by Anna Chillon
His fingers explored the most secretive folds of my intimacy, and at that point, looking at me even more intensely, he made me realize that he’d discovered what I’d wanted to hide. Helpless, I turned my face, pressing my cheek against the carpet and biting my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Heck, Giada...” I blushed from the excitement that spread down there, which I had no way of concealing.
Fuck Giada, heck Giada, Giada... nowadays all he did was accompany my name with an expletive, even when he didn’t say it out loud. I was a little girl and I was inadequate, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
“It's your fault,” I justified, frowning.
“Ah no, darling, it's more than only your fault.” His fingers, wet with my juices, grabbed my chin and brought me back to those wild eyes as I’d never seen them. “Do not wake the sleeping dog, has nobody ever taught you that? Never restrain a wild dog, or he won’t have pity when he bites your neck.”
I had lit the taper of an apparently dud firework. I read it in his eyes at that moment, what his intentions really were and my fear increased. I tried to turn around and grab the thick threads of the rug, and managed to drag myself, crawling forwards a little bit. He made the most of the situation and pulled my pyjama trousers from my feet as I kicked; If I had jeans on he wouldn’t have been able to take them off so easily, but the thin fabric gave way with little protest.
I didn’t get far, as soon as I managed to grab the edge of the rug, I was pulled back by the ankles. I was completely naked now; He had already seen me in the shower, but it wasn’t the same as now, with the curves of my bottom completely exposed and vulnerable.
I heard a noise and it took a moment to realize what it was; it was the sound of his belt loosening, and it sounded as if he was slipping it out of all the loops.
“Vincent...” I begged him, calling his name with all the fear I felt in my voice.
“You think you can treat me like those little boys who run after you. You don’t understand when it’s time to stop, but you will learn, Giada. You’ll learn, baby, I promise you.”
He closed my thighs between his knees, towering over me, shivers of terror were coursing up my back. I wasn’t sure that I was ready for this. I put my forehead on the carpet and put my hands between the woolen threads holding on tight, holding my breath waiting for the lash.
I waited anxiously, as something that could put everything in the right order. I’d done wrong, he’d done wrong, touching me, kissing me: the pain of the punishment would put everything right for both of us. I had to accept it, even though I was sure it was going to hurt like hell.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I didn’t even listen to him, as stiff as a board, waiting to feel the belt coming. But the noise I heard was that of a zip being opened.
His fingers thrust in the dips in front of my hips, turning me back around; immediately I saw that feral look, the promise of irretrievable consequences. As I saw him descending on me, positioned between my thighs, I couldn’t quite believe what was about to happen.
He lowered his trousers, my gaze slipped between our bodies and I saw his cock covered by his hand, swollen, rigid and alien.
It was all too fast, my breathing so heavy that I was going to end up hyperventilating. So was this sex, right? Lack of air, desperate groaning, stomach in turmoil with everything else?
He shook my hips pulling me down, making me feel like a puppy caught in a trap. I wriggled, but I did it with little conviction, managing only to hit the table and knock over a half-full bottle of beer. Out of my mouth came moans and no words that made sense, because my head was making no sense. There was only a chaotic movement of limbs, a ridiculous and uncoordinated rebellion.
Vincent used all his experience and strength to put an end to my efforts at fighting back. He seemed to know what movements I was going to make, and how to move to convince me to let him do it.
The sore knee, suppressed by his, wore me out, wrists and hair clenched in a single iron grip while he used his free hand to guide his dick. I could only move a few insufficient centimetres.
I didn’t have time to think, to carefully reason to be able to make a decision. For his part, Vincent knew I had never been with a man in that way, and knew the significance of what he was doing to me, but he was determined. Because he was not a boy, he was a man and he was sure of what he wanted. No trace of doubt or second thoughts.
The resolute eyes shook mine with the strength of his gaze and for a moment we remained silent, staring at each other. Totally incredulous, I felt his penis pressing, advancing slowly. When he heard me moan in pain he slowed down and was still for a while, leaving me suspended in a limbo of thoughts, fears and mute screams, then pushed his hips more, immersed and moving with suppleness, grunting with satisfaction. Then it was too late to say anything, I was not even able to pronounce a single word.
I understood why it was said that it is a man who fucks a woman and not vice versa. It was as if he had slammed the door of my home and had come in without asking for permission, free to do and take what he wanted. At that moment I felt more his than he mine. It was a house that had never been lived in that he was taking over.
He put his elbows on the ground and covered me completely, so big he blocked any view I had. He sighed, bending his head back, as if he had taken off a huge weight, dropping it on to me.
A harder stroke made me stiffen, it seemed to me that he was enormous and I didn’t have space for it, not without dying. Grappling, I pushed his face away and managed to scratch his cheek before he caught my wrists again and put them back on my head.
“Calm down, it's all right.” He moved his hips, relieving a bit of pressure and then crept back in deep. His tone had softened, but his grip remained brutal, his body heavy, his words too, took away my will to oppose him.
I still refused to look into his face, but he forced me to, taking away that miserable escape.
