a large hungry cat waiting for the prey’s moment of weakness so it could pounce and devour what it desired most.
I approached Tryphena and said, “What are you doing here? How do we get home?”
“He likes you,” she said. “We are home. We live with him now.”
“Who?”
She wrapped her arms around me and began to kiss me. I could smell and taste clove and ashes on her tongue and my cock began to grow hard. She dropped to her knees and unfastened my pants. She looked up at me and her mouth had morphed into a vagina that glistened in the light from the campfire. She stroked me with one hand and fingered the wet cunt where her mouth used to be before taking my cock into her warm vagina-mouth. The temperature of her was scalding and as she worked the fire began to die. I held the back of her head and began to thrust my hips into her when the effigy constructed of trees and branches I had woken up next to emerged from the darkness and stood in front of me. Its misshapen and faceless head appeared more sinister with the creature now animated. The branches it was made of creaked and groaned against one another as it moved. The thing stooped and inserted one of its long and twisted branch fingers into the girl’s actual cunt from behind her as I fucked the cunt that replaced her mouth. It removed its finger and lifted it to its face for a second as if inspecting it before it lifted both of its long and menacing hands and placed them on either side of my face. Slowly, it began to insert its thumbs into my eyes.
Darkness enveloped me in a snap as the creature destroyed my vision. Water trickled down the back of my throat and I began to cough and gag. My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood and I began to drown.
The cough started small and became invasive and hacking before I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes. I was in my bed, fully clothed, and the sunlight was fading fast outside. I covered my mouth and coughed some more. My hand was wet when I pulled it away. I looked at my palm and found it was covered in blood. I sat up in a panic and blood poured from both of my nostrils, down my face, and dripped from my chin. There was blood on the duvet cover from where I had apparently collapsed without turning down the covers. What I had done to Tryphena came rushing back and the memory was followed by a wave of nausea.
I cupped my hand under my chin and proceeded to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink reflected the horror and the panic I was feeling. Partly from the gushing nosebleed I was experiencing and partly from remembering what had happened with Tryphena. I’d only experienced a bloody nose one other time in my life after a scuffle on the playground in elementary school when a bully decided it was his job to rough up any new kids. During the grappling match the kid managed to elbow me in the nose and luckily hadn’t managed to break it. Now I leaned over the sink like the school nurse had instructed me back then. Blood dripped into the sink as I turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. I washed the blood from my face and rinsed my mouth before pinching my nose. I continued to lean forward and watched the last of the pinkish water drain away. After what felt like an exorbitant amount of time I let go of my nose and waited to see if it was done bleeding. I retrieved the Q-tips and used a handful soaked in water to clean inside my nostrils. I was afraid to blow my nose in case it provoked another deluge of blood.
Once I was finished cleaning up I turned to the toilet to relieve my bladder. My penis was tacky and I could smell the unmistakable scent of sex coming from it. And then there was no mistake or telling myself maybe I hadn’t defiled an underage girl and it was only a fucked up dream when the slight sting of an after sex piss announced itself.
“Fuck,” I said aloud. What the fuck did I do? I thought. And what the fuck happened afterward? How did I end up in my own bed? What fucking time was it? Was it even the same day?
The guilt was crushing. I fought back tears and panic and nausea as I chanted in my head there was no way I was going to allow it to happen again. But promising not to let it happen again was a terrifying thought in itself. Would refusing her again piss her off and cause her to accuse me of pedophilia or rape? She
surely had evidence of our coupling on her clothes and in her body now. I think I came in her. I wasn’t sure. I barely remembered the orgasm and I was certain I passed out during it. I didn’t even know the girl’s exact age but I was certain she was not eighteen. But I couldn’t blame Tryphena for what happened. I was the adult in the situation. If I would have been thinking clearly I would’ve denied her regardless of her threats. The only semen they would’ve found on her was possibly her father’s. I should’ve dragged her back to her father’s house and waited until Lloyd got home and explained what his daughter was up to. But that was a shitty situation too. I didn’t know the status of the report I’d sent to the child protective services. If they had come and gone and things had already been resolved I didn’t want to have to interact with Lloyd at all. There weren’t many people to point a finger at when you lived with the victim and there was only one other person a stone’s throw away who may be one of the few people who saw the girl. Returning her to her father and tattling on her didn’t bode well for either Tryphena or me.
