Pretty When She Cries

Chapter 6

Later that night, he sat in front of the television. She couldn’t tell what he was watching, but he was engrossed. Occasionally he glanced over at her. She was safe under her blanket, watching him from under half-closed eyelids. Every time he looked, she felt herself tremble. He probably thought she was asleep. She stayed very quiet, she was still hurting from earlier, but she was busting to pee and was forced to get out from under the protection of the blanket. She was very self-conscious in her nakedness and held herself bunched tightly. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said in a small voice.

He completely ignored her, as if she hadn’t spoken at all or if she wasn’t even there. “Use the bowl,” he said in a moment.

He looked at her once while she used it, but was otherwise uninterested. She closed her eyes, and kept them shut. It was as though if she couldn’t see him then he couldn’t see her. She quickly finished and slipped under the blanket again. The chain she was perpetually fastened to hurt and aggravated her wrist. She desperately wanted to free herself.

She had just started to settle into some feeling of security when he stirred and switched off the television. He walked over and got on the mattress tearing the blanket aside, exposing her body. He unzipped his jeans without a word. Then he mounted between her quivering naked legs, kneeling and lowering himself towards her, guiding his cock with his hand. He pushed inside her. He raped her with long steady strokes, then with more rapid and uneven shoves and thrusts. She didn’t struggle, but lay passive in his arms.

He came in her again. She was becoming terrified that he would get her pregnant.

The next few days were hell. He’d just come straight in and mount her, then he would leave her alone for hours. This was her life. His voice was the only sound she knew. He had sex with her two or three times a day, sometimes four. Often he came to her in the middle of the night and made her suck him off. Sometimes it took up to half an hour, but she preferred that to when he was inside her.

She didn’t try and fight him anymore. She just listened to everything he told her to do, hoping someone would find her. She constantly hoped she would be rescued, and tried at all times not to anger him. She was a dead thing which he used and abused, forcing himself into her lifeless body. When it was too painful, she pressed her hands weakly against his shoulders. Sometimes he noticed and would ease off, just a little.

“Can I have a shower?” she asked after he had given her milk and cereal for breakfast. She hadn’t washed since being hosed down outside those few days ago.

“Later,” he said. She put her empty breakfast bowl on the floor, disappointed. He must have noticed her looking at the dirty dishes piling up, because he gathered half of them off the floor, looking pissed, and took them out into the kitchen. She heard him tossed them into the sink.

She didn’t have to wait as long as she thought she would for her shower. He took her upstairs. For some reason she felt a new surge of anxiety going to a new part of the house. He let her brush her teeth, while he threw back the clear plastic curtain, and adjusted the shower. The water ran hard and steaming. The steam billowed up and made the bathroom warm. He took her by the arm and got her to step in. He was naked too. He often like to go around the house like that.

As soon as the hot water hit her, she had a moment of queer gratitude toward him. He could have been worse. He could have cut her, mutilated her, broken bones. But this moment of gratitude was quickly disrupted by the introduction of his naked body against her back. He slipped his left arm around her waist, drew her tightly against him, then while he held her firmly, his right hand passed over her stomach and slowly approached her pussy.

Her back was dry against his chest, but her front was wet with the hot blast of water. He fondled her, nestling his face in her hair. “Does that feel nice?” he said. “You’ve got a beautiful body.” His hand slid up her stomach and squeezed her breast, plucked at the nipple, then glided back down between her thighs. He was leaning heavily on her. They both were stooping a bit, while he dipped his middle finger inside and sawed it in and out. His breath shuddered on her shoulder. She stood absolutely silent while he was molesting her. In some small way she was just happy to be in front of that comforting spray of warm water.

He stood very quietly, feeling her up, kissing her a bit here and there. He got the soap and rubbed it over her. It smelled like him, but at least it smelled clean. When he got her to face him, he hugged her tightly. He licked and bit her cheek, sucking the water off her skin, then kissed her mouth greedily. He had an erection but for some reason didn’t get her to do anything with it.

