thestruggle
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In the last one, she's totally saying "I'll be a good girl." God.
Tess's Trifles
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In the last one, she's totally saying "I'll be a good girl." God.
Scuttle Buttin'
Demons at bay
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And her fucking eyes, when she does.
thestruggle
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Not entirely scared about what's happening there, no. Or at least, not unhappy about being scared, maybe.
Scuttle Buttin'
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No, no it's very different from the first one. She's scared in the first one. In the last one, though, there's this very quick smile. She's sinking into it.
thestruggle
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I think so, too. And the way he's got her, almost like a, "what would this do?" And then, he's figured it out.
thestruggle
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thestruggle
A Little Sparrow
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Cat.
thestruggle
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Nightingale.
thestruggle
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I dunno what this could be for but hnnnn.
thestruggle
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thestruggle
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I used to be afraid of meeting with beasts
but I dreamt too many stories where
Ariadnes loved their bull-brothers and
princesses took their dragons to heart
and now there is a desperation in me
for teeth and claws and anger.
Leave me in the maze stringless and
dazed and let the monster chew me up
and spit me out bloodied and hardened.
I will learn vengeance and I will learn
rage and I will be eaten up until I am
tough enough to face a world that would
keep me soft and helpless.
Let me not just meet with monsters
but let me love them also.
[x]
but I dreamt too many stories where
Ariadnes loved their bull-brothers and
princesses took their dragons to heart
and now there is a desperation in me
for teeth and claws and anger.
Leave me in the maze stringless and
dazed and let the monster chew me up
and spit me out bloodied and hardened.
I will learn vengeance and I will learn
rage and I will be eaten up until I am
tough enough to face a world that would
keep me soft and helpless.
Let me not just meet with monsters
but let me love them also.
[x]
thestruggle
A Little Sparrow
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Well fuck.
thestruggle
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saysalice
Literotica Guru
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Just this, please. I'd be very happy with just this.
Over and over...and over and over and over. Right now.
thestruggle
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Please sounds so pretty! Especially in repetition. But then, so does, "No."
Scuttle Buttin'
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This.
Britwitch
Classically curvy
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Scuttle Buttin'
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thestruggle
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Goals.
thestruggle
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thestruggle
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prettyserpentine
...his future wife...
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thestruggle
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A Strange Case.
thestruggle
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(I had to write this, it's been in my head for a week. Took a lot of precious time but, y'know, sometimes things just won't go away. Please don't read if violence/non-con/abuse triggers you. I didn't know where else to put it, so I'm just popping it here. Still not really at full capacity. Sorry. 
)
It felt a little like a high school party. The keg was in the kitchen, with a steady crowd milling around and filling the space. There were all of the necessary requirements: raucous bursts of laughter, too-loud conversations, and practically empty red Solo cups placed on every available surface. The atmosphere was picking up and the porch doors were thrown wide open. Cigarette smoke filtered in from the backyard, front yard, garage doorway. A time without beer and cigarettes at a house packed with people would probably never occur, even if the neighbors muttered. It was warm enough that people trailed outside and to the deck chairs. The air held that bite in it, though. Fall was creeping in and earlier it had smelled like burning leaves. Football season. Long shirts and jeans.
The neighborhood was good, too. It happened like that, in college towns. By the university there would be a committed settlement of old houses and liberal money. Doctors and professors and probably a few lawyers. It was like the Connecticut of the city: quietly wealthy, and cheerfully relaxed in the manner of people who never had to worry about where their bread was coming from. On the cusp of the stately fraternity and sorority houses, right before it morphed into the necessary bar district. The streets were wide and the houses were set back. They probably had wood floors and high ceilings. A fireplace in the living room. A BMW in the driveway. They were used to college parties and their aftermath. They rarely called the cops.
She had only had a beer or two, which was a feat unto itself. Keg parties ran with a wealth of alcohol. If it went dry, another was pulled from the pantry. But he hadn't wanted to stay very long, and they had planned on going to the bar. They didn't do that very often, anymore. The more time went by, the more it seemed like a waste of a night. Classes had started and it was time to work. She felt good about it, though. That giddy, start-in-your-stomach feeling about a clear night and familiar scenarios had gripped her when they got out of their car. She was hooked, even if they did have to leave. He had pumped the keg for her and handed her a cup that was just how she liked it: about a fourth of an inch of head and the rest hoppy bubbles. Small things like that. She ran her fingertips in circles on the white surface, waiting for the oils in her skin to reduce the distance. They went into the backyard.
