Night one:
She was young and rebellious, but who isn't at that age? And she knew how her parents would hate him, even if just for the colour of his skin. She'd been warned about disease and violence but she was immune, invincible. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. She was drunk, so drunk she couldn't even move and it was the first time she'd been drunk like that. When she woke up the next morning, naked in the bed beside his naked form, she wasn't even sure it had happened. There was only a vague discomfort and the absence of the tampon she'd left in.
She'd known his name and he hers.
So she labled it that word. But that was okay because she never knew what had really happened.
Night two:
She wasn't as young anymore, and had learned a few things since then. But her trusting nature put her in situations that she knew were dangerous. Yet she was invincible, immune. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. Again, she was drunk. But she was weak anyway, so the liquor wasn't really a factor. He went and laid down in her bed and having no where else to sleep, she joined him. Not five feet from where her daughter lay sleeping. He started kissing her and she kissed back. In the midst of taking clothes off, her friend came through the room to use the bathroom, then left again to pass out in the next room. She was alone with him, alone but for the sleeping child. Kissing and touching, undressing. She told him to put on a condom and he grudgingly complied. It was obvious that he was unwilling to have that barrier between him and his pleasure. So he asked if she were on birth control. She didn't trust him, which is why she had insisted on the condom in the first place, but she foolishly told the truth-that damning 'yes'. He claimed the condom was pinching and uncomfortable so she left him, told him that was the end of it and laid down to sleep. He climbed on top of her and she thought he might be playing around. She might have laughed as she said no and tried to push him off. He didn't listen and she wasn't laughing now. He fucked her while she squirmed. Then he stopped and asked if he could fuck her ass. She said she'd never done that before and he took that as an invitation. He fucked her ass while she struggled to get away, but every time she was close he pulled her back, pushing himself further into her. It hurt like hell and she wasn't strong; she was between him and the wall. Should she scream? Or just lay there and hope it ended soon? Her daughter lay sleeping close by and the choice was made. She kept saying 'stop. please stop' and 'no' and 'it hurts'. He said he'd stop if she'd suck him off, give him a blow job, she forgets how he put it. She said 'no', and he asked why. Crying, all she could think of to say was 'because that's gross'. Finally-FINALLY-he did stop and she thought it was over. But he turned her over and began fucking her again. Talking to her like this was what she wanted, like she was a participant and not a victim he asked if he could come in her. 'No.' He did it anyway and then it WAS over. Why did he even ask? He asked her if she wanted him to go and she still doesn't know why she said 'no'. She tried to get up but he held her down, and only now was she scared. She told him she had to go to the bathroom where she went and hid until she was fairly certain he'd passed out drunk. He had and the rest of the night passed quickly; he was arrested, she was taken to the hospital.
He didn't know her name and she didn't know his, not until the police told her later.
So she labeled it that word. Bbut that was okay because she had started it.
Night three:
Just barely older and less than a year later. She knew he liked inflicting pain and she told herself she liked receiving it. So nothing would happen, nothing that she didn't consent to. She was, once again, immune, invincible. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. Last night it did. She was lying on the bed, admittedly naked. She didn't mind if they fucked, it was going to be goodbye. But she didn't want the pain, not this time, not the last time. He came in, fully clothed. And the air changed, it tasted different. It tasted painful. Her arms were resting under her, under the pillow she lay on. He tried to pull one back behind her, but she didn't want to be tied up-she said no. He was stronger and soon her hands were handcuffed at her back. And they were too tight. He took the rope, tying her legs so that they were bent, the line just above her knee, back behind her neck to the other knee and then around her neck almost like a collar, again too tight. And made even tighter by the weight of her legs pulling against it. She thought she could just lay there and wait it out, let him do what he wanted, and not resist. Resisting would make him hurt her worse-or so she thought because she didn't realize how badly he was intending to hurt her to begin with. Still fully clothed, he knelt behind her. She could hear his grin as he repeatedly slapped her ass, making it sting and then, as he continued to hit the same place, making it bruise. She couldn't move, and this time it wasn't because of liquor or weakness, it was because of the metal around her wrists, the twine around her legs and neck. After finally stripping, he took the cat'o'nine tails-the little whip-and lightly hit her with it while rubbing himself against her. Still from behind he began to fuck her, hitting her harder and harder with the little whip while he thrusted deeper into her. What was once tolerable-and a time ago pleasurable-now became unbearable. She began to cry, dry, heaving sobs, but no tears because the place where the tears came from stood at a remove, observing so it didn't have to participate. Hearing this, he turned her over onto her back, her hands now pinned beneath her, and she realized just how tight the handcuffs were. While he fucked her this way for a while, and whipped her and hit her, she felt her hands go numb. She was still crying, and he wanted to watch her face while she did. He put his hands around her throat, choked her, cut off her air to the point at which she couldn't even take a tiny, life