“You’re hurting me,” I protested, his face appearing distorted by my tears.
“It's natural, you'll see it’ll stop hurting.” He lifted a piece of hair out of my mouth. “But what did you think I would do after you forced me to chase you, eh? That I would’ve left you to one of those jerky guys who hang around you? To Simon, a tuppeny dealer?”
My mouth widened.
“Yes, I knew about his little side line. Your parents are too taken by their future to worry about you, so I had to check up on him myself.” He was brusque with his words, yet there was a worried note in his voice. “You, with your attitude, have brought me to this point. Now, think what you did and tell me you didn’t want it, that your only treasure should not have ended up in the hands of this old, insensitive dog. A bastard who didn’t deserve it.”
I blinked my eyelashes and felt the tears rolling down my temples, the emotion burst into my throat, cancelling my vocal cords. Can I have pity for him or myself?
“Don’t say that,” I whispered. “It's not true.”
“Hate me, Giada.”
“No...” I spoke with a hiccup. I took that old insensitive dog by the shirt, clamping the fabric in my fist, I didn’t even know whether I wanted to bring him closer or push him away, if I was more angry or touched.
I ended up pulling him to me by the neck and accepting his kiss hiccupping in his mouth. While we were kissing I pulled at his clothes, he helped me by stripping himself by flexing his virile body, without coming out of me, because he didn’t have any intention of removing his cock from my body even for a second.
My fingers walked trembling across his hairy chest, discovering what was new, feeling his heart, his breath, finding his warmth. It was vast, almost imposing compared to me, but no, no, it was me who was very small.
Vincent grabbed my breast roughly, stroking me making me moan and arch my back. I wondered if he liked it, if he had the slightest idea of what he was doing to me by touching me that way. Meanwhile, the wetness running down my thighs allowed him to move in and out
of me, hard or less hard, as he wanted, bringing me a tide of indistinguishable, surreal feelings.
In silence broken only by the panting, the images on the TV that I had forgotten to turn off that night were silent, a dog barking outside somewhere... inside time had almost stopped, it went slow as did the course of this intrusive affair. He sank deeply into me, slipping undeterred back and forth, back and forth.
He was forcing me and hurt when he advanced too much, but I resisted as much as I could. Pain was a relative concept for me; I had expected it, I even had wanted it because of what it signified, and now I had it, only I didn’t have the control, he did.
Vincent kept a constant pace, sighing with pleasure. “Christ, you are a little creature made to fuck, I knew it. This is the only way to make you good.”
I had stopped fighting, I was just trembling.
“Relax your legs,” he said, pulling one from his side which I was using as a barricade.
“I can’t,” I said in all honesty, unable to do anything other than cling to him to withstand and retain those feelings that I couldn’t handle.
“Of course you can, open your knees, like a good girl. You’ll have all the time in the world to understand what you like. Now limit yourself to feeling it.” He didn’t express any uncertainty, but only a frightening level of authority, in that circumstance as in almost everything he said and did in everyday life. I was not at his level, I wasn’t even a thousand miles close to the experience he had.
What could I do? I obeyed him, allowed him everything, all of me.
My fast panting got even faster and my pelvis became impatient, unable to stay still. My body became thrilled by the symphony he was playing with his incessant caresses.
“Please... please.” I begged him, I didn’t know what for, shaking under him, and gripping his flesh with my fingers.
“No, Giada. We will do it gently this time, accept it, or I’ll really hurt you.” He took charge of the situation, took charge of me, as a man who had all the experience in the world of making young girls surrender.
I cried again because of the enormity of what I felt; there couldn’t be anything more intense than this. An overpowering act that engaged every single cell: it was pleasure, it was confusion, it was pain, more than anything it was fullness. He stroked my head, kissed my tears. I tasted the salt in his mouth he closed mine with his. So sweet on the outside, so unforgiving inside.
He put his hands under my buttocks, took it in his palms, tilting it to his liking and increased the pressure against his pelvis. My head was spinning fast in a whirl of dizziness.
“Are you OK?” He asked as he realized.
“My head is spinning like crazy.” To say the least.
“Stop holding your breath.”
“Stop taking my breath away.”
He giggled though I was absolutely serious. He stayed inside as deeply as possible for a long time while I was trying to catch my breath. Blinking my lashes, I took advantage of a moment when he leaned up a little to look down to where our sexual organs united incredibly, joining to perfection. I looked at him.
Almost reading my mind, Vincent put the back of his hand on my cheek, preventing me from looking down again, his big nose touching mine. “Yes, that's right, baby. You are all mine.”
Raising an arm that seemed to weigh as much as a brick I put my fingers on his lips, where those words came from. He opened his mouth and sucked my fingertips, lapping them with his tongue, sending me a shiver that made me contract inside and out.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered. His jaw stiffened, as if he wanted to bite. He could no longer hold back, went against what he himself wanted to prevent. He forgot about respecting a young weak girl, a virgin until moments before, and he turned me around bending my arm behind my back. He dealt the fast and powerful thrusts he’d tried to spare me. Fortunately, they were few.
