“You’re sure you want to talk to him?” Vladimir asked me, glancing back at me. It was just the two of us, but I knew Vladimir was more than a match for Mr. Wilson. “I could just go in there, break his kneecaps, and then we’d be done with it.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I do want to talk to him. Like I’ve said, we’ve got unfinished business.”
After he was inside, we followed him. It was one of those buildings with a courtyard and a wraparound balcony allowing easy access from outside. It was easy enough to follow Mr. Wilson’s trail up to the balcony and then find his unit. Vladimir picked the lock in a manner of seconds and then we were inside.
It was a small, completely unremarkable apartment. Tidy and uninteresting—for all his eminence in the world of college admissions, which he lorded over us girls, Mr. Wilson didn’t seem particularly impressive in his personal life.
From the kitchen, we could hear the sounds of someone preparing dinner. Vladimir glanced at me and I nodded. Following him, we burst into the next room, Vladimir drawing a knife.
There was Mr. Wilson, pouring a glass of wine. Sitting at the kitchen table was Cassie, her eyes wide when she saw me.
“Londyn!” she shrieked. Mr. Wilson dropped the glass of wine, shattering it into ten-thousand tiny shards.
“A friend of yours?” asked Vladimir. I nodded.
“Cassie. Get the hell out of here.”
I saw bruises on her neck. I realized that her hair was a mess. Did her parents know she was here? I had so many questions for her but I knew they couldn’t be answered now. She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes, and darted past Mr. Wilson, carefully picking her way through the field of broken glass. She stopped to give me a hug before disappearing through the back door of the tiny apartment.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Wilson demanded, doing his best to seem intimidating. Of course, it didn’t impress Vladimir.
“This is a friend of mine,” I declared, wrapping my hand around Vladimir’s free one—the one that wasn’t gripping a knife.
“You’ve been absent from school, you’ve—“
I let a haymaker fly, knocking Mr. Wilson hard in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground like a pile of rags.
“You’re not going to hurt anyone anymore,” I told him as Vladimir hauled him to his feet. From his leather jacket, Vladimir pulled the piece de resistance of our entire trip: a small, home made tattoo machine. Vladimir had acquired it in prison, he told me. He wasn’t much of an artist but that didn’t matter right now.
With one hand holding Mr. Wilson down and the other hand guiding the machine, I watched as the words “RAPIST” and “PERVERT” appeared in thick, crude black lettering on Mr. Wilson’s forehead. He shrieked like a baby, screaming at first and then pleading with us as Vladimir tattooed him. Fifteen minutes later, it was done and Vladimir allowed him to collapse to the floor again, the broken glass slicing his hands and knees.
~
We got out of there fast and drove in the opposite direction of the Jester Kings’ camp. This was Vladimir’s idea: in case Mr. Wilson decided to call the cops, we didn’t want to be anywhere near the Jester Kings’ last known location.
We stopped in a forest preserve about forty miles out of Windgale for the night. We picked out way through the woods and found a small clearing where Vladimir pitched a tent and made a fire. As we sat around it, warming ourselves, he fixed dinner: a package of dried soup. It was something I would have almost certainly turned up my nose at in my previous life but now, after everything that had happened in the last few days, it tasted damned good. I couldn’t tell you now what flavor it had been or what had been in it or even if we finished it. All I know, and all I knew then, was that it tasted like freedom—more than anything else I had ever tasted.
“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Vladimir asked, after being silent for nearly half an hour. I looked up in surprise.
“Ready for what?”
“For… This life. It’s not an easy one, you know.”
“Of course I’m ready. I’ve got nothing to go back to.”
“You could still go back, you know. You’ve got parents who love you, who’d support you,” Vladimir said carefully, stirring the soup in his bowl. “That means something.”
I shook my head.
“Even if it does… That’s not my world anymore. Maybe that was never my world. I don’t think I was meant for that kind of life. The life I was meant for… It’s out here. With you.”
As I said that, Vladimir set his bowl down and pulled me close, into his embrace. We kissed hard and slow, deep, like two souls blending together to form one. I stripped off his leather jacket, feeling his muscles, his powerful arms and admiring the colorful tattoos adorning his broad chest: here was the Marine Corps crest, and here was a laughing devil. Over his heart was a jester—a joker, I realized. Very fitting, considering his allegiance.
I kissed over his neck and collar bone, biting his, digging my teeth into his flesh much as he had dug his into mine the night before. I suckled and bit his nipples and kissed down his well-formed abs until I found his pants. Unzipping them, I freed his cock—that massive, magnificent piece of flesh which, I realized now that I could see it in the light, was much bigger than I had thought originally. I impaled myself on his shaft, sinking down onto it and letting him slide into my throat as I sucked him. He groaned and gripped my hair as I pleasured him, servicing him like a good girl, like an obedient servant. He ran his fingers through my hair, grunting and thrusting his hips forward before finally cumming, filling my ready and waiting mouth with his hot seed.