“Wash me,” he said, giving her the soap. He got under the water stream, then made her lather the soap all over him. He pushed her hand down to his dick and forced her to wash and massage at the same time. Then he turned and put his hands up on the shower tiles for her to do his back. She scrubbed all over his broad shoulders and down to his buttocks. “Rub my back,” he said.

He bent his head as she massaged his shoulders and ran her hands down and over the lines of his back. He became very relaxed, sighing. Without turning, he took one of her hands and brought it around to his mouth. He spat on her finger and said, “Stick it up my asshole.”

Her stomach was tense. She reluctantly put her fingers between his buttocks and locating the tight hole, pushed her finger in a little way. He made a sound and spread his legs further pushing out his rear. She could feel the little muscles around the rim gripping and throbbing as if trying to pull her finger up and push it out at the same time. Easing it up, her finger glided all the way up to the knuckle. He made an even louder, deeper sound, and told her to move her finger in and out like she would with her pussy. While she did that he got her to wank on him with her other hand. She had done this before with her boyfriend. But with Cameron it was exciting and erotic. With this man it was depraved and degrading. In a moment he groaned like a goaded bull, and his kneels buckled under him. She could feel his ass contracting and pulsing around her finger, and spurts of come shot out his dick over the tiles. He leaned against them, too weak to move. She waited behind him, not daring to move.

He swiped some of his semen off with his finger, and rubbed it around her pussy and pushed it inside. She gripped his hand with her hand, as if she could stop him. But she didn’t even try. She knew what would happen if she did. Once or twice he stopped and tried to get his prick into her standing up, but didn’t work.

After her shower she didn’t want to get back on the dirty mattress, but that’s exactly where she went.

“Can I put my clothes on?” she asked.

“But I prefer you this way, Nicole. You’re a real woman now, probably for the first time in your life, because you’ve had a real man. My dick’s been inside you—my come’s been inside you—my come is still inside you.”

He got her to lie on her belly with her bottom sticking up. Her face was pressed into the mattress, and she licked her lips and blinked rapidly. She was nervous because it was such an extremely vulnerable posture. She didn’t trust him.

“I love this position,” he said, running his hands up and down her inner thighs, touching her pussy lips with his knuckles. He rubbed his hands over her waist, hips and sides, playing with her ass cheeks—squeezing them, pushing them together, spreading them outwards, slapping and kissing them. “It felt really good what you did to me in the bathroom.”

He spat on his finger and stuck it up her anus. It was uncomfortable, but she stayed relaxed. “A finger feels small now, huh?” he said, twisting it in and out. “Have you had a cock up your ass before?”

She shook her head, giving a little whine. She was on all fours. He dug his finger in deeper and kept it there wriggling it. “I was the first to fuck your ass?”

She nodded in misery.

“Your boyfriend got your pussy virginity, I got your ass virginity. Which one hurt more, Nicole?”

“My arse.”

“Your ass?”

He took his finger out and lay his chest on her back while she was on all fours. He reached his hand around between her thighs, rubbing her pussy.

“How do you feel about anal sex?” he said. “If it’s done properly, I mean. I was a real cruel bastard before. I can do it so it doesn’t hurt, not much.

“I was watching some girls get their ass’s fucked today. They seemed to like it. You want to watch some with me, and then try it?”

She was trying not to cry, but her tears wouldn’t hold, and she felt them slide hot from beneath her lashes and down her cheeks to her lips. She shook her head.

“No?” he said. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

He stayed pressed against her, and started pressing his tip against her ass, trying to get it in. “Just a little bit,” he said, pushing.

“No!” She collapsed forward so he couldn’t get in.

“Get up, get up!” He smacked her backside.

She turned onto her back, looking up at him, holding her hands open defensively. “I don’t want to!”

