“Where've you been?” he asks teasingly.
I nod towards James, implying what I've been up to is not for kid's ears. That's not technically a lie.
“Oooh,” he grins. “Oh, to be a bachelor,” he rues.
“Oh,” I respond dryly.
“He'll be fine, he's gonna be strong just like Uncle Sam, one day. Uncle Sam builds houses, he lifts logs and stuff. You're his spitting image, so you have a lot to look forward to, kiddo,” he assures the boy, roughing up his hair and sending him on his way.
“I'm going home. Tell Katie thanks.”
“Shit, what did Milly do to you?” he remarks, regarding the flow of my words. He leans in, “Did she fucking cure you?”
I chuckle, not because his joke is particularly funny, but because this night has been ridiculous and it's just beginning. “You have no idea,” I quip.
I peel into the driveway of the ranch house. You would think the drive would have cooled me down, but no, I am burning hotter and more ferociously than when I had that little piece of shit pinned to the ground, than when that woman treated me like some sort of fucking exhibit.
I run into the house, pull off my shirt, tear apart drawers for another balaclava, and come upon a white one. It's hot tonight and the fact that I have to wear this fucking thing pisses me off even more. I imagine her recoiling in horror if she were to see my face, my scars the physical manifestation of a person who never belonged. At least until the accident I could be silent, and blend into the background, but after, these wounds planted a flag in me. Marking me for ridicule and curious stares.
They'll laugh at your face. They did this to you.
I pull a knife out of my drawer. I don't know what my plans are for it, but I want it in my hand, something physical and sharp to grab and ground me in reality because I am spinning.
I don't like this feeling. She was supposed to be the perfect target, and the second I got off the script and brought her here, I have been battling. Thinking about her. Wanting to pull off the mask. Wanting to tell her my story so she understands why she's here. Why I'm here.
But she's a manipulator. Because like my mother said, like Milly reminded me today, I am different. I will never be one of them. At best, they'll pity me.
My victims have always been disposable. That keeps me safe. Knowing if I had to, I could get rid of them—carve their throats with a knife, or pull the trigger at their chest. It makes me a god, and the power I emit at those moments is so strong my targets will do what I say. But with Vesper, I can't do it. I can't entertain the thought of being alone here again. Of not having a taste of a life I could only peer at through windows. And that means an unassuming nursing student, of all the people I have dominated and tarnished—she's the one who could ruin me.
I need that back. I am the arbiter of life and death. I am going to remind her who is in control. I am going to remind myself. She won't play me or manipulate me like women so often do.
I march through the woods, the branches yanking at my tank top, the fibers ripping so that by the time I reach the door it's shredded. Heaving, I remove the wooden plank and unlatch the door, thrusting it open so that when it hits the wall it makes the tiny shack reverberate. Her eyes are huge as she sits there, huddled in the corner, paralyzed with fear. I look down at myself, my white tank covered in dirt and speckles of blood from the scratches I earned during my trek.
Don't trust them, Sam. They'll hurt you. They'll use you.
I am a monster. Monsters don't live under the fucking bed or the closet. They don't appear in a puff of smoke. No, monsters are like me: the quiet guy who walks a drunk woman home, a protective uncle, that unassuming guy with the friendly smile who fixes your porch. We do our work in the dark, we lurk in the shadows, but we roam during the day, scouting our next prey.
Girls like her don't want the beast. They want the idea of one. They want to be safe and still revel in the thrill. But there's no safety with a monster. Because monsters consume. They take your body, your soul, and your innocence.
I've been playing a careful game as I figure this thing out. Thoughtfully stripping her down to her most basic so I could build her up. But it's really no different than it is any time I walk into a house. At first, I ask for their trust. I tell them I'm only there for money. I give them the rope to tie their lover. Then once I have them secured, I don't need their trust anymore. I take. I rule. I conquer.
Tonight she will graduate. She's got the cabin, food, and her little pink dress. She's got her dignity back.
This will be her final lesson.
I don't have to get any more riled up to speak her like I usually do, oh I am at the fucking summit already.
“Get the fuck out,” I command.
She stares at me in complete bewilderment. I watch the wheels turning in her head; I like that she doesn't run right away, that I already have that hold on her.
“I said get out!”
She jumps, then stands on shaky legs, walking past me and slithering through the narrow space I have left for her in the doorway.
“You want to fucking leave me, Vesp? You want that perfect little life you had? Then go. If you can make it to a road out there before I catch you, I'll let you go. You can go pretend that life is still for you.”
“A-a-a-and, what if you catch me?” she asks, her voice quivering in terror. There's a twinge in my gut watching her shake.
“You already know.”
She doesn't move. She's still waiting on my orders. Maybe I haven't given enough credit to the strides we have made. Maybe she really does want me.
Don't do it, Vesp. Show me I don't need to do this.
“I'll give you a head start. Thirty seconds for you to run out ahead. This is your chance to go home.”
Run, Vesp. Run so I can break you.
“I—I'm scared,” she admits through a shaky voice.
“We all are,” I answer. “This will be your only chance. Take it or leave it. You have a choice.”