One thing led to another and they stayed longer than they meant to. He was strict, though, and she stuck to her two beers. She leaned into his side and buried her nose against his flannel shirt, inhaling. He smelled like cologne and cigarettes and laundry soap. It was the best smell in the world. The guy he was talking to was someone she didn't know, someone from the past. Any appreciable buzz she had gained from her minimal intake was long gone. She wanted to go home and peel the shirt off his chest. Her blood felt busy and eager. The nights were so rare. She missed him. The conversation continued, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“Have you talked to Evan? He was in Germany, last I heard.”
“Austria, I think. It was Greece before that.”
The guy laughed. “Must be nice. Fucking bunny-hop the globe and drink your way home. He brought some glassware home from Vietnam and I don't know how he did it.”
“What a jackass. Maybe he'll be the Vietnam One. Golden Triangle kind of bullshit.”
She smiled. He drained his cup and looked down at her.
“You ready to go, baby?”
“Mm. Yeah, think so. I'm sleepy.”
He hooked a finger into her cup and stacked it on his, rubbed her briskly with his other arm.
“And cold. Gettin' chilly! Let's go.”
He released her and the two men did one of those high-five hand grab things. She reached out and took the cups from him, spying a trashcan tucked next to the patio doors. She didn't hear what they said in their farewells over the party noise and the rustle of the bin liner. It must have been funny: they separated with a laugh. She slipped her hand into his and they moved through the house. Things were starting to wind down, but there were plenty of people around. Alone, finally, walking away from the glow of the house lights. The car was at the end of the street, near a dead end.
“Did you have a good time?”
“I guess. I didn't really talk to anyone this time.”
“I know. I'm sorry. Just one of those things where you don't know how to end the conversation. It was like, uh, okay, gotta go.”
She glanced at him with an exasperated smile, saying, “It's fine. You were having fun, it seemed like you and that guy were pals. I didn't know he knew Evan. I don't even know who he is though. Is he-?”
“Oh, just some guy. I think he used to buy weed from Shaun.”
They were quiet for a few beats, walking down the sidewalk.
“What'd you think of him?”
“Uh. Ahm, well, I didn't really.”
Silence.
She giggled, “He was tall, I guess.”
“Oh, really? Taller than me?”
He held her hand as she balance-walked on the curb, dipping her toes down into the street side. She felt punchy and suddenly wide awake.
“May-beee. Why, are you jealous?”
He laughed and pushed her up on the hood of their car. It was cold underneath her. She had worn a baggy sweater to help with the chill, but her leggings were thin. They clung to her skin and molded every line of her leg. Didn't do much for warmth, though. He stood between her open thighs and sighed with satisfaction.
“That depends. Did he get you worked up?”
She scoffed, and felt her cheeks heat up rebelliously. “No! No, I didn't even-”
“Are you sure? I think he liked you,” came the reply. He ran his palms over her inner thighs. “Seems pretty warm down here.”
“Ryan!” She protested as she noticed shadows stretching across the lawn of the house they had just occupied. Other people were leaving.
“What? No one can see us. It's dark down here,” he said, taking her hand and sliding it across his stomach. Her cheeks were flaming, but she felt her heart flap in her chest as her fingertips skidded across the band of his briefs. “I know you like the dark.”
Car doors slammed and she shrank back, her hand pulling away from his fly. “Someone will see.”
He laughed at her and looked over his shoulder. “I don't care. But if it bothers you so much – look, there's a cut-off. Let's go over there.”
The flighty-summer feeling had left her by then, but she was still curious enough to try. She hated the woods, ordinarily, but this was just a small copse of trees. Their hands met and he pulled her towards the foliage, backing her up against rough bark. His breath came before his lips and she felt her mouth water before the kiss crushed the air between them. Her hands went first this time and found the button of his jeans, the jagged metal of his fly. The woods seemed full of nothing but their noise, fleeting pops of color. Her leggings snagged on the tree behind her, but she didn't care. She wanted his cock in her hand, her mouth, inside her. Something about the openness and haste, the way he dragged his fingers hard down her back, made her uncaring and impatient. He gripped her then as she wrapped her hand around him. She broke the kiss and cracked a smile.
“Greedy girl. What? Don't stop.”
“I'm not stopping, I just wanted to -”
“Shut up. Put my cock in your mouth.”