saving breath. He released her as he thought she might come. She possibly almost did just for the air. He'd been talking the whole time, telling her he loved her and who knows what else, she wasn't listening. He turned her over again. And now she heard him. He asked if he could do whatever he wanted to do to her no matter how much it hurt. She wasn't in a position to decline and he'd already ignored her previous 'no'. So she told him he could. What a malicious word that 'yes' is. And he did. He used the belt on her, the solid, thick belt, the belt she'd asked him not to, begged him not to, the belt she was afraid of. She didn't even scream that loudly. He forced the belt into her mouth, telling her to bite down on it if what he was about to do hurt too much, telling her not to scream. And he found the big whip, the one she thought he couldn't use in this small room, the one he folded to be able to use, the one he folded to cause her more pain. And there was more, more than she'd ever known. He was trying to leave a mark. He succeeded. And he wanted to cause more. He fucked her ass and she shrieked. 'Just relax', as he thrust himself deeper, causing her to shriek again. And she tried to relax; she knew he wasn't going to stop quickly. She was right. He turned her on her side and put his dick in her face. She knew what he wanted her to do, and through the pain in her jaw, she did it, sucking him like she enjoyed it, wishing she had the courage to bite it off. Then, he noticed now how deep the metal was biting into her skin and he let her arms free. They fell useless at her sides, numb but throbbing. Since he'd already released her that way he took the ropes away as well. Then he finished fucking her, on top of her, in her. She was so relieved that it was almost over, so relieved to have been released that she almost came-but then he was done and she couldn't tell whether or not she was glad that she hadn't finished. 'Thank you. And I love you.' Then he fell asleep.
He called her by a nickname and she knew his real name.
So she labeled it that word. But that was okay because once, a while ago, she had told him that she liked aggression, that she wanted to be forced and he just thought he was giving her what she wanted, he didn't realize that she no longer thought it even remotely appealing. And, though deeply bruised, she would heal.
Three nights, one word. But she only called it that word to others, in her own mind the word didn't exist. She was just exaggerating, being melodramatic. Trying to get attention. She made excuses for them, told herself that she wasn't the victim, that she'd let it, on those nights, happen in her own way. And thus she remained immune, invincible.
She was young and rebellious, but who isn't at that age? And she knew how her parents would hate him, even if just for the colour of his skin. She'd been warned about disease and violence but she was immune, invincible. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. She was drunk, so drunk she couldn't even move and it was the first time she'd been drunk like that. When she woke up the next morning, naked in the bed beside his naked form, she wasn't even sure it had happened. There was only a vague discomfort and the absence of the tampon she'd left in.
She'd known his name and he hers.
So she labled it that word. But that was okay because she never knew what had really happened.
Night two:
She wasn't as young anymore, and had learned a few things since then. But her trusting nature put her in situations that she knew were dangerous. Yet she was invincible, immune. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. Again, she was drunk. But she was weak anyway, so the liquor wasn't really a factor. He went and laid down in her bed and having no where else to sleep, she joined him. Not five feet from where her daughter lay sleeping. He started kissing her and she kissed back. In the midst of taking clothes off, her friend came through the room to use the bathroom, then left again to pass out in the next room. She was alone with him, alone but for the sleeping child. Kissing and touching, undressing. She told him to put on a condom and he grudgingly complied. It was obvious that he was unwilling to have that barrier between him and his pleasure. So he asked if she were on birth control. She didn't trust him, which is why she had insisted on the condom in the first place, but she foolishly told the truth-that damning 'yes'. He claimed the condom was pinching and uncomfortable so she left him, told him that was the end of it and laid down to sleep. He climbed on top of her and she thought he might be playing around. She might have laughed as she said no and tried to push him off. He didn't listen and she wasn't laughing now. He fucked her while she squirmed. Then he stopped and asked if he could fuck her ass. She said she'd never done that before and he took that as an invitation. He fucked her ass while she struggled to get away, but every time she was close he pulled her back, pushing himself further into her. It hurt like hell and she wasn't strong; she was between him and the wall. Should she scream? Or just lay there and hope it ended soon? Her daughter lay sleeping close by and the choice was made. She kept saying 'stop. please stop' and 'no' and 'it hurts'. He said he'd stop if she'd suck him off, give him a blow job, she forgets how he put it. She said 'no', and he asked why. Crying, all she could think of to say was 'because that's gross'. Finally-FINALLY-he did stop and she thought it was over. But he turned her over and began fucking her again. Talking to her like this was what she wanted, like she was a participant and not a victim he asked if he could come in her. 'No.' He did it anyway and then it WAS over. Why did he even ask? He asked her if she wanted him to go and she still doesn't know why she said 'no'. She tried to get up but he held her down, and only now was she scared. She told him she had to go to the bathroom where she went and hid until she was fairly certain he'd passed out drunk. He had and the rest of the night passed quickly; he was arrested, she was taken to the hospital.