“Turn over!” He smacked her again, but she didn’t move. “Fuck you!” he said. He spat at her.

He went and turned on some loud music, and left.

She cried convulsively, and tugged her blanket over herself, sheltering beneath it.

When he came back he was still pissed off. He didn’t give her anything more to eat or drink, and he hardly looked at her. He didn’t smoke a lot, but when he did he some times burned her with it. He was restless for some time, then he went over to her. He took the blanket off her. “If you keep covering yourself with this thing, I’ll throw it away.”

He kneeled next to her, stroked her hair, and ran his hands over her. After all the times he had played with her he was still obsessed with the desire to cup her breasts, grope and fondle her moist tender pussy. He finger-fucked her, jabbing his fingers hard and deep into her. She stared off to the side, silently allowing him the enjoyment of her body.

He let her have some water late in the evening. He had his dinner in the kitchen. It smelled like fried steak and onions, and she could hear the occasional sounds of clinking cutlery. She was hungry, but didn’t ask him for anything. He had been angry at her all day and struck her a few a times.

Sitting quietly, she looked over her body. It was the first time in all these days that she had allowed herself. She felt emotion well in her at the sight of the bruises on her arms and legs. She touched between her thighs and felt inside herself to see if everything was normal in there. She was constantly aching.

She was still touching herself when he came out. He stopped in the doorway and stared at her with a dead, unreadable expression. She took her hand away, and stared at him with hostile anguish. He went back into the kitchen. Her heart was trembling and breaking inside her. She could smell fresh cigarette smoke. She wished he would choked on it and die.

A little later, he came out smoking, and stared at her again. He threw his cigarette into a nearby dying pot plant. She remained motionless as he approached her. He crawled onto her, his hands either side her head, looking down at her. He lowered his face till he almost touched hers, then whispered, “I want to fuck,” at the same time placing his lips on hers. He put his knee between hers to open them.

She could feel the determination of his hands. There was no putting him off. She stared into his looming face, and clenched her teeth. She slowly felt him sink to the very balls inside her, and she shuddered. Slowly he drew himself back to the very brink of her cunt, and pushed in again delving repeatedly into her, with long slow digs to the very length of his dick and then back again to her twitching opening. She could only look up at him with a numb sort of helplessness.

“Am I hurting you now, Nicole?” he said. He closed his eyes, sighing every time his prick delved down to the hilt inside of her. She saw him draw a deep breath, then slowly open his eyes and look her as if puzzled. She put her hands on his face, almost tenderly, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Please don’t come in me,” she said. “Please. Please don’t. Please—pull out before you come. Please.”

He ground his teeth to hold back his orgasm. He jammed himself deeper and deeper into her. “I’m going to come in you,” he said, grunting. “I’m going to come in your sweet body.” He pushed himself into her as hard and deep as he could, and it felt as if he burst open into her. She sobbed and her hands were vainly clawing at his shirt on his back. He slowly rolled off, breathing heavily. Then he turned on his side to face her.

“When is your menstrual period due?” he asked.

She could barely speak through her tears. “Um… in a few days, I think.”

“Then what are you worried for? You’re in the safe zone. I’m not diseased if that’s what you’re worried about.” He leaned over to kiss her, and she petulantly twisted her face aside. “Don’t pull away from me, bitch, or I’ll beat the shit out of you,” he said, pointing her face to him, and they kissed some more, his tongue pushing into her mouth.

He didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave, and kept her close to him. He was mumbling some song under his breath, too softly for her to catch any of the words. She was barely conscious of him, except as an irritant. But every time he moved she became aware of him as a threat. After awhile she risked turning over onto her side. He propped himself up onto an elbow and gazed down on her silently. His fingertips lovingly caressed her curves, her side and her hip and shoulder, up and down continuously, while she stared forward at the wall.

“You can’t hate me forever,” he said. “You don’t really hate me Nicole, do you?”

She wanted to scream yes, but her abused and weak lips said no.