“But the ground -”
“I don't care.” His hands left her body and he buried them in her hair, shoving her down to the earth. She felt the damp soil underneath her knees and twigs scratched at the flimsy material of her leggings. It hurt but she still opened her mouth obediently, rising slightly from her crouch to shove his jeans away.
“No hands.”
She felt her eyebrows quirk at the correction but it wasn't anything new. She was mostly good and listened, but out in the woods it was different. He was merciless here, somehow. She felt less like the girl that had held his hand at the party and more like... more like a toy, an accessory. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see his face moderately well, with the moon shining down. He was hard, straining in front of her eyes as her lips brushed against his skin. He didn't say not to tease. She ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, letting it drag over his taut skin languorously. His fist tightened in her hair.
“Cute. That's cute. Open your mouth wider.”
She complied, as he gripped his length himself and rubbed it across her lips. He dipped the head of his cock into her mouth, drawing the spit out and circling it on her skin. Her eyes watched him, tongue struggling to capture him as he repeated the process.
“That's good. You gonna ask me?”
The noise of protest that came after his question caused him to pull back, with a yank on her hair that was hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. He stroked himself in front of her, just out of reach.
“Y-yes. Please,” she said, tremulously.
“Please, what? You think I'm a fuckin' mind reader?” He whipped her head back and forth, shaking it for her. “Silly. You better ask me.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please,” she whispered, trying to make her voice stronger. Her cheeks were so hot she thought they would set that way, aflame forever. “Give me your cock, please. Please, I want it, in my mouth. Please? Please let me suck your cock, please? I'm so -”
“So what?” He brought himself closer, a drop of pre-cum so close to her mouth that she could have touched the tip of her tongue to him and had a taste. She wanted to, but she didn't want to know what would happen. Maybe it'd be worth it.
“So... hungry,” she burst out, slapping her thighs in frustration and desire and a million other things.
“Good. That's good,” he muttered, his voice crooning and menacing and raspy all at once. “Do it, baby. Open.”
She did then, with a moan of relief that was muffled as she licked the crown of his cock and swallowed the salt. He didn't ease up this time, didn't let her tease. He pushed forward and she felt her mouth shrink around him, full, and then her throat as her lips finally met the rough hair on his body. Tears began to stream from her eyes, and she did the nostril-breathing that sounded like harried panting when he didn't stop. Her gag reflex worked once, twice, and then settled just barely on the edge. She rolled her tongue out, as much as she could, and eased it over his balls. The spit was building up in her mouth, and everything burned. Her lips stretched. Her eyes were so full of tears that she couldn't see in front of her, and she felt them overflow onto her cheeks. She made a noise of shrill objection.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck. One, two -” He pulled out with a groan, and a heavy string of spit connected his cock to her lips. He ran his finger through it and painted it on her mouth. The tears, too. He smeared her eyeliner down her cheeks. Her throat worked hard, her hands messy with dirt and foliage. She coughed and looked up at him, beseechingly.
“Such a pretty mouth,” he said, affectionately. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned his head back. “She mostly listens. She's a good girl.”
He was talking to someone. Her mouth went dry, for all the sopping mess that he had elicited from it. Her heart hammered in her chest and she scooted back against the tree, ignoring the jabbing pain of a stick in the tender underside of her knee. Leaves whispered as someone walked forward to them. He had been concealed behind the thicker cluster of trees. He had changed into a dark sweatshirt. The guy from the party. He could have been a shadow. He came up alongside Ryan as the latter zipped his jeans shut. They both studied the quaking figure in front of them.
“Rya -”
They laughed.
“She talks, too,” the stranger said.
“Oh, yeah. She begs, cries, all that stuff.”
She tried to struggle to her feet, and her legs felt like she had never used them before. Completely nerveless, cold, and numb. The quickness of her pulse had slowed to sludge and her skin felt icy. She wasn't here to them, she was a part of the tree. She was a thing. Incredibly, pathetically, she felt the tears ramp up again. She dragged a fist wrapped in the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes, stumbling back against the bolstering weight of the trunk.
“Ryan, please. Please, what's happening? Wh-what's... Who is that? I want to go home. Can we go home?”
Ryan looked at her appraisingly, plucking a leaf from her hair. He looked – almost regretful? She felt a chill go down her spine. He nodded to the stranger, and stepped back. She tried to repeat her questions, her breath coming back faster and faster. The panic began to seep through her skin like an insect scrabbling over a blank surface: immediate and bizarre, a paranoid itch. The man stepped forward, and when the punch came it knocked the wind out of her so hard that she had to sit down. He had pulled it, but she didn't know that. She gasped after a frightening interval of feeling the lack of breath in her lungs, her body, her bloodstream. The dirt beneath her suddenly felt safe. Small. They were laughing again.
