her down onto her hands, then down further, until she had to lay her pale cheek on the wet ground, wrenching her legs apart with his own, he entered her from behind, suddenly, brutally. A violent tremor shook her body against his. Ramming into her, yanking her back against him by her hips each time, huffing and grunting with each thrust he fucked her, hard and deliberate, each brutal stroke firing his need, urging him on with fresh desperation. More, more, more. He was fucking her with supreme urgency, and he needed more.
Her ass. That tighter place. Shameful place. More to feel there. Fuck yes. He unsheathed his cock from her pussy and pressed the cunt-slicked head to the tight little rim of her asshole. Just the thought of pushing in, stuffing the swollen tip of his prick past that resistant clench made him want to come.
Wait. Wait.
With a determined grip he began feeding her ass his hard cock, inch by inch, first forcing her open with the rounded end, the tight little ring gripping and squeezing him as he finally pushed through, then, with a heaving grunt, sank into her with the full length of his shaft. The conquest accomplished he began pumping furiously, a raging climax bearing down on him, fast and hard.
Her little pulses swelled and quickened as his hard heat widened her gaps, seared hidden softer hotter flesh, filled dark recesses. Her screams were incinerated as they hit the air, never sounding. She was drowning under him, her lungs filling with his 54
obliterating heat roiling over her from above, rent and torn by his cold hardness from below. The incinerating hate voided his core, filling and obliterating her.
He came back to himself. He was a man again. In his room again. Taking off his t-shirt and using it to clean up the mess he had shot onto his stomach and chest.
His rage sated his gut rolled, and he gagged on his shame, slumped under his self-loathing.
What am I, a fucking rapist now?
He had not had a twinge of sexual feeling in months, and the first thing to get his cock hard had been the feeling of a woman struggling to get out of his violent grip. The first fantasy he had jacked off to was that of raping some girl who had done nothing to him. He thought he might puke. He tried to burn away his nausea with three big gulps of whiskey. Then, knowing hours of insomnia were in store for him, he set the empty glass on the night stand and went to bed.
When he awoke the next morning, when he remembered there was a strange woman sleeping in the next room, a bilious mixture of rage, resentment, and remorse rose in Vaughn’s throat. This cabin in the woods had become his one place of refuge on this shitty earth, and here was some stranger, just like those others for all he knew, destroying his privacy, his solitude, his precarious feeling of security.
But then, she had seemed so fragile, sort of broken, and so frightened of him. He had grown so used to being commodified, pawed and tracked, he had nearly forgotten that he was a big, intimidating man who could frighten a woman. With a gun. He remembered the fantasy he had jerked off to the night before and a clammy fist of shame squeezed his gut.
55
He got out of bed and put on the a clean shirt and pants before going to the bathroom to brush the morning-after whiskey taste out of his mouth and take a leak.
Heading toward the kitchen, he found her sitting at the dining table, reading Crime and Punishment .
She looked up from her book to his stare. A dark shadow of beard stubble made his face seem paler. He was haggard and disheveled, and looked scarier than he had the night before. At the same time, though, that thick, towering, rough man looked…fragile. A cracked concrete column.
“I borrowed this from you,” she said apologetically, indicating the novel. “I hope you don’t mind.”
She wished she could evaporate from his sight. Last night she had been afraid he would attack her. Now, as he glowered down at her, she felt like she was really
Her ass. That tighter place. Shameful place. More to feel there. Fuck yes. He unsheathed his cock from her pussy and pressed the cunt-slicked head to the tight little rim of her asshole. Just the thought of pushing in, stuffing the swollen tip of his prick past that resistant clench made him want to come.
Wait. Wait.
With a determined grip he began feeding her ass his hard cock, inch by inch, first forcing her open with the rounded end, the tight little ring gripping and squeezing him as he finally pushed through, then, with a heaving grunt, sank into her with the full length of his shaft. The conquest accomplished he began pumping furiously, a raging climax bearing down on him, fast and hard.
Her little pulses swelled and quickened as his hard heat widened her gaps, seared hidden softer hotter flesh, filled dark recesses. Her screams were incinerated as they hit the air, never sounding. She was drowning under him, her lungs filling with his 54
obliterating heat roiling over her from above, rent and torn by his cold hardness from below. The incinerating hate voided his core, filling and obliterating her.
He came back to himself. He was a man again. In his room again. Taking off his t-shirt and using it to clean up the mess he had shot onto his stomach and chest.
His rage sated his gut rolled, and he gagged on his shame, slumped under his self-loathing.
What am I, a fucking rapist now?
He had not had a twinge of sexual feeling in months, and the first thing to get his cock hard had been the feeling of a woman struggling to get out of his violent grip. The first fantasy he had jacked off to was that of raping some girl who had done nothing to him. He thought he might puke. He tried to burn away his nausea with three big gulps of whiskey. Then, knowing hours of insomnia were in store for him, he set the empty glass on the night stand and went to bed.
When he awoke the next morning, when he remembered there was a strange woman sleeping in the next room, a bilious mixture of rage, resentment, and remorse rose in Vaughn’s throat. This cabin in the woods had become his one place of refuge on this shitty earth, and here was some stranger, just like those others for all he knew, destroying his privacy, his solitude, his precarious feeling of security.
But then, she had seemed so fragile, sort of broken, and so frightened of him. He had grown so used to being commodified, pawed and tracked, he had nearly forgotten that he was a big, intimidating man who could frighten a woman. With a gun. He remembered the fantasy he had jerked off to the night before and a clammy fist of shame squeezed his gut.
55
He got out of bed and put on the a clean shirt and pants before going to the bathroom to brush the morning-after whiskey taste out of his mouth and take a leak.
Heading toward the kitchen, he found her sitting at the dining table, reading Crime and Punishment .
She looked up from her book to his stare. A dark shadow of beard stubble made his face seem paler. He was haggard and disheveled, and looked scarier than he had the night before. At the same time, though, that thick, towering, rough man looked…fragile. A cracked concrete column.
“I borrowed this from you,” she said apologetically, indicating the novel. “I hope you don’t mind.”
She wished she could evaporate from his sight. Last night she had been afraid he would attack her. Now, as he glowered down at her, she felt like she was really
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