A far away wolf scattered, he answered with a howl to my wild cry. Then there was suddenly a void inside me, one grunt accompanied by a hot stream and everything went silent.
A cool breeze blew across my back wet with Vincent’s sperm as I felt it trickling down my sides.
He finally let go of the hold he had on my arm, bringing it back to its natural position and giving me relief at the same time. I was exhausted and sore, I didn’t even try to open my eyes, I snuggled up where I was still dirty, in a fetal position, not capable of doing anything else.
He looked at me from above for a few seconds, accidentally kicked the beer and picked it up drinking the drop that hadn’t spilt. I heard him beat his fingertips on the neck of the bottle, sure I could feel his eyes staring at my crouching body. A light veil was laid over me: it was his shirt, impregnated with his aroma, now clinging to my skin.
I waited for him to say or do something, but what he did was move away and climb the stairs, leaving me without a word.
The cold started to wrap around me, chilling my insides. I was trembling painfully, I needed human warmth. I was attacked by the smells of sex, and blood. Alone, wondering what had really happened and what words he could use to explain what had happened.
When he came down he found me exactly as he’d left me, hugging myself, locked in my shell. His hands clenched under my side and behind my knees, and he lifted me into his arms, at that moment I was dangerously close to bursting into sobs, but I managed to hold them in by pressing my face against his shoulder.
He smelt clean and had a towel wrapped round his waist. He took me upstairs, past the small bathroom to the big one where he had filled the bath tub with hot water. As he started to lower me in, the change in temperature was too much; I clung on to his neck to stop myself going in, but he immersed me and a moment later I adjusted nicely to the heat that loosened the tension of my shrunken body.
The water was crystal clear, clean and foam free, I clearly saw a red strand of liquid, rising from my pelvis and dissolving. I watched the water turn a pink color in that area. Embarrassed, I didn’t dare to move so as not to worsen the situation.
Vincent sat on the edge of the tub, bent over so that I could’ve counted his vertebrae.
“Now, listen to me, Giada.” He spoke to me and looked at the sink. “Sometimes certain people... certain rare people lead me to lose control. Don’t misunderstand, it doesn’t mean I'm crazy or I would hurt you, no way.”
“Oh no?”
“OK, not in the worst sense of the term, let's say. I'm not trying to justify myself, you're grown up now, you know what I mean. You have to know.” He moved his hands together, crossing his fingers; that speech couldn’t have been easy for him.
“What I want to tell you is that now you have to decide if you want me to leave, because in that case I will do and you will not have to see me anymore. Never again if that’s what you want. You will be free to behave however and say whatever you want about what has happened, I will deal with the consequences, whatever they are. It's a choice you have to make and it's only yours. You can throw me out, but you have to do it now, because if you don’t, Giada...” he shook his head looking at his hands as if they were the cause of everything, “...if you don’t make me disappear from your life, you can no longer expect me to behave with you as I did before. I can’t, I could not, do you understand? We can’t go back. Now that you have had a taste of what I am and now that I have had a taste of you, I can no longer pretend as I’ve done before now.”
Drips from the tap fell into the bath. Three times it went ‘plop’ as if they were urging me to answer. My tears, however, were completely silent. He raised his head and I realized that he was not looking at the sink, but my reflection in the long mirror beside it.
I watched him, his eyes in the shadow of the deep eyebrows, unattainable. It was a face full of edges, but I didn’t know how to hate it in any way, even with effort.
“You can’t even pretend with my Dad?” I was able to articulate with a loud voice.
“Giada…”
“Please. At least with him.”
He nodded his head up and down, although I wasn’t sure about anything, the one thing I knew was that while Vincent was inside me, nothing else existed, neither Simon, school, or Zoe, my entire universe had narrowed to him alone.
Only then I thought of Dad, to what had happened in his friendship with Vincent. They were closer than two brothers, I thought that Vincent would never have risked that bond, not for any reason in the world. Yet he had.
Who are you? I wondered, looking at his profile.
Who was he? Who was that man who had thrown me down, pushing his beast inside? Who had kissed and worshiped my body, stolen my lightheartedness? The man who had faked friendship to impose himself as a lover... I had never known him, not like in that moment, seeing him naked, stripped of his mask.
But most importantly who had I become, when the only thing I could think of was how not to let him go?
What had he done with that petulant girl and her principles? With a deep rip and a caress he’d killed, together with the little girl I was, all the anger I could have felt. He took it away from me, so I couldn’t even hate him.
“If you’ve decided, then it’s agreed. We’ll try to stay as far away as possible from each other when Aron and Adele are at home.” Vincent took the sponge, immersed it in the water and poured shower gel over it. He squeezed it over my throat and started to move down.
Not used to being seen so shamelessly, I blushed, but kept my head held high. I was fascinated by the two twin scratches I’d left on his face, one a little shorter on the right cheek: red marks that vanished under his beard. Taking advantage of his closeness, I passed my finger over a trace of dried blood.
“You hurt me,” I said, as if to justify scratching him.