Pulling up my skirt, I stood and pressed my crotch to his face. I was ready to have him return the favor and I wasn’t afraid to be aggressive about it. I felt him smiling into my pussy as he began to lick me—my panties, after all, had been destroyed and I had gone without underwear all day. His hot, hungry tongue licked me fast and deep, almost urgently, digging into my wetness and cleaving through my pussy, teasing me, delighting me. I whimpered and groaned, grinding my pussy into his face, into his hot mouth, savoring the way he tickled my clit with his tongue before pressing hard against me and firing waves of pleasure through my hips, through my belly, and up throughout my entire body. I was getting close and I was loving every second of it.
I noticed him getting hard again and I knew I would be his to fuck once I came, so I tried to hold off for as long as possible—not because I didn’t want him inside of me. Oh, no, I wanted that desperately. Rather, I wanted to make him wait. I wanted him frustrated. I wanted to cover him with my scent, cover this huge beast of a man, whom I loved, whom I had made mine in a way, just as he had made me his, I wanted to make him want me as much as I wanted him. I would tease him until his desires couldn’t be contained and then I would reap the reward: his hungry, desperate fucking.
Finally, I came, squealing and almost falling over as my pussy gushed over his face. Vladimir pushed me down and climbed on top of me, spreading my legs wide and driving his cock into my wet, juicy depths. I gasped and moaned as he pounded me, the sex fast and desperate, the best kind. Even though I hadn’t been a virgin for less than twenty-four hours, I felt like I already knew quite a bit about sex, quite a bit about what it meant to be fucked hard, to please a man and be pleased by a man. After all, I had been taken hard by nearly an entire biker gang in one night.
Finally, I felt Vladimir groan, his body tremble and quake. His cock shuddered inside of me, as did his muscles, and he released himself, his cum splashing out of his thick cock, filling me up. I felt so pleasantly full as he came inside of me, so warm and happy. I moaned as I took his cum, spreading my legs wide and letting my hungry cunt devour his seed.
We lay there, in each other’s embrace, our afterglow continuing to burn long after the fire fizzled out.
Disappearance
The next morning, I awoke in his arms. God, but I felt so warm, so safe and secure in them… Do you remember having a security blanket as a
child? This felt like the adult version of that: wrapped up in his strength, in his passion, feeling so perfectly calm and relaxed, knowing that I was protected…
Indeed, I was protected. Protected by all the members of the Jester Kings, after all. It somehow felt right that Vladimir had shared me with all of them. I can’t explain it in normal words but you’ve just got to take my word for it: the feeling of community that they shared, that bound them together, it now flowed through me. I was the vessel in which they made their communion.
Yet, I still belonged to Vladimir. I knew that and I felt it deep in my bones, in every fiber of my aching, well-fucked body.
My lips found their way over to his neck and I began to kiss him, starting to suckle gently at his flesh, nibbling a bit at his neck. He murmured dreamily and awoke, blinking in slight confusion.
“’Morning, sleepy head,” I said cutely, planting a hot kiss on his lips. He returned my kiss slowly, sleepily, teasing and biting at my lips before pushing me away.
“I’ve got to take you back to your parents. This is wrong.”
My eyes widened. My heart began to pound in my chest and I felt tears started to well up, threatening to burst into life like a Dutch dam, just barely held together by a single intrepid little Dutch boy…
“What?!” I all but screamed. “You… You can’t send me back. After all that happened.”
“I know. But I have to. It’s not right… What we did to you. What I did to you.”
My brow wrinkled in disappointment and distaste. Who was he to say what right and wrong was?
“You’re going to get caught up in the crime. You’re not of this life,” Vladimir said, shaking his head, sighing. “It was wrong to bring you into this. Like I said last night… You’ve got a life. That’s the difference between you and me.”
“But I don’t want that life. I want this life. Here. With you. Wherever you are.”
“No. That’s final.”
He got up to head over to his bike but I threw my arms around his legs, pulling him to the ground and straddling him.
“No!” I cried. “That’s not how this ends…” I all but screamed in his face, slapping him ineffectually. My light, ineffective and untrained blows were nothing to him, I’m sure, but he politely pretended to wither under my pathetic assault.
I was becoming hysterical. I was becoming “one of those girls.” But I didn’t care. I didn’t want this dream to end. I wouldn’t let this dream end.
“No, babe,” Vladimir growled, catching my hands finally, holding them still, immobilizing them. I felt humiliated by his skill and by the tears rolling down my cheeks, by the burning, embarrassed flush in my face. “This is how it ends. Just pretend it was all a dream.”
“No! No! No!” I screamed as he wrapped his legs around me, using a fancy wrestling move to flip me and pin me beneath him. I sobbed as he produced something from the pocket of his leather jacket—a syringe?! The last thing I remembered was the syringe digging into my hot flesh, my heart pounding, and then everything went black.