I wasn’t left with a lot of options. Moving was the best solution. The quicker, the better. The thought of moving broke my heart though. I liked the cabin. I wanted to stay as long as possible. Not to mention I didn’t have the money to move again or to pay rent. The only place I could go was back to Phillip’s, a place where I didn’t feel welcome.
None of this would’ve happened if Naomi wasn’t such a selfish cunt, I thought. The thought actually surprised me. It was the first time since we had separated I was aware of the amount of hatred and contempt I felt for her for deciding I wasn’t cut from the right material and was of a lesser quality than some other schlub who would fuck her and marry her and sit around eating Doritos and getting fat with her while he watched the big game every weekend and their brats screamed and fought and cried over toys. And I thought back to the last time Naomi and I had had sex and how it had been extremely routine and lackadaisical as she lay on her back and we fucked in the missionary position and at some point I opened my eyes and looked at her and she was staring back at me with a bored expression and I knew it was over. I wasn’t completely sure it was the very last time we had sex but it was definitely the moment I realized how hollow our relationship was and how she wasn’t interested in anything emotional from me anymore. She only wanted to own superficial things: cars, a house, kids. She wanted to own things she could control. She should’ve just gotten a dog.
Once I was done in the bathroom I checked out the window by the sink and had to crane my head to get a glimpse of the other cabin. There was barely enough daylight left to recognize Lloyd’s station wagon was parked in its normal spot. Dim lights flickered in the windows of his cabin. I cracked the window and listened intently for any sounds coming from the other cabin but was only met with the sounds of night insects preparing for a long night of scuttling and singing.
I left the bathroom and realized the background and lighting were still up from Rachel’s shoot. I made quick work of tearing it down and stowing it. When I was finished I spotted the dark stain of blood on the duvet. I turned on the lights for the deck and stairs and double checked to make sure Lloyd wasn’t waiting outside my door to ambush me and beat me to a pulp or shoot me in the face. I retrieved my laptop and did a quick search on how to wash out bloodstains. I noticed a couple of messages but ignored them momentarily. I briefly thought about how searching bizarre things like how to remove bloodstains probably red flagged some agency and put my name on some list of potentially fucked up people somewhere. I followed the recommendations I found online and soaked the cover and duvet in cold water before scrubbing it with some dish soap and taking it down to the garage to launder.
The garage door was shut and the light had been shut off. I tried not to think about what happened on the washer or look at the dried whitish spot on the floor where Tryphena had squirted. Once the washer was loaded and started I held the laundry detergent lid under the water to fill it and dumped it on the spot on the floor before retreating back inside.
My stomach growled when I stepped inside. My phone sat on the dresser but the battery was dead. I plugged it in to charge. I opened the laptop on the coffee table and checked the time. It was shortly after nine in the evening. There was an email from Phillip asking how things were coming along with the kitchen. I’d completely forgotten I had taken a few photos once I finished it and meant to email them to him. There was a notification for the social networking site. It was a brief message from Rachel saying she had a good time today and was looking forward to hanging out tomorrow. I groaned audibly and rubbed my face wearily. I growled in frustration and tried to think of how to reply to her and began to mentally flog myself for everything that had happened with Tryphena. I really wanted to see Rachel again but now I felt like a despicable human being and she deserved better. I stared at the computer screen for half an hour before typing: “I had fun too and I can’t wait to see you again.” I deleted the ‘I can’t wait to see you again’ and changed it to ‘I can’t wait to get some fresh air on the trails and talk’ before I sent the message. Less than thirty seconds later a smiley face emoticon appeared in the message box. I stared at the smiley face for a while until the tiny yellow face twisted into a mocking grin.