“Alright. Let me do the thing.”
“Sure. I've got my car behind the trees. Gonna get it running.”
Their breath was starting to show in the chill of the air. The leaves moved again as the stranger walked away. She wanted to run, then, run away. The nausea was starting to dissipate, but she didn't dare stand up. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to die. Ryan wouldn't let her die. Ryan wouldn't hurt her unless she wanted him to. And she didn't want him to. Didn't she? He knelt in front of her.
“Skylar.”
When he said her name, she started crying in earnest. It crystallized everything, somehow; it was real now. His hands came around her and he pulled her up to look at him, supporting her tenderly.
“Ryan, what are you – what is this, who is th-”
“Shh, shh. You gotta listen. You listening? I mean it. If you don't listen, you get another one. The face, this time. Or worse. You hear me?”
Dizziness whirled through her head, and she neither acquiesced nor protested.
“I told you, I've been telling you. You remember how you're mine? Just nod for me, baby.”
She nodded, sniffling.
“You're gonna do this. You're gonna do what Johnny says. You're gonna be a good girl.”
Her voice cracked as she spoke, almost a whispered scream, “How can you do this? I'm a person, I love you, I love you. You love me, we're h-”
He slapped her then, hard. It felt like a book had been tossed into her cheek. He slapped her again, catching her lip. Her tooth caught the edge of her skin and stung. Blood welled at the cut, and she was quiet.
“I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to hurt your face. You're too pretty. You're too pretty not to listen, okay? You need to listen to me,” he said, imploringly. The back of his hand caressed her face, the side of her neck.
She nodded: just a tiny movement of her head.
“It's just for a little while. I'll be there soon. A few days. You're so special to me, Sky,” Ryan whispered this into her hair, the tangled strands threading through his fingers. “I've been waiting for someone like you for so long. We've been waiting. I have so many things planned. So many beautiful things.”
His voice wavered away at the last, into a dream only he could see. She felt the nausea return, circling around her gut. The tears wouldn't stop. She tried to push him away from her, feebly. The palms of her hands felt ineffectual and unreal, and he paid them no attention.
“You gotta kiss me goodbye for now, baby. Just for a little while. I'm gonna be with you really soon.” He bent his mouth to her then and they kissed. She had been kissing him for so long that it was like a reflex, even if her lips were trembling and frozen.
“You're so cold, Sky. We gotta warm you up. Johnny's coming back. See? He brought you a blanket.”
The blanket was laid down on the ground and Johnny had pulled on a pair of black gloves. The shaking in her bones was so violent that she could barely keep her teeth from clacking together. When they began to lift her, she kicked out and tried to scream. She fought. She did everything she was supposed to. And then they duct-taped her legs and hands, and slapped some over her mouth. She was rolled in the blanket and they stood above her, smoking cigarettes.
“So, I'll be there in three days. I'll finish everything up here, and start heading your way.”
“Cool. I'm sure we'll be settled in by then.”
They both looked down at her.
“I wonder what she thinks is gonna happen.”
Ryan laughed.
“She's creative. I'm sure there's all kinds of thoughts spinning around in there. She'll find out.”
By then the tears had dried on her face, and her skin felt stiff. Ryan kissed her forehead and helped Johnny carry her the short distance to his car, where she was dumped into the trunk. And then it was just her and the stranger. Their eyes met: hers wild and rolling, his glittering with amusement. He bent down and ripped the tape off of her mouth with a fast tug, and loosened the blanket slightly.
“You go ahead and scream. No one's gonna hear you. We're taking back roads. Besides, I like how you sound.”
He moved his hand into her sweater, past the cups of her bra.
“I was standing there, in the woods. I heard how wet your mouth was. I heard you beg for cock.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Despite everything, her body felt hot and invaded. She couldn't feel numb with that picture in her head. She hated him and his recitation. His fingers rolled around one of her nipples and then pinched, brutally. She gasped, her lips finally coming unstuck after the remnants of the tape worked free. The delicate skin of her mouth hummed with the pain of everything: the punch, the slap, the rough handling, the rawness of her throat. Her eyes flashed back open and she looked at him, trying to find something in his eyes. There was something. A smile. She wished she hadn't looked.