She won't make it far. It's dark and she'll run in circles. There's acres of untouched forest out here. But that's beside the point.
“You have ten seconds before the offer is rescinded.”
I want her to drop to her knees so I can finally take a breath. I want her to run so I can break in her ass. I want to terrorize her, but I want her to want me.
I countdown. 10…9…8…
Her eyes jump around, she's going through all the scenarios. And that right there—that shows me there is still so much work left. Because she should have begged me to let her stay.
3—
She bolts. It's sudden and almost takes my breath away. I am disappointed that she's chosen to leave, but I'm fucking thrilled that I get to hunt her. I get to redo that perfect night I lost when I broke into her house and things went to shit.
I count loud enough, without yelling, so that I hope she hears each second passing, wondering if she's one second closer to rejoining that world she thinks she's still a part of, or closer to facing her new destiny.
25 Mississippi…26 Mississippi…
I can still hear her tearing through the trees, stumbling in the pitch black of the night.
30.
I stab the knife into the side of the cabin leaving it vibrating as I follow the sounds. These woods are an extension of me. I used to roam here as a boy on weekends and long summer days, and as I got older it became a refuge from the ranch house. I walk confidently, but don't run as it's easy to trip out here and I need to hear her.
There's a splash and I know exactly where she is. I start running. The sound of snapping twigs and my own panting fill my ears so that I've lost her sounds. As I get closer to the brook, I spot her moonlit outline, coming to her feet. She starts to run again, but I've tackled her to the ground before she can even take three steps.
She wrestles me, displaying strength I had forgotten she possessed. She makes the catastrophic error of kicking me in the stomach. It knocks the wind out of my sails for
a second as she drags herself through the mud away from me. But that small moment of freedom that kick afforded her only adds to my fury. I grab her ankle and pull her back. She claws at the mud that crumbles underneath her fingertips. The earth won't help her. This, right here, is nature. This is the order of things.
What's left of her pale pink dress glows in the moonlight, reflecting light where there is only absence of it.
I pull up the dress and mount her back, but I want to see her face. I need her to look into the eyes she claims to dream of. I roll her onto her back. She flails at me and I grab her two hands and pin them underneath one of mine.
“Vesp, this is what happens when you try to leave me.”
I reach down and feel for the plug I put in her ass. It's still firmly lodged in her tight asshole. There's only one way to fuck in the ass, in my opinion, and that's rough.
I pull it out and her body tightens as she moans. All I have thought about was popping that ass cherry. Now I am dangerously pent-up.
“Please. I didn't want to run. You…you made me…” she pleads through shuddered breaths.
“No Vesp, you wanted to. You wanted to leave me, after I've been good to you. After you told me you wanted me. But you're a liar. A manipulator.”
“No-no-no. That's not true,” she sobs.
“Vesp. Shut up and take your punishment.” I spit into my hands and coat my cock, so hard and sensitive to the touch. “This won't be long, but it's going to hurt like hell.”
I use my available arm to hoist her pelvis up against my hips for leverage. And then I begin to push into her asshole. She groans as I push my way in. It's so fucking tight, and when I finally get halfway in, she screams. She tries to wriggle away.
“Don't!” I grunt, securing her hips.
“Oh god,” she wails as I push all the way in. I stay there. Living in that moment eternal, where my dick is gripped by her virgin ass. “It hurts. It hurts,” she weeps.
Her cries subside into gentle sobs.
“You've never been fucked in the ass, have you?”
She refuses to answer.
“I asked a fucking question.” I push my hips against her for punctuation.
She shakes her head and the glossy trail of tears twinkle in the moonlight.
“Breathe,” I tell her. “I've had your mouth and your pussy. And now I'm taking your ass. You'll be all mine, Vesp. Filled with my cum in every hole.”
I run my hands over her breasts, up her shoulder and gently brush her hair.
“One day you will beg for me to fuck you in the ass. But I have to break you in, first. So right now, this is all about me and I don't give a fuck about how you feel.”
I slide the soothing hand down from her crown and over her mouth, pressing down. Her eyes expand in panic and I pull out and thrust back in. Fucking her into submission. Her thick, vibrato screams struggle to make it past my hand. Vesp's asshole chokes my cock so hard, so unrelentingly, that it's pulsating inside of her in seconds, releasing a huge load into her, dominating a part of her no one else has ever had.
I pull out and roll over onto the cool mud next to her. She doesn't move, but she's whimpering, trembling.
My mind is clearer now. And a part of me begins to wonder if this was fair. I shouldn't care, but Vesper makes me think of things differently. Unlike the others, she is my responsibility. She is my ward.
I roll over, and she puts her hands up like I'm going to hurt her.
“No…no…” she mumbles.
“Shhhh,” I offer, scooping her up in my arms. She wraps hers around my neck and cries into my chest, her body shaking uncontrollably. I've hurt her. Probably because of things that happened earlier that had nothing to do with her.
She kept the plug in her ass. She did what I asked earlier, so it's only right I give her something to show I appreciate the compliance.