Re-Awakening
“Londyn… Londyn… Londyn…”
My eyes fluttered open. For a few moments, I saw nothing except hot white light: imagine those golden Christmas lights, but without the individual points, the light bulbs: just the glow of a golden Christmas tree.
“Londyn…”
“Where… Vladimir… What…”
“Londyn…”
I turned my head right and then left. Had I gone blind?
No, I hadn’t. Gradually, with each passing second, the lights, the glow, it all coalesced into shapes. There was a nurse. She bent over me, her motherly face, wrinkled with concern for me, coming into the field of my vision. She smelled vaguely of flowers—normally, I would have thought the scent too sweet but now, under the circumstances, it seemed comforting.
“Where am I?”
The nurse’s face broke into a smile. “You’re in a hospital, Londyn. You’re fine. Don’t worry.”
And then, in a rush, the events of the past day came flooding into my mind. I remember Vladimir. I remembered the Jester Kings. I remembered Mr. Wilson, his forehead bleeding with the words, an eternal condemnation, burnt into his flesh.
“No… Where are they? Where’s Vladimir?”
“Who? Who, sweetheart?”
“Vladimir? The Jester Kings?”
The nurse frowned.
“I’ll take it from here, Ms. Garret,” said a voice from just outside my field of vision. I glanced around and then my eyes, still unfocused after the effects of whatever Vladimir had given me to knock me out, focused on the figure in the corner. It was a middle aged man, wearing a hideous sweater vest, with a huge bandage wrapped around his forehead.
Mr. Wilson.
“Would you give us a few moments to talk before Londyn’s parents arrive?” Mr. Wilson asked the nurse, smiling politely. “I’d like to explain to her what happened—after all, I have a degree in counseling and I know Londyn better than any of her teachers.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”
And before I could protest, before I could sound my disapproval or beg, beg against all hope, for the nurse not to leave me alone with that monster, she glided out of the room, as if nothing were wrong, as if nothing could ever be wrong here in this clean, white hospital room, filled with teddy bears, balloons, and smelling of sweet artificial flowers and perfume.
“Do you like the gifts your classmates sent you?” Mr. Wilson asked casually, making his way to me from across the room. He walked slowly, with a limp—did I give him that or was that Vladimir’s work? I couldn’t remember. My memory was all a hazy mush.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded finally, finding my voice. I raised my hand to feel around, see what I was attached to—several machines, several series of tubes, all beeping and booping. “How the hell did I end up here?”
“It seems your biker friends drugged you and raped you. They left you for dead on the side of the road. Not exactly what you expected, was it?”
Tears came to my eyes.
“No… That’s not how it happened…” I whimpered, trying to hold back the water works, though I doubted I would succeed for long, as long as that bastard was in the room.
“Isn’t it? You can’t argue with the basic facts, Londyn,” Mr. Wilson said, as if bored, picking up a teddy bear whose sweater announced “Get Well Soon!”
“But… But… Vladimir wouldn’t do that to me… He just wanted me to be safe.”
“Oh, is that what he told you, Londyn?!” Mr. Wilson all but spat at me. “I gave you ever chance, every opportunity… I watched you ever day, growing up before me, waiting for my chance to show you how much you mean to me… And you spurn me, Londyn Grant. You spat on me and my feelings.”
He tore the bandage from his forehead. The tattoo was obviously becoming infected: it had bloomed into a bloody, swollen mess.
“And now, this is what I’m left with! Why shouldn’t I destroy you, Londyn? Why shouldn’t I tell your parents everything you did with those bastards? Why shouldn’t I kill your chances at a community college, let alone an Ivy League school? If you want to have a life now… You had better beg me. You had better beg me to have mercy on you.”
I began to sob softly, shaking my head.
“No, no, no… Go away… Fuck… Fuck you!”
“Have it your way, Londyn.”
Mr. Wilson began to undo his belt buckle. My eyes widened and I flailed my hand out to hit the call button, trying to summon the nurse. But Mr. Wilson was surprisingly, terrifyingly fast. He caught my hand and forced it onto his cock. I cried out as my fingers involuntarily closed around his hard, throbbing tool.
“This is what you wanted all along, you whore…” Mr. Wilson growled.
“No… No…” I cried out, trying to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let me. He grabbed me by the hair, tearing tubes out of me as he forced himself on me. I cried ou
t again, hoping against hope that somehow, someone would hear, would intervene.
And wouldn’t you know it? I got my wish.
Savior
The sound of a gun being cocked interrupted Mr. Wilson’s assault. I felt his body go numb—I swear it went cold and he lost his erection almost immediately, his cock shriveling up practically into a ball in terror.
“You’ve got a five second head start,” a very familiar voice growled. Mr. Wilson shifted to the left and I saw my savior, standing in the doorway, a bouquet of one dozen roses hanging down, pointed at the ground, in his left hand while a revolver, clutched in his right hand and trembling ever so slightly in rage, was leveled at Mr. Wilson.
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