“You like that, don't you? Being a hole. Being a mouth.”
She jerked her head in negation. She knew she should scream, and she wanted to. He moved his hand casually to a hunting knife strapped at his waist when she inhaled. She shuddered.
“I know you do. Ryan's told me all about you. The things you dream about, the things you didn't want to tell him.”
He bent down again, and his mouth was against her ear.
“All of those things in the dark. What you ask for, what you crawl for.”
She moaned then, muffled sobs working through her throat and bursting out of her. He was seeping into her head, and she couldn't stop it.
“So you scream. I'm gonna slam the trunk, and I want you to lay in here while we're driving. I want you think about being alone with me, stranded. I want you to think about what I'm gonna do to you, what I'm gonna take from you. You're gonna be my pretty little cunt. And you're gonna beg me for it.”
The trunk lid came down and her eyes met the dark. She screamed then, and she did it until she was hoarse. They pulled away, out onto a gravel turn-off.
“Keep it up, fuckdoll. Let's see how long you hold out," Johnny yelled, over the engine and the road.
Tears tasted bitter in the dark. The dark wrapped around her as she was jolted around in the trunk, with her hands and feet painfully holstered. She hated the dark. She tried to think of the light that would come.
She didn't think it would.
)It felt a little like a high school party. The keg was in the kitchen, with a steady crowd milling around and filling the space. There were all of the necessary requirements: raucous bursts of laughter, too-loud conversations, and practically empty red Solo cups placed on every available surface. The atmosphere was picking up and the porch doors were thrown wide open. Cigarette smoke filtered in from the backyard, front yard, garage doorway. A time without beer and cigarettes at a house packed with people would probably never occur, even if the neighbors muttered. It was warm enough that people trailed outside and to the deck chairs. The air held that bite in it, though. Fall was creeping in and earlier it had smelled like burning leaves. Football season. Long shirts and jeans.
The neighborhood was good, too. It happened like that, in college towns. By the university there would be a committed settlement of old houses and liberal money. Doctors and professors and probably a few lawyers. It was like the Connecticut of the city: quietly wealthy, and cheerfully relaxed in the manner of people who never had to worry about where their bread was coming from. On the cusp of the stately fraternity and sorority houses, right before it morphed into the necessary bar district. The streets were wide and the houses were set back. They probably had wood floors and high ceilings. A fireplace in the living room. A BMW in the driveway. They were used to college parties and their aftermath. They rarely called the cops.
She had only had a beer or two, which was a feat unto itself. Keg parties ran with a wealth of alcohol. If it went dry, another was pulled from the pantry. But he hadn't wanted to stay very long, and they had planned on going to the bar. They didn't do that very often, anymore. The more time went by, the more it seemed like a waste of a night. Classes had started and it was time to work. She felt good about it, though. That giddy, start-in-your-stomach feeling about a clear night and familiar scenarios had gripped her when they got out of their car. She was hooked, even if they did have to leave. He had pumped the keg for her and handed her a cup that was just how she liked it: about a fourth of an inch of head and the rest hoppy bubbles. Small things like that. She ran her fingertips in circles on the white surface, waiting for the oils in her skin to reduce the distance. They went into the backyard.
One thing led to another and they stayed longer than they meant to. He was strict, though, and she stuck to her two beers. She leaned into his side and buried her nose against his flannel shirt, inhaling. He smelled like cologne and cigarettes and laundry soap. It was the best smell in the world. The guy he was talking to was someone she didn't know, someone from the past. Any appreciable buzz she had gained from her minimal intake was long gone. She wanted to go home and peel the shirt off his chest. Her blood felt busy and eager. The nights were so rare. She missed him. The conversation continued, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“Have you talked to Evan? He was in Germany, last I heard.”
“Austria, I think. It was Greece before that.”
The guy laughed. “Must be nice. Fucking bunny-hop the globe and drink your way home. He brought some glassware home from Vietnam and I don't know how he did it.”
“What a jackass. Maybe he'll be the Vietnam One. Golden Triangle kind of bullshit.”
She smiled. He drained his cup and looked down at her.
“You ready to go, baby?”
“Mm. Yeah, think so. I'm sleepy.”
He hooked a finger into her cup and stacked it on his, rubbed her briskly with his other arm.
“And cold. Gettin' chilly! Let's go.”