He didn't know her name and she didn't know his, not until the police told her later.
So she labeled it that word. Bbut that was okay because she had started it.
Night three:
Just barely older and less than a year later. She knew he liked inflicting pain and she told herself she liked receiving it. So nothing would happen, nothing that she didn't consent to. She was, once again, immune, invincible. It could never happen to her.
Except this night it did. Last night it did. She was lying on the bed, admittedly naked. She didn't mind if they fucked, it was going to be goodbye. But she didn't want the pain, not this time, not the last time. He came in, fully clothed. And the air changed, it tasted different. It tasted painful. Her arms were resting under her, under the pillow she lay on. He tried to pull one back behind her, but she didn't want to be tied up-she said no. He was stronger and soon her hands were handcuffed at her back. And they were too tight. He took the rope, tying her legs so that they were bent, the line just above her knee, back behind her neck to the other knee and then around her neck almost like a collar, again too tight. And made even tighter by the weight of her legs pulling against it. She thought she could just lay there and wait it out, let him do what he wanted, and not resist. Resisting would make him hurt her worse-or so she thought because she didn't realize how badly he was intending to hurt her to begin with. Still fully clothed, he knelt behind her. She could hear his grin as he repeatedly slapped her ass, making it sting and then, as he continued to hit the same place, making it bruise. She couldn't move, and this time it wasn't because of liquor or weakness, it was because of the metal around her wrists, the twine around her legs and neck. After finally stripping, he took the cat'o'nine tails-the little whip-and lightly hit her with it while rubbing himself against her. Still from behind he began to fuck her, hitting her harder and harder with the little whip while he thrusted deeper into her. What was once tolerable-and a time ago pleasurable-now became unbearable. She began to cry, dry, heaving sobs, but no tears because the place where the tears came from stood at a remove, observing so it didn't have to participate. Hearing this, he turned her over onto her back, her hands now pinned beneath her, and she realized just how tight the handcuffs were. While he fucked her this way for a while, and whipped her and hit her, she felt her hands go numb. She was still crying, and he wanted to watch her face while she did. He put his hands around her throat, choked her, cut off her air to the point at which she couldn't even take a tiny, life saving breath. He released her as he thought she might come. She possibly almost did just for the air. He'd been talking the whole time, telling her he loved her and who knows what else, she wasn't listening. He turned her over again. And now she heard him. He asked if he could do whatever he wanted to do to her no matter how much it hurt. She wasn't in a position to decline and he'd already ignored her previous 'no'. So she told him he could. What a malicious word that 'yes' is. And he did. He used the belt on her, the solid, thick belt, the belt she'd asked him not to, begged him not to, the belt she was afraid of. She didn't even scream that loudly. He forced the belt into her mouth, telling her to bite down on it if what he was about to do hurt too much, telling her not to scream. And he found the big whip, the one she thought he couldn't use in this small room, the one he folded to be able to use, the one he folded to cause her more pain. And there was more, more than she'd ever known. He was trying to leave a mark. He succeeded. And he wanted to cause more. He fucked her ass and she shrieked. 'Just relax', as he thrust himself deeper, causing her to shriek again. And she tried to relax; she knew he wasn't going to stop quickly. She was right. He turned her on her side and put his dick in her face. She knew what he wanted her to do, and through the pain in her jaw, she did it, sucking him like she enjoyed it, wishing she had the courage to bite it off. Then, he noticed now how deep the metal was biting into her skin and he let her arms free. They fell useless at her sides, numb but throbbing. Since he'd already released her that way he took the ropes away as well. Then he finished fucking her, on top of her, in her. She was so relieved that it was almost over, so relieved to have been released that she almost came-but then he was done and she couldn't tell whether or not she was glad that she hadn't finished. 'Thank you. And I love you.' Then he fell asleep.
He called her by a nickname and she knew his real name.
So she labeled it that word. But that was okay because once, a while ago, she had told him that she liked aggression, that she wanted to be forced and he just thought he was giving her what she wanted, he didn't realize that she no longer thought it even remotely appealing. And, though deeply bruised, she would heal.
Three nights, one word. But she only called it that word to others, in her own mind the word didn't exist. She was just exaggerating, being melodramatic. Trying to get attention. She made excuses for them, told herself that she wasn't the victim, that she'd let it, on those nights, happen in her own way. And thus she remained immune, invincible.
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