I carry her back to the cabin and sit her on the chair. I'm shocked at what I see. It's not just the mud and the torn gown. She's covered in blood, like I slashed her with the knife. I look down and see I am too.
I point at her, without the distraction of anger or sex, I'm afraid of what I'll sound like if I speak.
Her eyes are hollow, as if she's still wondering how she ended up here, and looks down. She touches the dress and follows it down to the hem, her fingers trail her thighs.
“I'm…I'm…sorry,” she mutters. I watch as she musters all the strength she has to tell me what she feels is a disappointment. “I have my period.”
Christ. How did I not think about that? Maybe it's because I didn't have a sister, or I've never lived intimately with a woman. But I've been around animals, and blood is just another part of life. I don't blame her for it.
So I use this as an opportunity. To show her that if she stays, if she's honest with me and doesn't try to manipulate, then I can be something gentler. I can give her the things she needs if she gives me what I need.
I reach for her hand and bring her to her feet. I switch off the light in the cabin so we can't see, all we can do is feel. Finally, I can remove this mask in front of her so I can fucking breathe.
I pull her dress off and then my clothes, letting the ravaged cloth fall to the floor.
I lead her by the hand to the bathroom, pulling the cord on the pressure shower so the fresh water I loaded in it today falls down on us. It's still warm and feels so soothing compared to shock of the frigid brook water. My hands rove along her body, washing away the blood and filth, running my hands through her hair, stringy with mud.
I lather my hands with soap and clean her pussy. She hisses when I clean her ass and my cock twitches at the recent memory of squeezing into that tight space. It's hard again. So hard. I press against her to show her how fucking hard she makes me. How much I want her all the time. How she makes me do things that aren't like me. Like this—trying to fix her after breaking her. So I can keep the best parts of her, but kill the parts that are holding her back from our full potential.
And now I'm back in that space, where everything feels clear and my body is relaxed and I'm not the freak who stammers over every syllable. And yet, I still choose not to utter a word because I don't trust what I might say. Instead, I slide my hand back over her pussy, slipping a finger along the tender flesh.
I'm at a loss. I can't understand the game I am playing. I have spent my time here trying to earn his trust and I took the bait and ran. Of course it was a test. What other choice did I have? I had to try.
I knew things were bad when he barged into the room, wielding a knife, looking like he had been through some type of war. The black pupils swallowing the clarity of his eyes. It was too much to take all in. I thought maybe he was going to kill me and was giving me one last chance to save my own life. I don't know what I thought to be honest. He came in so fast, like a tornado.
I tried, I really did. But it was dark and my feet hurt, and I kept bumping into things. So instead of freedom, I ended up on the ground, my mouth covered as he sodomized me. The pain was horrific. He said one day I'd learn to like it. Nothing that excruciating could ever feel good.
Now he's here, showering me, as tenderly as if he were cleaning an injured bird. You may judge me for accepting it, but I don't live in the world of options you do. I need to reinforce his gentleness. I need comfort. And it's so fucked up that the only person who can give it to me is the person who hurt me. At first, it's hard not to recoil from his touch, and the throbbing, burning pain in my ass reminds me of the assault that just took place. But his hands, they wash it all away, they pacify. His calm breaths and total silence are now a contrast from the gristly voice that made sudden and drastic demands. It's like I'm here with someone else.
Could it be that a part of him feels sorry for what he did?
It's so dark in this cabin, I can only make out a faint silhouette of his body, but I see something I never have before, an outline of his hair. Roguish. Wild. Just like him. He's unmasked. Though I can't see his face, I still feel like he
's exposing a part of himself to me.
He caresses me between my thighs. I can feel him harden. I shouldn't want this. I should be repulsed. And I am. But I am also eager to be in his graces, and the opportunity to encourage this kindness brings a hint of hope amidst complete defeat.
I want him to contrast the brutality with this tenderness. To know that things are right again now that I've taken my punishment. To make this plight bearable. I want to connect. To speak to the soul I know must live deep within him. To erase the memories of the agony I felt as he bore into a part of me no one else had ever even touched. To feel safe with him, if only for a short while.
With any other man, I would wonder if the grisly display of my womanhood repulsed him, but not this man. He is raw—all flesh and blood, bones and sinew. A pure predator—as if he was pulled away from society and its norms. As if he had evolved only enough to look like us, but inside, he doesn't understand what it is to be human.
I reach up and land the tips of my fingers on his face, but he grabs my wrist and puts my hand down at my side before I can even really feel him.
I don't say the words. It would hurt too much to know I consented to him. The silence convinces me that the old me still lives buried deep inside.
But I need to feel good somehow.
I grab his shaft, without his prompt or his demand, running a slick hand along the length. I guide my hands up the mounds of his abs and then across his shoulders. One side smooth, the other rippled with uneven, marred skin.
Again, he takes my wrists and pushes my hands away.
We stand under the water, face to face, not touching for a moment. He takes a step closer, and his need presses against me.
A flood of emotion pours over me as I begin to cry. It catches me by surprise. I'm losing her. She doesn't have the will to keep fighting the conflicting feelings that echo inside of me all day.
Take Me With You Page 13