He released her and the two men did one of those high-five hand grab things. She reached out and took the cups from him, spying a trashcan tucked next to the patio doors. She didn't hear what they said in their farewells over the party noise and the rustle of the bin liner. It must have been funny: they separated with a laugh. She slipped her hand into his and they moved through the house. Things were starting to wind down, but there were plenty of people around. Alone, finally, walking away from the glow of the house lights. The car was at the end of the street, near a dead end.
“Did you have a good time?”
“I guess. I didn't really talk to anyone this time.”
“I know. I'm sorry. Just one of those things where you don't know how to end the conversation. It was like, uh, okay, gotta go.”
She glanced at him with an exasperated smile, saying, “It's fine. You were having fun, it seemed like you and that guy were pals. I didn't know he knew Evan. I don't even know who he is though. Is he-?”
“Oh, just some guy. I think he used to buy weed from Shaun.”
They were quiet for a few beats, walking down the sidewalk.
“What'd you think of him?”
“Uh. Ahm, well, I didn't really.”
Silence.
She giggled, “He was tall, I guess.”
“Oh, really? Taller than me?”
He held her hand as she balance-walked on the curb, dipping her toes down into the street side. She felt punchy and suddenly wide awake.
“May-beee. Why, are you jealous?”
He laughed and pushed her up on the hood of their car. It was cold underneath her. She had worn a baggy sweater to help with the chill, but her leggings were thin. They clung to her skin and molded every line of her leg. Didn't do much for warmth, though. He stood between her open thighs and sighed with satisfaction.
“That depends. Did he get you worked up?”
She scoffed, and felt her cheeks heat up rebelliously. “No! No, I didn't even-”
“Are you sure? I think he liked you,” came the reply. He ran his palms over her inner thighs. “Seems pretty warm down here.”
“Ryan!” She protested as she noticed shadows stretching across the lawn of the house they had just occupied. Other people were leaving.
“What? No one can see us. It's dark down here,” he said, taking her hand and sliding it across his stomach. Her cheeks were flaming, but she felt her heart flap in her chest as her fingertips skidded across the band of his briefs. “I know you like the dark.”
Car doors slammed and she shrank back, her hand pulling away from his fly. “Someone will see.”
He laughed at her and looked over his shoulder. “I don't care. But if it bothers you so much – look, there's a cut-off. Let's go over there.”
The flighty-summer feeling had left her by then, but she was still curious enough to try. She hated the woods, ordinarily, but this was just a small copse of trees. Their hands met and he pulled her towards the foliage, backing her up against rough bark. His breath came before his lips and she felt her mouth water before the kiss crushed the air between them. Her hands went first this time and found the button of his jeans, the jagged metal of his fly. The woods seemed full of nothing but their noise, fleeting pops of color. Her leggings snagged on the tree behind her, but she didn't care. She wanted his cock in her hand, her mouth, inside her. Something about the openness and haste, the way he dragged his fingers hard down her back, made her uncaring and impatient. He gripped her then as she wrapped her hand around him. She broke the kiss and cracked a smile.
“Greedy girl. What? Don't stop.”
“I'm not stopping, I just wanted to -”
“Shut up. Put my cock in your mouth.”
“But the ground -”
“I don't care.” His hands left her body and he buried them in her hair, shoving her down to the earth. She felt the damp soil underneath her knees and twigs scratched at the flimsy material of her leggings. It hurt but she still opened her mouth obediently, rising slightly from her crouch to shove his jeans away.
“No hands.”
She felt her eyebrows quirk at the correction but it wasn't anything new. She was mostly good and listened, but out in the woods it was different. He was merciless here, somehow. She felt less like the girl that had held his hand at the party and more like... more like a toy, an accessory. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see his face moderately well, with the moon shining down. He was hard, straining in front of her eyes as her lips brushed against his skin. He didn't say not to tease. She ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, letting it drag over his taut skin languorously. His fist tightened in her hair.
“Cute. That's cute. Open your mouth wider.”
She complied, as he gripped his length himself and rubbed it across her lips. He dipped the head of his cock into her mouth, drawing the spit out and circling it on her skin. Her eyes watched him, tongue struggling to capture him as he repeated the process.
“That's good. You gonna ask me?”
The noise of protest that came after his question caused him to pull back, with a yank on her hair that was hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. He stroked himself in front of her, just out of reach.
“Y-yes. Please,” she said, tremulously.
