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Ironically, I had known Tom for most of my life. We grew
up together, somewhat, and were friends off and on, but as we grew older, we also grew apart. The last time I remembered seeing
him was in high school, at a dance.
My date had finally shown up, but with another girl, so I was sitting outside crying
when Tom walked up to me. He smiled, handing me a bunch of flowers. I looked up amazed, and there was Tom, good old Tom, who
was always nice. He brushed a tear off my cheek, and said something quaint like, "He was a loser anyhow."
I danced
with him that night, and teased him mercilessly--he was a very helpful tool in re-inflating my ego. I had always teased him,
really, because he was safe--he was the kind of guy that girls turn to when their boyfriends are total shits to them. He never
hit on you, and always treated you with respect.
So I rubbed up against him and pretended not to notice when
he got hard. He wasn't threatening, even when you knew he wanted you. That was the last time I saw him. To be perfectly honest,
I forgot all about him.
One day recently, I received an email worded very much like
many others I have gotten. It said:
"I am the man you write about, I am the man you fear. I know what you need and want,
and you will not escape me."
I didn't think too much about it, I'd received dozens like it. Then followed another:
"You
looked lovely today in that white dress...see you tomorrow"
Then I panicked, for there I sat, still in the white dress
I'd worn out the door that day. I was in a quandary, not sure what to do. No more emails came to me. Gradually, it began to
fade in my mind.
Leaving work one day, I found there was a note on my car's windshield. "In the white again, thank
you." was all it said.
My eyes darted around the garage, but whoever had left the
note was either well hidden or long gone, for the garage appeared deserted. I stood there uncertainly for a moment, and then
climbed into my car. The moment I sat down every warning alarm in my head went off: I hadn't unlocked the door--it was already
unlocked.
I swallowed hard then thought frantically, 'maybe I hadn't locked it this morning,' I tried to convince
myself. 'But I always locked it!' my mind screamed back. Trying hard to keep myself under control, I turned slowly towards
my backseat, every urban legend I'd ever heard running through my mind.
I sucked in a big gulp of air and thought
I was going to scream, but instead, my eyes grew wide and a squeak came out from between my lips. Sitting in my backseat,
a gun in his hand and a smile on his face, sat Tom. The gun was leveled at my face, it's chamber staring at me like some horrible
hungry eye. I stared transfixed at it as my mouth worked open and shut.
"Hello Heather, so nice to see you again,"
Tom said to me. His voice jerked my eyes away from the gun and back onto his face.
He had changed some, I thought to myself. No longer was
he the mousy bookish sort with the small frame and the caring eyes. Before my eyes sat another version of this man, one I
had never known. His body was large; it looked curled and cramped in my backseat. His hands seemed huge, rough. A scar cut
across his left cheek, ending just below his eye. And those eyes. I held my breath as I looked into them. Cold, calculating,
these eyes held nothing in them of the Tom that I had known.
He smiled at me again then moved the gun forward, pressing
it against my temple. "Drive the car, Heather," he said, "get on the highway and head out of town. Be a good girl for me and
I promise I won't use this,” he said, pressing the gun to my temple again for effect.
My hands were shaking
so badly I could barely hold my keys. It took me a few minutes just to fit the key into the ignition, but I finally did. Putting
the car into drive, my knees knocking together under the steering wheel, I drove off.
We drove in silence for the
better part of half an hour. Every once in a while he would push the cold nuzzle of the gun into my side to remind me to behave.
Like I could forget about the gun. Once we were fully clear of the city, he told me to pull off on an exit that looked like
it went absolutely nowhere. Off the highway, I looked around and could see only cornfields and farmland spreading to the horizon
in each direction.
We drove down this farm road for some minutes before we
came across an old barn, half tumbled down and partially overgrown with creepers. This is where he told me to stop. One look
around assured me I was beyond help out here. Not even a single farmhouse showed in the gathering dusk. Another shiver ran
through me as he pushed the gun into my side once more and told me to step inside of the barn.