My stomach protested loudly and demanded food. The stress of everything was beginning to give me a tension headache and my neck was stiff. My nerves were fried and for some reason the skin on my shoulders and back were sore. I rubbed my shoulder and tried to think of a reasonable answer to fix the mess I’d made of my life.
I carried the laptop into the kitchen and sat it on the table. I stared at the computer for a minute, trying to remember why I’d brought it to the table before I remembered to retrieve the camera and the cord to connect to it. My brain was slow to think of much else beyond my dilemma. My thoughts became as muddled as they did when I was severely sleep deprived. I hooked up the camera and made a sandwich as the photos uploaded to my editing program. I tended to get lost in editing and decided it would be a better alternative than worrying until I was sick or had a nervous breakdown. I sat at the table and ate my sandwich while scrolling through the photos of Rachel. I had a hard time deleting the ones not quite up to par. She struck me as saint-like. I wasn’t sure why I thought of her that way. But deleting any of her photos felt sacrilegious. I created a new folder on my computer and dropped the rejected photos from the set into it.
I found the few photos I’d taken of the remodeled kitchen and opened my email. I replied to Phillip’s email with the kitchen photos attached. I briefly told him about Rachel and the scheduled hike tomorrow and asked him how things were with him before sending the email and returning to the photos.
I ran my finger over the scroll bar a couple of times to advance to the next page of photos. My stomach sank as I stared at what I thought were mistaken and fucked up photos. My first thought was I zoomed in too much on Rachel’s hands and the rows of thumbnails were filled with the flesh of her hands with no background. It took a few seconds longer than necessary for my fogged brain to connect the photos to the content. They were blurry and at odd angles and their main foci were on breasts and a vagina. The recognition that they were Tryphena’s breasts and vagina hit me a lot quicker and I began to panic. I scrolled through the rest of the photos and their content progressively became more pornographic. At some point she must have figured out how to run the timer. There were full nude shots of her on my bed. Then there were a few pictures of her masturbating on my bed. And a shot of me naked on the bed. One of my face. My eyes were open but only the whites were visible, as if I was having some type of seizure. A picture of the scar on my chest. A photo of an orgasmic Tryphena crouched over my head with her pussy on my mouth. Another photo was staged to look as if we were both orally pleasuring each other. Tryphena riding me reverse cowgirl while pinching her nipples.
In a panic I highlighted the photographs and deleted them and followed it by dumping the trash folder completely. Fuc
k! I had child pornography on my computer! I thought. I began to hyperventilate as I thought about television programs and online articles I’d read that stated even if you delete something from your computer the experts could still recover it. I wanted to smash my computer into a million pieces and set it on fire. But the fucking computer and the camera were my livelihood and I didn’t have the money to replace them. I yanked the cord from my camera, turned it on, and was forced to clear each photo one at a time. When I reached the photo of me on the bed alone a thought struck me . . . I was naked. I woke up fully clothed. My brain tried to process the information and I suddenly realized how bad my head was throbbing.
I retreated to the bathroom and took two Tylenol as I tried to piece together in my mind the photos of me and Tryphena. I had no memory of the photos. And obviously by my state in the picture I was having some sort of episode or maybe she drugged me somehow. Then there was the question of my clothes. I had been in a semi-state of dress during our encounter in the garage. That meant either she or I had taken all my clothes off and redressed me. By my condition in the photos it didn’t appear there was any way it could’ve been me. And Tryphena was a slight girl. It didn’t seem feasible she would have been able to do it alone.
A wave of nausea hit me and I sprinted to the bathroom and vomited what little of the sandwich I’d managed to consume and the partially dissolved Tylenol. I sat on the bathroom floor by the toilet and cried harder than any time I could ever remember. I didn’t think I would ever stop sobbing and eventually forced myself to take a shower to try and soothe my hysterics and hoped I could somehow scrub my soul clean.