“Please, what? You think I'm a fuckin' mind reader?” He whipped her head back and forth, shaking it for her. “Silly. You better ask me.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please,” she whispered, trying to make her voice stronger. Her cheeks were so hot she thought they would set that way, aflame forever. “Give me your cock, please. Please, I want it, in my mouth. Please? Please let me suck your cock, please? I'm so -”
“So what?” He brought himself closer, a drop of pre-cum so close to her mouth that she could have touched the tip of her tongue to him and had a taste. She wanted to, but she didn't want to know what would happen. Maybe it'd be worth it.
“So... hungry,” she burst out, slapping her thighs in frustration and desire and a million other things.
“Good. That's good,” he muttered, his voice crooning and menacing and raspy all at once. “Do it, baby. Open.”
She did then, with a moan of relief that was muffled as she licked the crown of his cock and swallowed the salt. He didn't ease up this time, didn't let her tease. He pushed forward and she felt her mouth shrink around him, full, and then her throat as her lips finally met the rough hair on his body. Tears began to stream from her eyes, and she did the nostril-breathing that sounded like harried panting when he didn't stop. Her gag reflex worked once, twice, and then settled just barely on the edge. She rolled her tongue out, as much as she could, and eased it over his balls. The spit was building up in her mouth, and everything burned. Her lips stretched. Her eyes were so full of tears that she couldn't see in front of her, and she felt them overflow onto her cheeks. She made a noise of shrill objection.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck. One, two -” He pulled out with a groan, and a heavy string of spit connected his cock to her lips. He ran his finger through it and painted it on her mouth. The tears, too. He smeared her eyeliner down her cheeks. Her throat worked hard, her hands messy with dirt and foliage. She coughed and looked up at him, beseechingly.
“Such a pretty mouth,” he said, affectionately. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned his head back. “She mostly listens. She's a good girl.”
He was talking to someone. Her mouth went dry, for all the sopping mess that he had elicited from it. Her heart hammered in her chest and she scooted back against the tree, ignoring the jabbing pain of a stick in the tender underside of her knee. Leaves whispered as someone walked forward to them. He had been concealed behind the thicker cluster of trees. He had changed into a dark sweatshirt. The guy from the party. He could have been a shadow. He came up alongside Ryan as the latter zipped his jeans shut. They both studied the quaking figure in front of them.
“Rya -”
They laughed.
“She talks, too,” the stranger said.
“Oh, yeah. She begs, cries, all that stuff.”
She tried to struggle to her feet, and her legs felt like she had never used them before. Completely nerveless, cold, and numb. The quickness of her pulse had slowed to sludge and her skin felt icy. She wasn't here to them, she was a part of the tree. She was a thing. Incredibly, pathetically, she felt the tears ramp up again. She dragged a fist wrapped in the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes, stumbling back against the bolstering weight of the trunk.
“Ryan, please. Please, what's happening? Wh-what's... Who is that? I want to go home. Can we go home?”
Ryan looked at her appraisingly, plucking a leaf from her hair. He looked – almost regretful? She felt a chill go down her spine. He nodded to the stranger, and stepped back. She tried to repeat her questions, her breath coming back faster and faster. The panic began to seep through her skin like an insect scrabbling over a blank surface: immediate and bizarre, a paranoid itch. The man stepped forward, and when the punch came it knocked the wind out of her so hard that she had to sit down. He had pulled it, but she didn't know that. She gasped after a frightening interval of feeling the lack of breath in her lungs, her body, her bloodstream. The dirt beneath her suddenly felt safe. Small. They were laughing again.
“Alright. Let me do the thing.”
“Sure. I've got my car behind the trees. Gonna get it running.”
Their breath was starting to show in the chill of the air. The leaves moved again as the stranger walked away. She wanted to run, then, run away. The nausea was starting to dissipate, but she didn't dare stand up. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to die. Ryan wouldn't let her die. Ryan wouldn't hurt her unless she wanted him to. And she didn't want him to. Didn't she? He knelt in front of her.
“Skylar.”
When he said her name, she started crying in earnest. It crystallized everything, somehow; it was real now. His hands came around her and he pulled her up to look at him, supporting her tenderly.
“Ryan, what are you – what is this, who is th-”
“Shh, shh. You gotta listen. You listening? I mean it. If you don't listen, you get another one. The face, this time. Or worse. You hear me?”
Dizziness whirled through her head, and she neither acquiesced nor protested.
“I told you, I've been telling you. You remember how you're mine? Just nod for me, baby.”
She nodded, sniffling.