The air inside was cold
and dusty; cobwebs clung to me as I walked inside. A few steps into the door, he placed his foot against my lower back and
kicked out, sending me sprawling in the hay and dirt. A small whimper escaped my lips and I turned to face him.
"Stand
for me, Heather, and slide off your clothes. Do it like you do for all those men, do it like you want me." The first tears
threatened to break loose from me. Swallowing hard to keep from crying, I rose and with shaky hands unbuttoned the buttons
which ran down the front of my dress.
"Yes, you look lovely in white, my dear, so lovely in white.... leave it like
that." he said to me, his eyes sweeping up and down my body, now framed by the white dress which hung on each side.
He
stepped closer to me. With agonizing slowness, his hand reached out to touch me. It took every ounce of my will to stand there
and let him touch me. Revulsion swept over me and nausea threatened. I swallowed hard again and focused my eyes on a pile
of feed in the corner, trying to think of other things. His hand was cold against my skin, goose bumps popped out across my
body as his hand slid softly over my shoulder. He trailed his fingers down, caressing the side of one breast.
"I've
waited so long to do this, Heather. I used to dream of this everyday, imagine you were mine to touch. You always treated me
so rudely, teasing me, using me. Now it's my turn to use you." His voice was low and even while he said this to me; his hands
roved my body.
"A show," he said, "I want a show...show me how hot you are, Heather, play with yourself for me."
"No...
Tom, please," I started, but one look at his face, and then the gun, and I let the sentence die upon my lips.
Shakily, I began to run my hands over my skin. My hands
felt alien to me, unattached, as if a stranger's hands touched me. I bit down on a sob as my hands ran across my breasts;
the nipples hardened both from my touch and the cooling air.
"More," was his only response.
I closed my eyes
tight, trying to picture a scene where I might be doing this, anything to see something other than reality. My hands slid
lower, gliding across my belly, then lower still, and slipped inside of my panties. He motioned for me to take them off. I
slid them down my thighs and stepped out of them, peeking a glance up at his face. What I saw there was such a look of naked
lust and hunger that I wished I'd never looked. I chewed on my lips and tasted my tears on them as my hands once more slid
down my body.
Tom pushed me back into the hay. I landed with a yelp and looked up at him wondering what was next. "Now
play with yourself, and keep those legs spread wide."
My numb hands slid once more into the downy thatch of hair on
my mound, then a tentative finger touched at the lips of my cunt. I jumped from my own touch, so strange and separate had
my own hands grown from me. I closed my eyes tightly as my fingers taunted and teased at my pussy. I slid a finger across
my clit, then slid another down, holding myself open with the two fingers. I darted my middle finger inside of me. A small gasp escaped my lips, despite my efforts to remain silent. My eyes flew open as it registered in
my mind that my finger had found wetness--not just moisture; my pussy was sopping wet. I glanced up at Tom and realized he
too could see the wetness shining on my finger, even in the fading light.
"More, Heather, really do yourself."
I
sobbed as I realized just what he wanted. He was not going to be happy with a display; he wanted me to actually get myself
off in front of him. But I couldn't, could I? I shook my head in denial even as my fingers dipped once more into my slit.
I
closed my eyes once more and imagined myself far off, on my bed, alone, where no one could see me. I pretended there was no
Tom, no gun, no hay poking into my back or acrid odor of manure and dust filling my nose. My hands flew over my pussy, rubbing
at my clit, round and round, feeling it engorge and swell as my pleasure grew. I slid my fingers in and out of myself, fucking
myself with them. The further I went, the more my mind could forget it's reality, so on I went, bringing myself closer and
closer to climax.
Little moans were escaping me now, but I no longer cared. All that existed for me at that moment
was my cunt and the pleasure my fingers were giving to it. I moaned out even louder and gasped. My body grew taut and tight. Feverishly, frantically now, my hands pushed me to the very brink of ecstasy.