“You're gonna do this. You're gonna do what Johnny says. You're gonna be a good girl.”
Her voice cracked as she spoke, almost a whispered scream, “How can you do this? I'm a person, I love you, I love you. You love me, we're h-”
He slapped her then, hard. It felt like a book had been tossed into her cheek. He slapped her again, catching her lip. Her tooth caught the edge of her skin and stung. Blood welled at the cut, and she was quiet.
“I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to hurt your face. You're too pretty. You're too pretty not to listen, okay? You need to listen to me,” he said, imploringly. The back of his hand caressed her face, the side of her neck.
She nodded: just a tiny movement of her head.
“It's just for a little while. I'll be there soon. A few days. You're so special to me, Sky,” Ryan whispered this into her hair, the tangled strands threading through his fingers. “I've been waiting for someone like you for so long. We've been waiting. I have so many things planned. So many beautiful things.”
His voice wavered away at the last, into a dream only he could see. She felt the nausea return, circling around her gut. The tears wouldn't stop. She tried to push him away from her, feebly. The palms of her hands felt ineffectual and unreal, and he paid them no attention.
“You gotta kiss me goodbye for now, baby. Just for a little while. I'm gonna be with you really soon.” He bent his mouth to her then and they kissed. She had been kissing him for so long that it was like a reflex, even if her lips were trembling and frozen.
“You're so cold, Sky. We gotta warm you up. Johnny's coming back. See? He brought you a blanket.”
The blanket was laid down on the ground and Johnny had pulled on a pair of black gloves. The shaking in her bones was so violent that she could barely keep her teeth from clacking together. When they began to lift her, she kicked out and tried to scream. She fought. She did everything she was supposed to. And then they duct-taped her legs and hands, and slapped some over her mouth. She was rolled in the blanket and they stood above her, smoking cigarettes.
“So, I'll be there in three days. I'll finish everything up here, and start heading your way.”
“Cool. I'm sure we'll be settled in by then.”
They both looked down at her.
“I wonder what she thinks is gonna happen.”
Ryan laughed.
“She's creative. I'm sure there's all kinds of thoughts spinning around in there. She'll find out.”
By then the tears had dried on her face, and her skin felt stiff. Ryan kissed her forehead and helped Johnny carry her the short distance to his car, where she was dumped into the trunk. And then it was just her and the stranger. Their eyes met: hers wild and rolling, his glittering with amusement. He bent down and ripped the tape off of her mouth with a fast tug, and loosened the blanket slightly.
“You go ahead and scream. No one's gonna hear you. We're taking back roads. Besides, I like how you sound.”
He moved his hand into her sweater, past the cups of her bra.
“I was standing there, in the woods. I heard how wet your mouth was. I heard you beg for cock.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Despite everything, her body felt hot and invaded. She couldn't feel numb with that picture in her head. She hated him and his recitation. His fingers rolled around one of her nipples and then pinched, brutally. She gasped, her lips finally coming unstuck after the remnants of the tape worked free. The delicate skin of her mouth hummed with the pain of everything: the punch, the slap, the rough handling, the rawness of her throat. Her eyes flashed back open and she looked at him, trying to find something in his eyes. There was something. A smile. She wished she hadn't looked.
“You like that, don't you? Being a hole. Being a mouth.”
She jerked her head in negation. She knew she should scream, and she wanted to. He moved his hand casually to a hunting knife strapped at his waist when she inhaled. She shuddered.
“I know you do. Ryan's told me all about you. The things you dream about, the things you didn't want to tell him.”
He bent down again, and his mouth was against her ear.
“All of those things in the dark. What you ask for, what you crawl for.”
She moaned then, muffled sobs working through her throat and bursting out of her. He was seeping into her head, and she couldn't stop it.
“So you scream. I'm gonna slam the trunk, and I want you to lay in here while we're driving. I want you think about being alone with me, stranded. I want you to think about what I'm gonna do to you, what I'm gonna take from you. You're gonna be my pretty little cunt. And you're gonna beg me for it.”
The trunk lid came down and her eyes met the dark. She screamed then, and she did it until she was hoarse. They pulled away, out onto a gravel turn-off.
“Keep it up, fuckdoll. Let's see how long you hold out," Johnny yelled, over the engine and the road.
Tears tasted bitter in the dark. The dark wrapped around her as she was jolted around in the trunk, with her hands and feet painfully holstered. She hated the dark. She tried to think of the light that would come.
She didn't think it would.
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