Tom drew back his hand and slapped me hard across the face. I yelped in dazed pain, not understanding. My hands flew to my cheek and held it. I was confused. I started to cry then; the tears broke loose and
started coursing down my cheeks. My ears rang from the slap.
He drew back his arm and I whimpered, squirming in the
hay at his feet, crawling backwards, away from him. He advanced on me with a look of pure hatred in his eyes. I saw him smile
a second before another slap landed and spun my head to the side. Fuzzy black dots danced before my eyes.
I scrambled
backwards more, desperate to escape his wrath. I did what he asked! Why was he hurting me? My back hit the wall and I curled
into a ball, hiding my face into my hands and knees.
"Stupid cunt," I heard him say, and then a savage kick into my
side tore the world wide open. I screamed finally from my pain and fear, the noise echoed in the old barn, stirring up rodents
and other creatures that lived within. Another kick landed and I screamed again, as the pain tore through me.
With
hardly a second to catch my gasping breath, he attacked me, throwing his body on top of mine. His weight pushed what little
air I'd managed right out of my lungs. His hands clawed at me. His nails were rough and torn, so they sliced my skin open
as his hands covered every inch of my flesh. I thrashed wildly beneath him, but it was useless. He was far heavier and stronger
than I was.
His fingers clawed at my pussy, the nails cut into my lips, tearing them as he pulled me open. He shoved
his rough fingers inside of me, repeatedly plunging them in over and over. I sobbed out, but this only incited him to further
force. He plunged his fingers in more brutally, spreading them apart inside of me, stretching me open more. His fingers withdrew
from me for a moment, then in horror I realized his cock was now pushing against me. With a sudden thrust of his hips, he
buried his hardness inside of me.
The scream that issued from my lips went on and on. My eyes stared blankly at the
cobwebbed pattern across the ceiling of the barn, my mind still desperately trying to escape. His cock stretched me wide as
he tore into me, and something seemed to give way inside of me. He battered ruthlessly, his strokes long and hard, each one
banged against my cervix, causing further pain.
His hands clawed at my breasts, using them as purchase to plunge ever
deeper into me, while his mouth devoured every bit of flesh within its reach. His teeth grazed against my skin and mauled
my nipples, biting down hard on them. I screamed under him. Seeing my open mouth, he lowered his lips for a kiss, slipping
his fat tongue into my mouth.
This was far more of a violation than his cock had been.
I could feel and taste the bile rising in my throat as his mouth claimed every inch of mine in this horrid kiss.
It
felt like it went on and on forever, but really it was only a few minutes before he was grunting and coating my cunt with
his seed. He pushed his hand into my belly hard and lifted himself off of me. I curled into a tight ball, holding myself and
sobbing. I couldn't bear to look at him, gun or no gun. At this point he could just kill me for all I cared.
Then
I felt the ice cold steel of the gun's barrel pressing against my pussy. I closed my eyes tighter and waited for the inevitable.
With a grunt, he shoved the barrel inside of my freshly fucked cunt. I yelped at the pain, but kept my eyes closed tight.
He thrust the barrel back and forth; the cruel edges of the gun sliced my tender flesh, the metal scraped flesh and bone.
My mind conjured up the image of this gun exploding inside
of me, of the bullet's heat traveling into me, tearing me apart. I cried out while biting my lip so hard that I finally could
taste blood in my mouth--it was a welcome taste to wash away the flavor of him. He laughed gaily, the sound very out of place.
I sobbed once more and he pulled the barrel away, surely coated with our juices and my blood.
I didn't even look up
when I heard him leave. It was quite some time before I even moved. I just held myself and cried. Slowly the world came back
to me, I realized I wasn't going to die at any time soon, and that I had better think about how I was going to get home. Painfully,
I pulled myself together and with aching arms re-buttoned the stained white dress. "You look lovely in white" I could still
hear him saying. |
